Tag: book

COFFEE SHOP TALK-Resolution Time

The holidays are over and I’m back in Coffee Shop. I’ve missed it. The coffee. The newspaper. The morning quiet. Being with people but, at the same time not being with people. The woman at the counter is happy to see me but not enough to give me a free coffee. I take my regular seat and open the newspaper. At first I don’t recognize the man who stops at my table. Not until he removes his toque. it’s Hat Guy. “No one puts Baby in the corner,” he says. And I think: Am I Baby? And am I sitting in a corner? I give him an itsy bitsy teeny-weeny smile. He picks up on my confusion and says, “you know Baby, Dirty Dancing.” I get it. He doesn’t want to sit at the table behind the wall. And I think: You’re not sitting here. You talk took much before nine. He walks around the room looking for someone to chat with. He’s in luck. Muffin Man sits down with his muffin and coffee. Hat Guy heads over to his table. They begin a: resolutions conversation. All about getting out more, doing more, slowing down. And I think: Are they talking about resolutions or goals? Two words that can be easily mixed up. The difference being: A goal has an end point. One either meets it or doesn’t. A Resolution is a long-term promise and usually broken. And how does one do more and slow down at the same time? I don’t know. But I have a whole year to find out.

Sheila Horne at:  https://www.facebook.com/sheilahorneauthor/

Imperfect Perfection

When I’m working on a novel or short story and the words aren’t flowing I don’t see it as an obstacle. For me it’s a time do something different, something out of the ordinary, something wildly creative. It doesn’t have to follow rules or be correct. It is what it is: Imperfect and Perfect at the same time.     


Photo by Sheila Horne


Take a bite, make a list, pretend I’ll complete it. Turn on computer, turn on music,

get into the groove. Check email, open pen, open book, scribble word. Search

for another pen. Write about obstacles, scratch out line, add line, gaze

outside—snowflakes float.


Take a bite, check plant, check window, check paper. Write, about dogs,

about cats, about slippery with bad news rising. Count paper clips.


Take a bite, stand at window. Look south, north, east, west,

shift from foot to foot. Sit down. Write Jasmine blooms: brilliant,

too brilliant, too too brilliant like desire, un-attachment,

aversion, lust, scratch out blooming Jasmine.


Take a bite draw flower add stem and leaves. Scratch out flower.

Write about loves lost, beaches, Beach Babies they called us.

Summer Boys I named them—he laughed. What were their names?

Forgotten—so long ago.  Open holy water, sprinkle, make sign of cross,

visualize. Visualize what? Visualize chakra. Scribble word on new blank

page. Scratch word, scratch head, scratch arm. Write deluded deadline 

on calendar.


Take a bite, move box black and white with polka dots. Climb in-jump out.

Write goals pretend I’ll meet them, meet, meet, meet who? Where? When?

How? Kill adjectives,adverbs, verbs. No. Need verbs. Prepositions maybe.


Take a bite, look at John Lennon framed on the wall. Look at Bob Dylan

framed on the wall. Ask them their thoughts on stifling people at tables

in restaurants. Watch a man shake off winter and tramp through slush searching

for house number nine. Number nine. That’s it—Beatles. Number nine. Dig deep

into my soul, my essence, my being. Write about spades about shovels, about hoes.

The ho reached for the john. The john reached for the ho. No soul. No essence.

No being. No ho. No john.


Take a bite, close pen, close book, shut down mind—Perfection.