Anyway, I admitted to eavesdropping on that conversation and urged him to not give up on his story. He grinned but shook his head: "I just lost all inspiration when the story was lost, and I don't know when I'll find the time. I work here during the day but at night I run my own online record label."
Me: "So you're staying creative, you're doing stuff."
Joe: "Yes, I am, but I just don't know if I can write it again."
Me: "Sure you can. That man lost your manuscript, but your idea's still in your head. You can do anything you want."
And then I didn't think any more about it.
The coffeeshop this morning was interesting: a handful of us are recognizing each other because we're predawn regulars, at least three of us writing fiction, the rest just early risers, one gentleman a diarist with beautiful calligraphic handwriting.
Six-foot-seven and Five-foot-two asked me, "How many pages today?" and I said, "800 words, and hopefully they're not crap!"
Customers murmured to each other in line, "Can you believe what happened?" They meant Robin Williams. It's like an earthquake that shook everything.
Out of the blue, I see Joe, who tells me, "Hey, Miz Lucy, I was hoping to run into you today because I took your advice. I went and got a cheap notebook and I've written down everything I can remember about that story I wrote when I was a kid."
Me: "Seriously?"
Joe: "Yup. I'm going to keep working on it."
Well, he made my week. The week has been made.
About the image: Howard Schultz made a speech once where he recalled his father-in-law taking him for a walk with some well-meaning advice: maybe it was time to start looking for a real job and give up on "this coffee thing." And JK Rowling's manuscript was rejected so many times, the UK literary agency that did pick it up was so tiny, it was housed above a Chinese restaurant.
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