Dispatches From The Cafe: Writing A Book in Brooklyn
Like many denizens of our prolific borough, I wrote much of my novel in neighborhood coffee shops. Every single day for about a year, I turned to a handful of establishments within a three-block radius of my apartment in Prospect Heights for shelter and a desk—not to mention the aroma of steamed milk, the voices of others blending into the gentle hiss and clatter, and, of course, countless cups of coffee that fueled me as another world slowly emerged from the screen of my laptop.
Those were the good days. Sometimes, I’d prowl a different spot each day of the week, feeling like Goldilocks: too hot, too cold, too noisy, too quiet, too much smiling and small talk, not enough. I realize, of course, that this said more about me, the cranky scribe, than it did about any particular establishment. Still, toward the end of that year, the bad days became more and more frequent, until I finally set up shop in the one place where they couldn’t be blamed on anyone else: my apartment. That’s where I’ve been writing for the last couple years; that’s where I’m writing this blog post.
I miss those neighborhood coffee shops, though I’m sure they’re hugely relieved to have one less customer taking up a table, tapping into their electricity, typing and daydreaming, and asking for refills of tap water, usually having purchased only a single Americano (topped with free milk until it approximated a lukewarm latte). I’ve listed them below; I still feel a slight pang that I omitted them from my acknowledgments.
Muddy Waters (669 Vanderbilt Avenue; now closed): The coffee here was unmemorable and the staff seemed to swing between unctuous and hostile, but the place was bright and airy, and there were always plenty of free tables (which I suppose goes a long way toward explaining the closing). Also, my husband and I once spotted the actor Jeffrey Wright here, so it has a place in our history.
Prospect Perk Café (183 Sterling Place): This is a tiny, quaint, adorable place, with one major limitation: no restroom. Any writing day here had to be very, very abbreviated. Still, I never pass by without gazing inside wistfully.
Joyce Bakeshop (646 Vanderbilt Avenue): This is a neighborhood gem where the coffee and service are exemplary, the setting is spacious yet cozy, and the baked goods are extraordinary. For days on end, Joyce was my work place of choice, even after they blocked their electrical outlets. Then the place was discovered by every stroller-pushing parent in the vicinity. I invested in noise-canceling headphones, but at certain hours of the day, cupcake-wielding toddlers seemed to be wriggling beneath my table and popping up between my legs. After a few days spent glaring at them, I came to my senses. Those kids and their respite-seeking parents deserve Joyce more than any misanthropic, freeloading writer.
Heights Coffee Lounge (335 Flatbush Avenue): The coffee was okay, the sandwiches were expensive, and the cupcakes sometimes seemed just slightly fresher than a Twinkie, but the Heights had a great neighborhood vibe, bustling and inviting. The regulars never seemed to mind sitting close, taking turns plugging into the outlets, and stepping over one another’s cords. In fact, one guy used to scroll through Craigslist ads for “No strings attached” meet-ups in such a relaxed manner that I gleaned a pretty good sense of his sexual proclivities. Hello, new idea for my next novel.
Where do you like to write? Leave suggestions in the comments section below.
Deanna Fei will be reading from A Thread of Sky this coming Monday, July 12, 2010 at the Franklin Park Reading Series. Details in The Read.
