Monday morning. Weekend’s over. Time to get serious again. Time to write.

My ritual is (after I get my son to school, walk with Kim, and clean up for my cleaning expert Cornelia who comes every so often) I shower, dress, and stop somewhere for a latte. Regrettably, that “somewhere” is most often than not Starbucks. I’ve tried all the lattes in my neighborhood and they make the best.

“A grande nonfat latte, extra foam.”
“Name?”
“Babette.”
When the barista calls my name, she says, Babbit. The one who took my order heard the mispronunciation and says, “Have a good day, Miss,” and I think he’s also shooting me a look that says, “Sorry….”

If the variant form of “Barbara” were actually my name, I would be more delicate, sweeter, maybe even French!

Barbara has 53 variant forms: Bab, Baba, Babara, Babb, Babbett, Babbette, Babbie, Babe, Babett, Babette, Babita, Babs, Baibin, Barabara, Barb, Barbar, Barbarella, Barbarit, Barbarita, Barbeeleen, Barbel, Barbera, Barbette, Barbey, Barbi, Barbie, Barbora, Barbra, Barbro, Barby, Barra, Basha, Basia, Baubie, Bauby, Beba, Bebe, Berbera, Berberia, Berberya, Berbya, Bibi, Bobbe, Bobbee, Bobbi, Bobbie, Bobby, Bonni, Bonnie, Bonny, Borbala, Varvara and Varina.

Hmm… Barbeeleen. I’d have to live in the South to use that one.

Anyway, so then I drive to the library and find a table upstairs, where mostly what I hear is the ventilation system. As quiet as a church.

I turn on the computer. While it’s booting up, I look to my right and see that today I’m sitting beside the fiction stacks. Fiction: DO-ER. Farther to the right: DA-DO. I go to see where my novel will sit. A little above my head, between DelVecchio and Kathleen DeMarco (no relation, not that I know of), above DeLillo.

Now I’m back to it. Done with this blog (thanks for bugging me, Jordan–I think). Time to write.

What were your pre-writing rituals today?