The Writing Process That I Follow To Earn $75 Per Month — That’s A Lot Of Money!
I sit here at this café.
As I have done for the last two months.
In the same seat, at the same table, never failing to arrive at the same time.
10AM, right as the long hand of the clock hits 12, I appear from the corner staggering, desperately making my way to grab the hot cup of nectar* that will awaken me from the grogginess of my recent slumber.
(*nectar since I drown my coffee with cream and agave)
I’ve become notorious at this cafe, because I’m basically the guy breathing down the neck of the barista every morning. I see them coming from the opposite end of the block and I’m already there to meet them at the door. I see them visibly sigh, but I don’t see what the big deal is here.
Maybe they feel some pressure because I’m sitting there watching them turn on the lights, prepare the register, brew the coffee, and get the place running. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t blink and my eyes follow them everywhere. To be honest, who in this modern day and age of distractions gives anyone that much attention?
I’m not trying to kill them or anything — I’m just watching a barista go through the motions while I wait for my coffee.
You see, I’ve quit my job and I’ve been trying to make it big online by writing a few articles here and there.
It’s been going quite well — last month I received a $75 direct deposit from Medium.
Which makes me happy, because it covers my coffee and almond croissant for the next week or so. Then I have to start scouring in between and beneath the couches for quarters.
Or, God forbid, use my credit card rewards points or sell my marijuana stocks.
I will resort to male escort services before I dare sell my marijuana stocks. (I’m half kidding)
Why has coffee gotten so god-damn expensive anyways?
I swear I was able to sit in this place a few years ago and have a hot brewed coffee for $2.79.
Now you have to work a whole day just to feel like you’ve earned this $4.50 cup of burnt coffee beans. It physically hurts to hand over my credit card each morning.
Maybe I don’t understand inflation, or maybe there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.
(It’s more exciting to think of the latter as truth)
After this little tirade that goes through my head every morning, I go over to the corner and I take the seat that faces the wall. I’m going to guess why people normally like to sit facing the rest of the cafe:
- They like to people watch and rest their eyes from their screen/book once in a while
- They like to make sure no one will come from behind and knock them out with a rear naked chokehold, or spill hot coffee on their scalp leading to third degree burns and premature balding
- They like to see if someone they know walks in, so that they can further distract themselves from what they are currently supposed to be doing (or maybe even show off that they’re being productive to this friend/acquaintance, thereby briefly propping themselves on a higher platform of the dominance hierarchy)
These are the only rational reasons I can think of as to why one chooses to face the window.
I have found that if I choose a seat in the corner facing the window, I am constantly stimulated by the movement of the people and objects in the cafe.
I find that my eyes follow any movement in my peripheral and I end up becoming distracted too much to focus on the tasks I have laid out for the day.
I am also tempted to spend all my time watching Youtube and browsing Reddit all day.
If I were given the privacy to browse whatever I wished without the pressure of people overlooking my business, I would be doing exactly the same thing at home, but with an expensive cup of coffee and almond croissant. (The almond croissant is non-negotiable)
So I’ve learned to subject myself to the judgment of the social world. I now sit here, spread eagle (with my clothes still on, don’t worry), allowing the coffee enthusiasts to become my arbiter, to domesticate me with their piercing glances and disapproving head shakes.
My martyrdom brings me to tears as I write this very sentence. My coffee is in danger of becoming diluted.
Anyways, my daily routine is as follows:
Order my coffee and croissant and stare at the barista while they avoid my penetrating gaze to make sure they poured exactly 250 mL of half and half and 2.5 seconds of unrestricted agave syrup flow.
Sometimes they tell me to stop getting so close to them. I respect their wishes most days.
Then I take my nectar and croissant and walk over to my corner seat. I close my eyes and give thanks to the universe for the nourishment that it had brought in front of me.
I whisper the almighty “Ohm” as I raise the bread with both hands into the air 5 inches above my head, reminding myself that this bread with heavenly almond filling would not only quench the hunger of my physical body, but would bring peace to my spiritual hunger.
I keep the croissant in the air for two minutes, until my arms start to shake. This is to remind myself that life is suffering, and that I must endure the physical pain and denounce the physical body’s temptation to devour this godsend pastry on a whim. It’s also a good workout for my triceps.
Then, at the apex of my suffering, I let out a relatively silent groan, break the bread in half, and drop them onto the plate of which it was served.
All my life’s essence had gone into the two minute ritual of croissant breaking, and I no longer have the energy to hold the bread. The groan was to symbolize the silent pain one must suffer throughout their life, the pain that no other human but yourself will face and endure.
As I sit there gasping, sweating, and recovering from the demanding ceremony, I look up at the ceiling and smile. The fluorescent light shines down on me, as if a higher Being was acknowledging my adversity and now blessing my crescent shaped bread.
Many days, I cannot help but to let a single tear escape from my eyes. I am quite the emotional creature, but one cannot judge me until they have given their all in this painstaking experience.
I muster all the strength that I have left to pick up one side of the croissant, and I eat it in one bite. I have no time to waste — I must write about this heavenly experience and share it with the people.
I chew ravenously, and aggressively pick up my coffee and take a small sip. I’ve been burnt too many times by youthful excitement. This too, I’ve learned through countless trials and tribulations.
I finish the other side of the croissant, and by this time the impatience fuels me to bend the rules. I open the coffee lid so that it will cool to room temperature faster. I simply don’t have the time to blow and carefully extend my lips like an ape to take small sips.
I join my hands together and crack my knuckles, attempting to produce a cracking sound from the bone (this is probably bad but I feel like I’m getting ready to do something cool so I need to do it), and whisper to myself:
“It’s go time.”
Then I think about what I should write about for an hour before I have to go home for lunch.
By then I’m so tired that I have no motivation to read or write — I usually just watch shows or play video games all day.
But hey, there’s always tomorrow right? Inspiration will definitely strike tomorrow…
