Once a week, I get together with writing friends for a free-write session. We give ourselves ten minutes or so on each chosen topic and write without stopping. Then, unless we’re so mortified by what we came up with that we pass (and this has not yet happened; we’re very brave), we read what we came up with.
Yesterday, the topic was coffee, and the stories were really percolating. Seems we love it or hate it, have childhood stories to explain it, and clothing stains to prove it. The only thing I cannot drink coffee with is pizza.
T.S. Eliot wrote, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” What’s your relationship with coffee? And what does it say about your life?
