<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When I began working solely as a freelance writer, in February of 2002, my biggest fear wasn't finding work—it was a fear of too much solitude. I'm a classic extrovert. I honestly enjoy some good, regular time alone, but all of my best ideas and problem solving and wound-licking and energy come out of interactions with others. So...freelancing. Not the best choice for someone like me. But the freedom and flexibility, and being able to do what I love even in East Central Illinois, were too attractive to not give it a go.</span>

Cafes with wireless Internet access have saved me. I often begin my day working at the dining room table or on the porch, but eventually that run of focus and energy begins to fade, and I pack up for a cafe. I like the activity. I like seeing people I know, and having the little "water cooler" moments I'm not getting in an office. I like watching the other characters who are drawn to cafes, and tracking the narratives they unknowingly spin. I like that at the cafe there are no dishes to put away or laundry to fold—my computer needs to be babysat, so I'm in essence chained to it (and my work). The easy supply of caffeine is another good thing.

Right now I'm sitting in Caffe Paradiso. It's just a four-block walk from our house, and is my favorite cafe. All of the bread and pastries are from Mirabelle, a wonderful French bakery in town, and all the soups are made from scratch. The space is large and open, with an old pressed tin ceiling, lots of natural light, and a hodge-podge of random tables and chairs (some of them <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> bad) are scattered about. The music played is far from generic and predictable.

That pretty much describes the crowd here, too—far from generic and predictable. If I was writing fiction, this is where I would come to be inspired to develop characters and their stories. Plenty of expected things happen here—studying, dissertation writing, lunch eating, and newspaper reading—but there are many interactions and conversations that I catch just enough of to be astounded. (As Ellen and I like to say, while sitting in the cafe, "This place is full of freaks." Ahem. Case in point, some might argue.)

Here's a good cafe story I can tell in detail because I was actually a character. Awhile back I agreed, as a favor to a friend, to meet with someone he knows who was new in town and needed some "professional networking opportunities" (ie: he was looking for a job). This guy, Todd, and I exchanged some emails and agreed on a time to meet at Caffe Paradiso. In the final email I described myself so he could identify me: Longish dark hair, dark-framed glasses, and working on a Powerbook.

So Todd enters the cafe through a doorway out of my vision, gets a coffee, and approaches the first person he happens to see who is a 30-something year old woman with dark hair, dark-framed glasses and a Powerbook. "Are you Kristin?" he asks. "Yes," she says, so he sits down, saying something like, "It's good to meet you. I don't even know exactly what kind of writing you do."

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This Kristin, looking confused but not wanting to be rude, says something like "I'm a PhD student, so I'm just writing my dissertation, but I hope to turn it into a book." They chat a bit more, but it's incredibly awkward. She soon makes up an excuse, packs her stuff and leaves. Todd is left thinking, "That was really strange."

Shortly after that I notice him because he's sitting alone without books to study or a computer or anything, and I wonder if he's Todd. I think it's odd he hasn't approached me, but I walk up to him and ask "Are you Todd? I'm Kristin. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He turns pale and says, "The strangest thing just happened to me," and proceeds to tell me about the <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> Kristin.

The whole set of circumstances leaves me amazed at how bizarre real life is. Somehow I quite regularly find myself in situations that seem too coincidental to be real, or with people who come across as too caricatured to be taken seriously, or in conversations where the people involved are so "on"—so witty, insightful, and quick—that you think "there must be a script for this scene somewhere."

The incident with Todd left me feeling like I was in a scene from a movie, but if this <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> a scene in a movie it would seem so contrived. Funny how that works. Life is, indeed, stranger (and more wonderful) than fiction.