I was too intimidated to return to Starbucks. I didn’t want to risk being shown up by the lady from yesterday.
Instead, I went to an independent coffeehouse. I was hoping that a nice cup of tea would set the scene nicely, but I got so distracted and frustrated trying to figure out how to work the complicated little teapot/press/juicer/whatever-it-is they gave me that I never got around to pretending to write. I didn’t pretend to write a single damned word.
Am now officially suffering from writer’s block. But is it preventing me from actually writing my National Terrible Unfinished Novel-Writing Month novel, or is it only preventing me from pretending to write my National Terrible Unfinished Novel-Writing Month novel in coffeeshops?
My head really hurts.
Day 6. Words written: 0.