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Tag Archives: macdonalds

coffee

 

I realise that I judge a cafe on the following things – in order:

  1. Free parking
  2. Good wifi
  3. Easy to find a seat
  4. Cheap coffee

Nowhere on that list does ‘good coffee’ appear. Crappy wifi is the deal-breaker. So, I’m in the Metty, Gateshead and here are the Cafes I’ve tried today:

  1. Waterstones. Crap wifi. Left after ten minutes.
  2. Costa. Has good Wifi but there were no decent seats and a massive queue, so I left before I got served.
  3. MaccyDs, got served by Noor in about two minutes, found a seat, great Wifi, but full of loud youth. Got to bail.

If I could get the seating of MaccyDs, and the wifi of Costa, I’d be set. As it is, I’m in M&S. Crap coffee, not cheap, but quiet and good Wifi.

 

 

 

5.30am, Sunday

 

5.30am on a Sunday morning, the sun is out, the place is empty, free wifi, cheap coffee, and I have a couple of hours in which to write and enjoy the day.

I love the smell of Macdonalds in the morning.

the long light

I began working on a project called the gods some time ago but it split into two different things, one a collection of micro stories and the other a longer contemplation on the idea of immortality.

the collection of stories is still called the gods and is on kindle but the longer piece, the long light, was lost in translation. I went back to it a couple of weeks ago to look at the structure, and a thought struck me so I decided to follow that and it looks like it might be working out. The title came to me while I was musing as I stood in the queue in MaccyDs, waiting for my second coffee of the morning.

Lucas is going to create a cover for me for a different project, so I might ask her to do one for this too.

McFlurry

Even MaccyDs and the surrounding retail park looks lovely in the snow. It’s not heavy at the moment, but the wind is snappy and blowing the white stuff around a bit.

telling tales

Writing a story is a strange thing. From a few disparate events, from transient moments or  an overheard name or phrase, I create characters and places and a brand new story which didn’t exist before I created it, and even in the creation is still being created, being moulded, being redrafted, until it reaches something like real.

It’s a leap of faith too: firstly and, to me, most importantly, that it will work. That is will be any good. Secondly that anyone will enjoy reading it.

And there’s a whole level of something approaching arrogance, or maybe blind faith if I want to be a bit charitable. Just the feeling, the inclination that I can do it. That I can make things up, that I can write thousands of words, and that they will work together to create a story.

But mainly writing is something I do because I am compelled to. I get up at five every morning, drive to a nearby MacDonalds, buy myself a coffee, and I write for two hours. I just write.

It’s how I make sense of the world.