A Day in My Writing Life

Torn Jeans and Writing Poetry

He sat typing in the corner of the cafe stalking words

There are times I can only imagine where each one of you goes to write something on Medium. Your kitchen island, the home office in your bedroom, the comfy sectional couch.

I have to admit that like a creature of habit, I have returned to one of my pre-covid haunts— visiting quaint cafes with my laptop to write somewhere comfortable, yet with a touch of bohemian rhapsody chic.

There is something romantic about searching for a dimly lit cave where one can be served a warm cup of cocoa or caffeine and three biscuits soaked in raspberry. My server wears a crisp green apron and works in a pro-green environment, but last week I caught her sneaking a smoke in the back alley near pristine trash bins. It is, after all, a free country.

I go out of my way to visit at least four cyber cafes. There is a feeling of anonymity there. Of serenity. Of silence. Of loneliness — except it is the loneliness that the cyber-writer craves. It is like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro to find some quality alone time — away from the madness of the family squabbles and job pressures — to be alone with one’s thoughts and percolations that might lead to words being typed on a blank screen. Capiche?

There are times I do get distracted though, particularly when I see that the handsome dude in the corner, still wearing his trademark torn jeans, has now shaved off his scholarly beard. I’ve seen him before — so he’s not really a stranger — though I really don’t know him or how long he has sported a beard. He seems like a perpetual student or a writer or a scholar, and I imagine him stalking words, just like me. Though I sincerely doubt he’s writing poetry. Perhaps he’s writing code. But assumptions can be misleading.

He looks so much younger, fresher now, and I don’t actually miss the beard. The timing of its removal is suspicious though — Thanksgiving has just passed — and I wonder if a family visit was involved or if he just was in the mood for a change. We will never speak — somehow, I know this, as if it’s tattooed on my butt, so I go back to writing poetry and dreaming of lunch at a place like Spumoni Gardens, if I can find parking.

And that leads me to my final thought — have any of you written something that appears in Medium — in the privacy of your car?

Thank you to the editors, readers and writers of Reciprocal Publication on Medium for such an engaging place for writers.

Here are two powerful pieces from Reciprocal that I would like to highlight with you.

Written by Victoria Gregg —

Written by Deana K Rodriguez —

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