There used to be a time in which I considered myself both an aspiring author, and a bit of a poet. Those days are past now. These days, in spite of my best intentions, I am no more than a dabbler in both of those arts - and a lazy dabbler at that, I am sorry to say. I have done no serious writing since I painfully dragged myself through NaNo in November, but lately, I have been attempting poetry. I have three rather splendid poem ideas knocking about in my mind at present, and over the last few weeks, I have been trying very hard to bring them to life... and, after weeks, and numerous scraps of paper, covered in closely written efforts, all I have accomplished is a single opening stanza for a hopeful poem about the unexpected delight of pussy willows, and a pair of quite decent rhyming lines for the second stanza. There the poem sits, while the other two are still nothing more than ideas, with no single written line to show that they exist. Now, when I try to work on them, I mostly just end up sitting about looking like The Thinker, thusly:
And, instead of being A Poet, I find myself getting distracted by things like a parody of Gollum covering a Taylor Swift song - which of course, means that instead of writing Noble Verse, I go about croaking, "Precioussssss, Preciousssss, Precioussssss!"
And all of that Voice of Gollum stuff makes for a scratchy throat, so then I feel that I need a fancy coffee of some sort. Besides, I rationalise, Coffee Shops are supposed to be prime locations for Poets and Writers.... Except, that I do not like being around peoplesess. They do not minds their own businesses, no Precious. They will asks us what we are writing, and we will have to tells them!!! Coffee shops are out, then, if I intend to get anything accomplished with my versifying. Therefore, being resourceful, I make my own fancy coffee - a lovely Cinnamon Latte. I got that once at a Starbucks, and thought it braw fine, but I've never seen it since. After a period of trying a little of this, and a little that, and have come up with a fair imitation of the drink, - and very simple it is too, so it can be thrown together quite quickly:
Make coffee as usual, but add cinnamon to the grounds.
I like cinnamon, so I put in quite a lot.
While coffee is brewing or steeping, combine a bit of milk
a little vanilla extract, and some brown sugar in a small pot.
Warm over a medium high stove, whisking enthusiastically
with a wire whisk, until it is heated all through, and has
acquired an impressive head of froth.
Pour coffee into your favourite cup. Add milk. The froth will
naturally rise to the top. Sprinkle cinnamon on top if you so desire.
Or chocolate, if you prefer. *NOTE* If you are in possession
of Cinnamon Whisky (as I am, thanks to an impulse buy
at Christmas) this is the drink to use it in. It is lovely.
So, then I sit with my fancy coffee, my paper and pen, and attempt to write... and attempt... and attempt... And then the clock chimes the hour - the clock is 15 minutes fast - and I must be away to work, while my poetry languishes for several more days, until I can turn my mind to it properly again. It is as well that I never decided to make a living this way. I'd be dead.