Starbucks and writing… Part 2

So, last week I had my first opportunity to take my laptop out on the road. Of course, I chose to take it to Starbucks. Where else can you get delicious vanilla lattes? From my previous Starbucks post you’ll know that there isn’t much of a choice round where I live; a busy Starbucks with only four tables (or three and a  shelf), or one in a supermarket. I’m not sure about you, but writing in a supermarket sounds like the most unromantic and least muse-like place for writing, so I took my chances getting a table in the busy one.

And I did! It was surprisingly easy, perhaps because I timed it right (just after lunch on a Sunday) and perhaps because I just got lucky. I immediately claimed my table on entering, as there’s nothing worse than seeing an empty table, queueing for your food and then finding that the empty table has been taken by someone in the queue behind you.

For all the  English are good at queueing, they’re rubbish when it comes to places like coffee shops. I have seen examples of extreme queueing in England before. I used to travel into central London several times a week for university. I would get the train to Charing Cross, then queue for a number 91 bus to take me up to Russell Square. Now, the bus stop opposite the station is a stop for about seven different buses and every morning it would be busy. But these people in their suits had a unique way of waiting for their buses that I had never seen before, nor since: they queued in one long line, stretching down the pavement. When one bus came, those people who wanted it would form a second queue next to the first, but holding the same  order they had previously. Woe betide anyone who came up and stood near the front in a huddle underneath the shelter, which is the normal way to wait for a bus. These rules are not things set out by law, they have come from the people themselves. Is it that City workers are so fastidious and organised that their bus queues have to be also? Who was it who started the first queue? Does it happen anywhere else in London, or just that bus stop?

So I am always surprised by people who think claiming a coffee shop table before they have ordered is okay. Especially when they’re English. It’s one thing to do it if there’s no-one in the queue in front of you (as was the case for me, I must add!), because then there is obviously no-one waiting for a table. But this Starbucks is so unique in its lack of seating areas that it almost dictates one should claim a table and then get the drinks in.

Anyway, the table was claimed and the drink (a grande skinny vanilla latte) and snack (a classic cake doughnut) was ordered. I set up my laptop, lack of space necessitating that my drink and doughnut go behind the open screen and my notebook on my lap. Not an ideal start. As I typed more of my Route 66 book, I kept finding that I wanted to check a fact on the internet, which this Starbucks doesn’t have. Also not ideal. I persisted, though.

But it was nice to people-watch and I enjoyed the game of musical chairs that always happens in there. Two groups each had three chairs and there were two round my table, so one table had no chairs round it at all. A woman came to ask for my spare chair and she and a friend squeezed onto it around the empty table. Then one group left and one of the chair-sharing women went to grab their third chair. After that a family came in and sat in the newly-vacated area, but once one child had sat down and the mother had sat with the other child on her lap, the dad had to stand to drink his coffee. A trio of adults came in, looked around in bewilderment and one woman exclaimed “There are no tables!”. It’s something you often hear in this Starbucks.

I got  about a thousand words written, but it’ll take some editing. My deadline for finishing has, I think, come and gone and I’m still a couple of days away. And that’s without starting the editing. It was an interesting experience to sit and drink coffee in a busy coffee shop while writing my book. However, I think for now I’m happy just to stay at home.

I’ll miss the lattes, though.

A fistful of rejection.

The other week I was flicking through some of my old copies of the ‘Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook’ and found, tucked between relevant pages, rejection letters from my past attempts at securing an agent for my book, ‘The Sillow Orb’.

Some are generic, without even a name on them or a proper signature. A few are more personalised, with at least my name on the top. It’s interesting just how much even having your name at the top of a rejection can make it that little bit sweeter.

In my 2003 copy of the ‘Yearbook’, I have four rejections. Just two have my name and one even looks like a free bookmark supporting Breastcancer Research that you might pick up at the local library.

In my 2005 copy, I have just the one rejection. Clearly, after 2003’s lack of success I struggled a little to find the necessary tough skin to send my manuscript to lots of agents for the next two  years. The rejection, including my name and address written at the top in an elegant blue script, is yet another signed by someone for the person named at the bottom.

2006 was obviously a confident year for me, as I have no fewer than five rejections stored in its pages. I have three “favourite” rejections amongst this lot. The first is printed on a thick cream paper – no expense spared for failed authors here! – and doesn’t even state “Dear Author”. The second is about the size, shape and texture of a supermarket receipt, again without a “Dear Author”, and so small that it could get lost in the bottom of my bag for years.

My final favourite is the most personalised one I have, and I look upon it even now with a fondness that fills my heart with something like joy, even if it is a rejection. It is typed on an old-fashioned typewriter, which gives it a certain 40s glamour that is pleasing to the eye. The paper is bordered on the right and bottom sides only with a series of fifteen or so closely ruled lines and the logo in the top left-hand corner looks like a bookshelf. The text itself, and here is the exciting part, contains not only my real name (Ms. Clements, too, as they clearly have standards!), but also the name of my book. To see THE SILLOW ORB typed in that old-fashioned way in amongst the text of the letter gives me a thrill, I can tell you! The bottom of the letter is signed, illegibly, with what looks like proper ink from a proper pen. This letter is definitely a thing of beauty.

I have no more rejections after early 2006. It seems, in those five years, that rejections and time caused me to doubt my own abilities when it comes to writing. But that final rejection, typed so beautifully and clearly meant for none but me, gives me some hope that out there is the agent for me. As I near the completion of my new book and fine-tune my existing book for sale online, I am actually looking forward to getting back in to the positive frame of mind that means I can send off my book, even if it means receiving some more rejection letters.

As long as they type my name at the top.

Starbucks and writing…

Well, I haven’t written in a while and there’s good reason. It’s half-term holiday! (For all my non-British friends, this is a week’s holiday in the middle of each of the three 12-13 week terms.) Now, that doesn’t mean I am kicking back enjoying the sunshine, because it’s the summer half-term, which means I have assessments to mark and reports to write. So, despite not being in school this week, I still haven’t managed to write any more of my book.

Not good.

But I have been about wondering whether I would, as the full-time writer I want to be, take my laptop down to the local Starbucks and sit and write there. My idol, JK Rowling, used to write in a coffee shop, although she did it all by hand. I’ve been to that coffee shop, now a lovely Chinese buffet restaurant, and I think it would have been wonderful to write a book there. Admittedly, Starbucks isn’t as interesting as an independent shop, but there are few of those around my neck of London and those there are tend to be quite small.

Size does matter. I have seen, in my local Starbucks, people sitting nursing a single cup of tea while tapping away on their laptop while it’s plugged into the mains. Not really a problem, except my local Starbucks has just three tables. Yes, you read that right: three. So taking up a whole table to yourself seems a tad selfish. Even though I love Starbucks’ vanilla lattes and can completely understand why people would want to sit and drink them all day. The other, larger, Starbucks in the vicinity, a longer walk down a steep hill, is in a Sainsbury’s supermarket. Somehow, the idea of writing a book in a supermarket doesn’t appeal. Anyone ever tried it?

The romantic in me yearns to go and spend day after day, sipping hot vanilla lattes and maybe nibbling on one of their classic cake doughnuts (insert Homer Simpson-type drooling noises here), concentrating on my book and producing 5,000 words a day. It just seems to be, in my head, the way writing should happen, rather than sitting at my dining room table. Maybe it’s something to do with going out to work; the very act of leaving the house could stimulate productivity and make me feel as though writing was my job.

Perhaps one day. That’s the dream!