Ode to Starbucks

I'm selling and signing copies of Wild Goose Chase at my local Starbucks on Sunday. My publicist made posters and the staff hung them in the lobby. The lobby where I wrote much of my book. The baristas are excited. I love my Starbucks.

I should hate Starbucks. I’m a child of the sixties. I don’t like logos on my clothes. I don't shop at Walmart. I support the local grocery store instead of the fancy, new Safeway. I try to stay away from Costco (It's the 15-pack of my favorite pens that lures me back). I'm not usually in favor of huge corporations that spring up on every street corner. But any company that provides health care for its part-time employees and goes to court to protect its shift supervisors ain't all bad.

I know the arguments against Starbucks. Huge corporation smushes local coffee shops with its behemothness. But wait. Just the opposite happened. More coffee places have opened since Starbucks addicted us all.

The thing is I never drank coffee before Starbucks came to town. While that's not so good for my waistline, I can't be the only one. I see coffee shops everywhere now. Independents, small chains, drive-ins. All of them brimming with life, with conversation, with artists.

Before Starbucks, there was no place I could go plug in my laptop and write. They created a space for people to gather. For years while writing our novels, my friends and I would gather at the Orchard Valley Coffee house, have a brief conversation, then settle down to write, fueled by hot tea and each other's presence. It worked. I recommend it to anyone trying to write.

Starbucks has been good for my neighborhood. I run into old friends and make new ones. I’m still in touch with the baristas that have moved on. They’re proud of me and my book. Proud to have been a small part of it. Proud that it was written in their lobby.

So hail to Starbucks. Meet me in the lobby Sunday afternoon.