How I became a coffee shop writer

Putnam Vine Yard in White River Junction VT is my favorite spot

After years of insisting that I needed monk-level silence to work effectively, I did a full U-turn this past year.

It started after the election. Suddenly, my house—once my sacred writing cave—became a black hole of doom scrolling, laundry guilt, and the siren song of “I’ll just reorganize this one drawer.”

So I did the unthinkable. I left my quiet space to take my chances in the ungovernable conditions of local coffee shops. I didn’t expect much, though. I assumed that the first asshat taking a conference call at the next table would send me scurrying back to my wooded hilltop.

But that’s not what happened. I adapted. I discovered that there’s something unexpectedly soothing about boosting the local economy with expensive lattes, and sitting among other humans who are mostly minding their own business. I sit down, I deploy the ergonomic keyboard like I’m setting up camp, I write hard for a solid two hours, then stop before my brain turns to soup. I tip well. I don’t overstay my welcome. I am, I hope, a model citizen of the café ecosystem.

And it is so WEIRDLY EFFECTIVE. Something about the low hum of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the gentle pressure of being seen keeps me locked in. I don’t have to doom scroll, because the world isn’t ending. It’s right there, frothing the milk, or delivering the mail, or studying for exams at the next table.

I see more humans. I hear more stories. And somehow I get more done.

A few years ago, I moderated a panel of narrators at a big reader con. And one of them said he shut down his home studio after covid because “I like to go to work.” And I thought, sucker! Because working from home is the best scam ever, right? Who’d commute to work voluntarily?

Me, apparently. Turns out I don’t want to work from home. I want to pack a bag, buy a latte, and sit near a stranger with a nose ring who is absolutely not on a conference call.

Turns out the trick isn’t silence.

It’s espresso and mild social pressure.

Thank you, coffee shops.