There’s an unwritten code among writers who work from coffee shops. No one hands it to you when you buy your first overpriced latte. You just sort of learn it through trial and error—like when you occupy a four-person table with all your shit. I definitely do this more than I should.

Or when you leave your laptop unattended while you take a twenty-minute shit.

Or when you pretend to write while spending forty-five minutes reorganizing your folders in whatever app you decided to write in that day.

I’ve spent hundreds of hours writing in coffee shops. Poems. Essays. Plans. Standard Operating Procedures. Policies. Entire career pivots. Some of my best work has happened with headphones on, a sugary caramel latte beside me, and the uncomfortable hum of strangers living their lives around me.

Or trying to, anyway.

But if you’re going to treat a coffee shop as your temporary office, there are a few rules worth following. Nothing complicated. Just basic courtesy. And a little common sense.

Rule #1: Buy Something, You Freeloader

If you plan to occupy a table for three or four hours, buy more than a small drip coffee and call it even. You don’t need to refinance your house to support the café, but you should contribute.

At minimum, buy a drink. Get a refill if one is available. Maybe even grab a pastry or lunch if you’re staying awhile—or just because you’re a fatass, like me.

Think of it as paying rent for your creative sanctuary.

The baristas are not sponsoring your novel.

Rule #2: Create Your Writing Bubble—Without Being a Dick

I’m going to confess something: I tend to spread out more than I probably need to. Not because I think I own the place, but because I deal with social anxiety, and creating a little physical buffer helps me focus.

A notebook here. Coffee there. Bag on the chair next to me. It creates a small bubble, and sometimes that bubble is the difference between feeling exposed and feeling safe enough to write.

So no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking up a bit more space if it helps you settle in and do the work. Just use common sense. If the café is mostly empty, spread out all you want. Build your little writer cave. But if every table is full and someone is walking around looking for a seat, it might be time to pull your shit together and make room.

The rule isn’t “take up as little space as possible.”

The rule is “be aware of the people around you.”

There’s a big difference.

Rule #3: The Restroom Rule (A.K.A. The laptop dilemma)

I hate carrying my laptop into the bathroom. It feels wrong. Not morally wrong. Just deeply uncomfortable. Like bringing your office into a place where no office should ever go.

So here’s what I usually do: I put my laptop in my backpack, zip it up, and leave the bag at my seat while I make a quick bathroom run. And yes, I think that is generally acceptable.

A zipped backpack is less obvious than a laptop sitting openly on the table. It’s harder for someone to grab casually. It also makes it clear that the seat is occupied. Most people aren’t looking to steal your bag, and most coffee shops are full of people who are minding their own business and trying to finish their own work.

But there’s a limit.

If you’re stepping away for five minutes to use the restroom, you’re fine. If you’re ordering lunch, taking a phone call, and wandering around the block, pack up your shit. There’s a difference between a bathroom break and abandoning camp.

If you’re especially anxious, take the essentials with you: your wallet, your phone, and your keys. That way, even if the worst happens, the most important things are still with you.

And trust your gut. If the environment feels sketchy, don’t risk it. Pack up and take everything. Your peace of mind is worth more than avoiding a slightly awkward walk to the restroom.

If you’re a regular and you’ve built rapport with the staff, you can also ask, “Hey, I’m running to the restroom. Mind keeping an eye on my stuff?” Most people are happy to help if you’re polite and not weird about it.

For what it’s worth, I keep an Apple AirTag in my backpack, and both my MacBook and iPad are connected to Find My. So if someone decides to walk off with my bag, they should know two things:

I can track them.

And this is Texas, where “fuck around and find out” is less of a saying and more of a statewide personality trait.

Kidding.

Mostly.

But seriously, having an AirTag and device tracking gives me enough peace of mind to make a quick restroom trip without feeling like I’m abandoning my firstborn. And if you work remotely with expensive gear, it’s one of the easiest ways to lower your anxiety.

Rule #4: Choose the Right Coffee Shop

Not every coffee shop is writer-friendly. Some are perfect. Some are loud enough to make you question every decision that led you there.

The right coffee shop gives you enough comfort to settle in without making you feel like you’re slowly becoming a problem.

You want enough seating that you don’t feel like a squatter. You want reliable Wi-Fi, even if you swear you’re “writing offline,” because we both know you’re going to Google one oddly specific fact and somehow end up researching chair ergonomics for forty minutes.

You want moderate noise. A gentle buzz of conversation is ideal. A toddler birthday party is not.

Comfortable chairs help too, because artistically suffering does not require lumbar damage. And most importantly, you want staff who don’t make you feel like a criminal for opening your laptop.

You can usually tell within five minutes whether a place welcomes remote workers. Bonus points for natural light, good coffee, nearby parking, and bookstores within walking distance.

Basically, you’re looking for a place where you can stay awhile, do your work, and not feel like you’re overstaying an invisible welcome.

Rule #5: Find Your Spot

Seat selection matters. The right spot can make you feel focused, settled, and invisible in the best way.

My ideal setup is simple: wall behind me, view of the room, and far enough from the crowd that I don’t feel like someone is reading over my shoulder. Maybe that’s anxiety. Maybe that’s instinct. Either way, it helps.

If I can get natural light too, even better. There’s something about sitting near a window that makes the whole writing session feel a little less miserable.

The best seat is the one that lets you stop thinking about where you are and start focusing on what you came there to do.

Find that seat, and you’ve found your writing office.

At least for the day.

Rule #6: Become a Regular

Every writer should have a place. A home away from home. A place where the baristas recognize you, where they know your order, where you know which table gets the best morning light.

There’s something powerful about returning to the same place to do your work. Over time, the environment itself becomes a cue.

Sit down. Open whatever you write in. Get to work.

Your brain learns: “This is where we write.”

And that matters, because inspiration is unreliable.

Routine is not.

Rule #7: Don’t Wait to Feel Like Writing

This is the real reason coffee shops matter. They create structure.

When home is distracting, noisy, or emotionally chaotic, leaving the house can be the difference between dreaming about writing and actually doing it. Sometimes the hardest part is simply getting out the door.

Once you arrive, order your coffee, and open your notebook, laptop, or whatever your tool of choice is, the resistance starts to loosen. As Steven Pressfield would say, the work begins when you show up.

Not when you feel inspired.

Not when the mood is right.

Not when Mercury exits retrograde.

When you sit your ass down and start.

Rule #8: Don’t Be a Pretentious Asshole

This may be the most important rule: you are not more important because you are writing.

The student studying for finals is working just as hard. The freelancer answering emails is trying to make a living. The barista is managing a rush while remembering your absurdly specific drink order.

Writing is sacred.

But it does not make you special.

The work will humble you soon enough.

Final Thoughts

Coffee shops aren’t necessarily my refuge. If I’m being honest, I probably do my best thinking in complete isolation—parked under a tree somewhere, alone with my thoughts, my notebook, my laptop, and whatever existential crisis I’m currently trying to turn into art.

I know. I’m a little weird like that.

But coffee shops do something important for me. They ground me. They give me perspective. And when I find the right one, they offer a kind of relief. A quiet reminder that there are other ways to spend your day besides sitting in an office, staring at a screen, contemplating your entire life, and wondering why the fuck you chose that career path. Or lack of one.

There’s something strangely comforting about being surrounded by strangers who are all focused on their own lives while you focus on yours. You’re alone, but not isolated. Distracted, but somehow more centered. Working in public while doing deeply personal work.

And while coffee shops may not feel like a refuge to me, they absolutely can be one for other writers. A place to think. A place to breathe. A place to show up and do the work.

So find your spot. Buy the coffee. Respect the space. And stop waiting for perfect conditions.

Whether it’s a bustling café, a quiet library, or the front seat of your car in some random park parking lot, the important thing is that you show up.

Because your book, your poems, and the life you want to build are not going to write themselves.

I read a poem.
It sounded like you.
I wanted to send it—
but we’re not speaking.
I thought about posting it,
but who’s to say you’d even see it?
I’d spend every minute
checking views,
wondering if you ever
search for me
like I do you.
I read a poem.
It was you.
But instead of sending it
nowhere—
I wrote this.

there’s four walls
and we’re miles away.

Discomfort settles
the moment I walk in.

How did it become this?
It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Three months tops—
that’s what we said.

But we were foolish.
Immature.
Blind to the slow leak
happening right in front of us.

Bad decisions stacked quietly.
Impulse took the driver’s seat
and we just sat there
watching the wreck happen in real time.

We became passengers
in our own lives—
characters in someone else’s story
when we used to be the authors.

there’s four walls
and miles of disconnect
between you and me.

We both feel it—
the discomfort,
the resentment.

Frustrated with each other.
With ourselves.
With everyone else.

I hate walking in
and seeing his face.
Same chair.
Same blank stare.

I dread when she’s home.
Always something sharp
waiting in her mouth.

There’s four walls
made of despair,
criticism,
gossip,
intrusion,
and the kind of silence
that never feels peaceful.

There’s four walls
and I don’t want
to be inside them anymore.

My leadership was doubted.
My kindness was taken for weakness.
My integrity was mistaken for inexperience.

All because I refused to do what I knew was wrong.

I would not fire a man for being robbed. A man who had broken no laws, no rules, who simply had misfortune fall upon him.

But my refusal became their reason.
And leadership chose to believe assumptions, whispers, and half-truths instead of the evidence of years of dedication.

A man who had been absent for six years returned, spent a week in town, and in only a few hours decided I was unfit to lead the operation I had built, nurtured, and carried forward.

They may have thought they hurt me.
But all they did was fulfill what was already written.

At the beginning of that year, I had whispered to myself: This will be the year I leave.
And God heard me.
They only moved the plan into motion.

Now I stand in a new space.
A position of greater power, responsibility, and voice.
I lead more people. I carry more weight.
And I do it without fear of their doubt.

Because I am twice the leader I was.
Twice the leader they will ever be.

And I will never apologize
for leading with integrity.

You think you’re not worthy of my love
because you have hurt me.
And that is true—
but I have also hurt you.

Still, you’ve chosen to change,
to become a better version of yourself—
not just for me,
but for you.

Yes, you still stumble,
but so do I.
That doesn’t erase
the beauty in you.

What you can’t see is this:
I forgave you.
And when I say you complete me,
it’s nothing less than truth—
because you do.

You think you are an obstacle in my life,
but you are the reason
I sleep soundly at night.
You think you add no value to my world,
but I can’t imagine a life
where my soul isn’t bound to yours.

You are my soulmate.
Despite what’s past,
you are my better half.

You complete me in every way.
For no one is fully alive
until they are joined
with their soulmate.

I heard a scream…

My heart raced.
Ears ringing,
eyes unfocused.

I heard a scream…

My mind in chaos,
unable to hold a thought.

Then you placed an arm around me—

my heartbeat slowed,
the noise faded,
I closed my eyes.

I heard a scream…

but this time
my mind was calm,
reality sharpened.

I heard a scream—

that’s how it feels,
the cycle of panic.

I felt inspired, so I wrote.
I wrote about love.
I wrote about pain.
I wrote about everything
That wandered into my brain.

I told myself I wasn’t any good.
I asked myself, why do this anyway?
Then I closed the page
And went on with my day.

I picked up a book,
Started reading again.
I felt inspired, so I wrote.
No thoughts, no plan—
But I did it anyway.

This time, I didn’t question myself.
I just said—
I do it because I can.
I do it because I want to.
Maybe I’m no good.
Maybe it won’t stay.
But if it makes me happy…

I’ll do it anyway.