A couple days ago, my daughter had an appointment in Arvada, an older suburb of Denver. The “Old Town” is charming with renovations morphing into coffee houses, boutiques, and restaurants. I rode along with her since she’d suggested there was a fun coffee house located there. “You can write while you wait,” she said. “Then, we have to go into the shop next door. Their Christmas items are so pretty.” She knows I’m a sucker for Christmas decorations. She also knows I can’t turn down a visit to a great coffee shop. Combine a latte with a new Christmas item and I’m in, all the way.
She left for her hour appointment a block away and I ordered my almond milk, sugar-free flavored latte and settled at a small round wooden table by a large window framing the street outside lined with lamps. Christmas lights were wrapped around fresh greenery and finished off with red plaid bows, the perfect touch. I set my computer on the table, drank my latte, and wrote. I can’t begin to tell you who walked through the door or what they wore or even said. A coffee shop is my “happy place” for writing. All else fades.
I’ve always been intrigued as to where writers prefer to write, where they do their best creating. There are so many places I’ve heard or read about. A bedroom turned into one’s private writing nest, an office with computer and printer sitting on a desk, a conference table in a worker’s lounge used during breaks, a cozy chair facing a window with nature just outside or even a patio table on a deck. That’s just a few. The important thing is that wherever one writes, there’s a good chance that just like my coffee house, the rest of the world is shut out and the words become the only noticeable activity.