You and I Meet in a Cosy Cafe

I think I have writer's block.

Read this and let’s pretend like I’ve just ordered a cup of tea and have plonked on an armchair in some cosy cafe.

It can be raining outside, if you like.

Maybe there’s a warm glow of streetlamps coming in through the steamed-up windows. Some leaves might wander in with the autumn wind, trailing a long coat of a customer. And as the door opens you catch the breath of cars passing through wet streets, the noise mingling with the record that’s on rotation.

I’m talking to you:

So. I have a problem.

I have not wanted to write since… like, July.

And I don’t really wanna tell you why? Like, I could go back and psychoanalyse myself and my life in the last few months and give you a good list of reasons why I can’t write. I mean, this summer was a lot, was it a lot for you, too? But anyway. I will say this:

I just don’t want to write.

I don’t want to write emails.

I don’t want to write texts or replies.

I don’t want to write poems or notes or internet posts.

I will not write words in a car. I will not write words in a bar. I will not write them on a wall. I will not write them on… a ball. Whatever.

It’s Dr. Seuss-level avoidance, here.

At this point my tea arrives and I thank the barista. It’s served in a speckled ceramic mug and matching teapot. I take the lid off the teapot and check the colour of the water inside. Still needs a few minutes to brew. Back to our conversation:

But there is a good thing happening. There is one thing I do want to write, and that’s songs. And I am pretty excited about the songs that I’m writing.

I have a notebook filling up with stuff. And initially I had a vision of sharing everything with you as I went through the process of writing this second album. I was gonna bring you along on the journey! And I do really want you to know all about it.

But then I realised something.

At this point the wind flutters in as another customer comes in from the darkening afternoon, scarf round their neck. They pull the wool down from their chin and ask for a cappuccino to go. One of the baristas is standing at the side of the counter with a cluster of tealights they’re illuminating with a long lighter. Click, click, click.

I pour my tea.

I’m having fun. And I don’t want you to know about it. …Is that bad?

I know when I was writing my last album I was sharing all these demos and ideas and it really made the process so exciting.

I don’t know why it feels different this time round. I literally have ideas overflowing and a really solid concept and plan about what I want to make and I promise I will share all of this with you but right now, it feels special. And part of me feels like, if I don’t want to write about my album or songwriting, then what can I write about? I mean, what do you think I should write about?

I know, I know. I should write about whatever I want to write about. It’s not that deep. I don’t know, I think there’s something about being too aware that you’re being perceived? And then you start to anticipate what people might want?

I feel like I’m a bit stuck there, right now.

The tea swirls, some loose leaves which slipped through the strainer dance in the honey-coloured water. We shrug at each other and you crack open your book, using this time to get on with some reading for that thing you’re working on. I sip my tea and people-watch a bit longer. Reaching into my bag, I bring out a beat-up moleskine and sit with it open on my lap, like I’m trying to catch a small animal. Very still. Very patient.

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Be good,

Olivia 🌈✨🏔🎶