It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. I know. I had just come out of bed, I was still trying to figure out my mood. It was morning. That, I can rest assured. For I was craving coffee, and it looked outside my window that a season of darkness was turning into a season of light. You know what I mean.
It was coffee time with a spring of hope. For a good day. I love this. So poetic. But yea, with a bit of winter of despair. Whatever that meant for that moment. I was going direct to heaven, with a coffee cup in my hands. But first I was going direct the other way. Stop judging me. Still sleepy. I was waiting for the coffee maker to beep and tell me my elixir was ready. In short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of the noisiest things insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlat— it beeped! I can finally drink my coffee in peace now.
I poured the hot coffee on the same cup of every other day, knowing it would be in a photograph a few minutes later, imprinted on the fixed column of a social media application. Possibly ignored by some idle scrolling of other sleepy people in the world. It will not be the same coffee, however, it was going to be a new one that I’d pour just for the later shot. I wondered if people think that I never wash that piece of rounded glass. I do. Sometimes. After accumulating four of them on my desk in the library of my humble abode. If you want to know.
I put two spoons of sugar on the steaming hot coffee. I don’t care if it ruins the brew. It is clearer than crystal to me that I need sugar in my coffee in the morning, and that’s settled for ever. I stirred it with a coffee spoon that I landed back on the table, letting a remaining drop of coffee drench a little spot on the placemat to find the wood and stain it perchance.
I slurped the coffee with a noisy sound, breaking the silence of the morning. In a way, it would disgust the people who never understood that slurping coffee is not gross, but a matter of avoiding the hot liquid to burn the gustatory cells of my taste buds forever. Apropos, I dare you to answer this ultimate question, Would you avoid something for being gross for a few people in detriment of your ability to taste food or feeling the tip of your tongue reaching your palate? I don’t think so.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in my mind and close upon that dear morning. These two of the largest cups of coffee I’ve had stirred enough, and carried by my hands along the rooms that lay before me, and… I lost my train of thought here, so I’m going to wrap it up by taking the picture to illustrate my words and leave you to your day.
Before you go, don’t ask me why I woke up with this Dickensian mood and caring about the judgment of others of my daily habits. I just want to suggest a few things to improve your creative work today:
- Read A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.
- But read it with critical eyes exploring the language, the words, the rhythm, and the whole story and its beautiful analogies.
- Find something mundane to write about, like having coffee in the morning.
- But write it in the style of a great author that you can mimic and learn from them as an exercise.
- Have fun with that writing by making it your own and breaking the style here and there.
Oh, and, by the way, have you ever mimicked or copied the style of an author to study writing? I can tell you, that’s so useful. If you did, who did you use? And how was your experience?