Tales From The Coffee Shop

The funny thing about this book is that it came to life while I had COVID . The story was always there—I’d written versions of it a few times over the years. But for whatever reason, the delirium that came with COVID in June made me just delusional enough to believe I could write it, publish it, and make a real book out of it. The problem with COVID, though, was that it also made it nearly impossible to work. And in order to fund this dream, I have to be able to work. That setback put me behind in that department. I was finally starting to get caught up—on finances and on writing—when illness struck again. But this time it didn’t bring the same creative delirium that COVID had. Instead, it brought low blood pressure , which made it impossible to focus, let alone write at a level that met my standards. So everything got put on hold. No money-making, no writing, no Pups and Cups . And now? I’m finally feeling well enough today to sit on my couch and write this blog post. Welcome, every...

I’ve never been a fan of change, yet I find I face it more often than not. No day is ever the same, the seasons shift, and so do we. We learn, we grow, we adapt. If we don’t, we suffocate—and eventually, we die right where we started. Right now, I’m in another season of change. For years, I worked the typical 9–5 grind . I quit that back in March, and I have no desire to go back. Maybe someday the right opportunity will come along, but for now, it’s nowhere in sight. And with that shift came something unexpected: for the first time ever, I had to build a routine. Over the summer, I found one. Start the day at Pups and Cups . Write. DoorDash . Go home. Write some more. But now that routine is changing. Again. School is back in session, which means three kids at three different schools across town. My mornings begin with drop-offs, then Pups and Cups until my husband heads to work. After that, DoorDash until the kids are home at three. Football practice runs until 5:15. Then it’s di...

  There have been a few times during this journey of writing Comatose that I’ve genuinely questioned whether or not my characters are real people. One of the more defining moments came early on, when I was struggling to picture them—how they would talk, how they would interact, how they’d feel in the room with me. I made an intentional choice to sit down at Starbucks (this was before I found my local coffee shop home) and imagine them there with me. Some were easier to picture than others. Merri ? Instantly. I could almost hear his laughter, see the playful teasing, and imagine him poking fun at the way I drink my coffee—but never in a cruel way. That same day, Nico earned one of his signature trademarks that you’ll see in the book. But Elias and Alerix were different. Both powerful. Both handsome—but in completely different ways. The challenge was how to separate them on paper. How would I create two distinct presences, each with the weight they deserved? That’s when I ...

My kids have all been at my parents’ house for the summer—a tradition that started when my oldest (now a senior in high school) was just a year old. Today’s the first day I have them all back, and life shifts gears again. With 28 days left to make the book presentable for beta readers , I’m balancing family time with writing time. School starts in just two days, so we’re soaking up the last bit of summer with McDonald’s today—and maybe the park tomorrow if the smoke clears. One child is laughing with other kids, another is poring over his football playbook for his first season, and Mama is listening closely while writing the story that’s haunted her mind for years. This is how we multi-task. This is how we get things done. One little bit at a time.

  This morning I’m at Pups and Cups enjoying something of a different variety: a Hyperhound, as the owner and employees call it — a wild little combination of energy drink and syrups that somehow creates one of their signature flavors. Normally, I’d have my trusty Butterbeer or Caramel Macchiato. But today, things had to change. I don’t have the luxury of sitting here with a hot cup of coffee until it goes lukewarm — my son has football practice twice a day until school starts next week, which means my two-hour window before my husband’s shift is cut down to just one. Everything will slide back to normal once school starts again, but in the meantime my brain feels scrambled by the change. Funny, isn’t it? This routine hasn’t even been mine for that long, and yet it’s already embedded deep enough that the shift is throwing me off. It’s strange how we latch onto little comforts and let them hold us steady. Things that shouldn’t feel like a big deal — swapping a hot drink for a ...

  Sometimes in life, change sneaks in through the smallest decisions. Like this morning, when I confused the coffee shop owner by ordering a caramel macchiato instead of my usual butterbeer. Or how, for two mornings in a row, I’ve been out the door by eight—only to find my normally buzzing café completely quiet. No background chatter, just the baristas’ voices and the steady click of keys beneath my fingers. I’ll be honest: I’m not the biggest fan of change. But I’ve come to realize it’s necessary. It’s how the best things in life are formed and how we grow into the people we’re meant to be. Change is a kind of metamorphosis—a process of shifting, stretching, and sometimes breaking, all so we can emerge stronger. That’s what Comatose is about. It’s a story of changing, surviving, and adapting. It’s about the messy, painful, beautiful work of becoming. If I hadn’t changed, this book wouldn’t exist. The old me would have written off the idea of ever becoming an author. She was ...

I’m at the coffee shop a few hours earlier today, enjoying my Butterbeer coffee  — the one the owner already had entered into the till before I could get to the counter. My phone is playing music from violinist I found on TikTok  and my book — or at least the parts that I have finished and printed — sits in front of me.  My notebook where my story sits— handwritten with love — rests to the right of me practically screaming to be seen. It’s almost like the notebook itself knows we’re on a time crunch and is urging me to get it together.  I can almost hear it. “ Stupid author. Doesn’t she know we’re on a deadline? What does that blog post have that I don’t that makes it so important?”  And the thing is, I wish I could say that the notebook that holds the story that I’m about to give the world, was the more important of the two, but they’re truth is they’re both equally important. I titled this blog the “ Daily Stories from the Coffee Shop ” not “The Weekly storie...

Welcome to today’s update from the coffee shop. I got here later than I wanted. My schedule tends to revolve around my husband’s, and when he doesn’t start work until 11:30, it throws my whole routine out of whack. To make things even stranger, we’ve got to get our son to the middle school by 5 for his helmet fitting for football. Meanwhile, the countdown is on: 34 days left until this book needs to be finished and in the hands of beta readers. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. But honestly, the nerves have only fueled my tenacity to push forward and get it done. If that means sacrificing sleep tonight to juggle writing, DoorDashing, and football? Then that’s exactly what I’ll do. So what’s the plan today? ✍️ Write as long as I can here at Pups and Cups (🐶 + ☕️) before heading out to DoorDash. 🚗 Dash for about an hour before picking up my son and husband for the parent meeting and helmet fitting. 🏈 Try not to cry during this huge milestone in my son’s life. (One da...

  On a warm, sunny day back in May, life changed.  I had quit my job back in March and picked up DoorDashing to make ends meet, but the truth was, I wasn’t enjoying life. As a mom of three amazing kids—and with a supportive, loving husband who is his own personal hurricane, complete with a hat collection that seems to multiply overnight—I hadn’t had anything that was just mine in years. My car? It looks like three tornadoes tore through it at once.  My house? It’s less of a home and more of a storm front, with the eight-year-old’s toys and the sixteen-year-old’s makeup claiming every room.  And my bedroom? That’s the eye of the storm, where the chaos of family life collides with my husband’s whirlwind ways, and the floor tells its own story. So, I made a decision: I needed to carve out a space that was mine, untouched by the storms swirling around me. That’s when the coffee shop hunt began. I wanted someplace I could slip into each morning, coffee in hand, and just b...