If I could, I would open an indie bookstore. I want it to be arranged with quiet bookshelves and reading room, red and gold palate, with a coffee counter and lounge area. I’d want a place to host book clubs, creative writing events, workshops, and author signings. I’d want local artists’ art displayed on the wall or on top of the bookshelves. Hardwood floors (or waterproof look-alike). Patio. Fresh flowers beside the resister. A candle burning, or one of those oil-puffers, something to make the air smell like a fancy boutique.
We’d have open mic night where anyone can come in and read something they’d written, poetry, essay, whatever. We’d have book review and a subtly sexy blog.
Oh, that’s a good description for my bookshop/coffee counter: subtly sexy, relaxed, graceful, calm, and elegant. With a lean toward the steampunk/goth side, but not too far, no spiked chokers for me. I want it too feel like a room from Hogwarts, without the fire hazard of a fireplace. (Dry books + fireplace = nope).
Of course, I’d need to take a few courses in Business and maybe Accounting before I’d want to run a small business. I’d need to learn about contracts and legal mumbo-jumbo. Taxes. Boo.
I’d also like to run my own independent press. I could edit while running a store/counter, and the books I help publish would be on our shelves, along with others. I’d do a ‘drop box’ type deal where readers can up-vote good authors and down-vote bad authors, so the better books rise to the top. It would be like a voting box with pieces of colored paper to write down author names and book titles.
We could have drink specials…like Frappe Friday…Mocha Monday…Whipped Cream Wednesday. Earl Grey Tuesday.
I couldn’t have an establishment like this where I’m living now. There’s not enough demand for it, or people. I’d have to live in a city. And, that would replace the dream of working from a home in the woods, editing and writing while wearing pajamas, loyal hound at my feet, classical playing, coffee brewing.
Who knows where I’ll be in ten or twenty years. I might be dead, although I’d rather not. Unless the world sucks and I’m not able to write, then yes, that’d be the better option. (#5: Optimism.)