I’ll branch out, I said to myself, there are plenty of coffee shops in Portland and it’ll be a shame if I don’t ever visit more than a handful. So I left. I found a coffee shop off of Williams street and I sat down with a steaming cup of joe. I pulled out my computer and got to work, but I couldn’t help but overhear people talking next to me.
They were three authors in town for the recent Wordstock festival that Portland puts up every year. They spoke nonchalantly about their new books that were coming out, and complained in an off-the-cuff way all about their struggles to find an agent who really understands their artistic vision…
They talked about all the other authors they new, about how their friends got started, about how they themselves got started, about who they sent their first manuscripts off to and it all just seemed so impossibly possible. Like, on one given day, just because of whatever reason, it would all just fall in place.
Damn I wanted their life.
At least I know it’s out there… At least I know they drink coffee at the same place as I do.
Well, at least on days I’m feeling adventurous.
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