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Posted by on April 20, 2017

Titles need to reach out and grab you.

Image result for coffee and writers

Either they need to be jazzed-cool enough so you feel awkward if you don’t read after them.  Or they need to be so pointed, even edgy, that they sink puppy teeth into your thoughts.

You’re still reading, so this one must be just weird enough that it works.

I always have a notebook handy.  Not just any notebook, either.  I use steno books with oversized wire bindings so a pen will easily slide into them and clip there.  A blank notebook without a pen is criminal.  Finding one a third full of a writer’s mental rabbit trails and muggings of brief clarity and insight minus a ready pen is an unfathomable pinheadery.

Introversion often courts perfectionism.  That’s a challenge, like ordering someone else’s two-year-old around.

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An idea struck.  I reached for the nearest pad, and to my horror I saw that the top page, though blank, was creased.  Folded.  Spindled and mutilated.  And diagonally!

  • “You can’t possibly hope to form anything trenchant on creased paper.  Graceless and boorish.  One cannot create on a tarnished, sullied page.  Tear it out.”

A few of you are smiling, recognizing 2, the second of my writer’s imaginary personalities.  Every writer has them; don’t let them kid you.  Mine happen to be well-developed enough that I sometimes include them as I write.  Now you’ll need to start reading in the 2nd Cup archives to find them.  That’s a good thing.  I don’t write junk.

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Were I to allow him and 1 to indulge in their normal spirited arguing, my first abrupt, rude, unpolished writing personality would be strenuous in his point:  A blank page beckons.  Creased or smudged, it cries out for ink, for it’s real and unpretentious, like a favorite pair of old socks.  Real words.  Honest thoughts.

Upon further review, how can I not respond?   I’ve an affinity with that page.

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I, too, am creased.  Scarred.  I don’t write from pristine, snowy, showy places.  My soul is seamed and scraped from life as it’s really lived.  I write from the creased and bruising paths I’ve walked.  I’m a survivor, an overcomer.  It’s my hope and desire that these posts, from which books will one day derive, will speak to you—touching your heart.  Connecting with your spirit.

The goal?  It’s the same as when we first shared our 2nd Cup of Coffee all those years ago:  to lift, encourage, edify and challenge each reader to personal and spiritual excellence.

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Here’s to all the other creased pages out there.  Smooth it out and keep creating everything God has opened before you.  And thanks for letting me assist you.

Ed. note:  I’m having some issues with accessing my WordPress email,  Until I get it straightened out, you can contact me at  Thanks, everyone.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017





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