And that is non-caffeinated (!) mocha’s at 8pm while sitting awkwardly by the door in the only available seat, brainstorming new ideas for your incipient novel.

Actually, it was kind of fun. Most people were there working on collaborative school projects, with one guy furiously examining his iPhone, another couple ‘jawing’ as they waited for the bathroom, and pleasant music playing in the background. A lot of laptops were in evidence, people coupled up and leaning forward over folded elbows as they earnestly discussed their assignments, Biscayne Blvd dark and illuminated by passing headlights as people navigated the construction and traffic cones.

And, surprisingly enough, I actually got a lot done. I find that I can only work on my novel when I can write my thoughts down. The act of writing helps me order them, as if my thoughts were a knot of twine, and writing the ability to use fingers to untangle them. So I sat, and talked myself through the problem areas, devised some new complications, discovered who the real villain is, retro-plotted to establish his role from the get-go, devised a new use for the Miami Arena, and was left with a few unsolved questions at the end of it to worry at next.

But still, productive. After an hour and a half of typing away, I stashed my laptop in my courier bag, resolved to finish the rest of my mocha on the walk home, and headed out into the humid Miami night to walk home. Such, dear and gentle readers, is the life of a writer.