"The grizzled writer (place yourself in this paragraph) wakes to the smell of fresh, strong brewed coffee wafting through the air from a steaming, old-fashioned percolator atop the ancient gas stove. Just the mere thought of that first sip is enough to force calloused feet into slippers/sandals/old deck shoes. Pulling on the tattered sweatshirt/sweater/shawl and jeans/chinos/kakhis, the author finally begins his/her morning trek, moving slowly yet deliberately across the well-worn hardwood toward the familiar kitchen.
The immediate objective is to retrieve the large, heavy, up-side-down mug---rinsed out, never washed---from the drain board between the chipped porcelain sink and stove. Not until the coffee is poured, the brew properly concocted to taste, the aroma fully savored and the first, stimulating sip has meandered past waiting taste buds en route to its target somewhere between heart and soul, does the author acknowledge the day to no one in particular. Then and only then can even the thought of this day's writing begin.
On the dark wooden desk an old manual typewriter waits for the imprint of leathery finger tips ready to attack. Looking through the open French doors and beyond the porch, the author scans the approaching tide for inspiration, waves providing a steady but variable rhythm punctuated by the call of sea birds searching for weak or unfortunate links in the food chain.
All is right with the world. Let the writing begin."
Hello.... Earth to Earth-like planet. Good luck with that. Reality check to follow....