In which our heroine impersonates a real writer

Sat at the computer this morning for two hours and produced less than one sentence. Shiny distractions abounded, including IMing with jpsorrow and a phone call from my brother, who has just acquired a large high def TV/home theater system and needed to share his excitement.

Have now resorted to that most writerly of cliches--taking laptop to the Cybercafe. Sitting in the Sunshine room, surrounded by a half-dozen other creative types, all eagerly typing away. We'll see if this helps.

In which our heroine impersonates a real writer - update

Indeed, relocating to the Cybercafe resulted in 1,250 words in just over an hour.

And yes, it was a fairly angsty scene, which concluded with the phrase and she knew that he had betrayed her.

Really, angst seems to be the appropriate genre for writing in the Cybercafe. I was trying my best to blend in--

Wearing black? Check.
Thrift store fashion sense? Well I did purchase these clothes new, but they're old enough to qualify for fashion store donations, so I give myself partial credit.
Sipping exotic beverage while typing? I started with a pint of Arrogant Bastard and then moved on to plain coffee. But for all my compatriots in the Sunshine room know it might have been a frou-frou latte concoction, so my disguise is intact.
Eyes intent on keyboard, ignoring all distractions? Check.
Writing angst, bad poetry, and/or diatribes on my blog? Check and check!