Arabica was my first. It’s closed now, but in the first five months that I lived in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, the smoky coffee shop on the south side of Euclid Heights Boulevard near Coventry Road hardwired coffee and writing in my brain. Before Arabica, Pepsi and—until I quit my three-pack-a-day habit—Marlboros were my writing fuels of choice.

The shift was practical. I lived in a one-bedroom apartment across the street from Arabica—pronounced by locals as ara-BEE-ca—while I freelanced and looked for a job as an editor. I could get up in the morning, take a dozen steps and sit down at my desk to write. Or not. The not was the problem. Instead of writing there was breakfast. And the paper. And Morning Edition on NPR. And the dishes. And laundry. And..., well, writers understand. I needed to leave for work. It was a head game, but a good one. My alarm went off, I got up. I showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed suitably for public viewing, grabbed the newspaper from the table in the foyer and walked across the street. At Arabica I ordered a black coffee and a raisin-buttermilk scone. I’d sit down at one of the tables near the front windows, eat, read the paper and then at 8:55 walk back across the street to not re-enter my apartment, but to step into my office.

This madness still serves. Now, with laptop on my back, coffee shops are the office. My muse picks the place depending upon her mood. Some days Calliope craves The Stone Oven, a former bank building that’s airy and open with sidewalk tables and the best pastries in town. Other days (and nights) she demands Phoenix Coffee, a darker, artier space with jazz playing in the background on Lee Road or its evil twin on West 25th Street where we enter an altered-state at 3 a.m. [Sadly, although the coffee shop is still there, it no longer stays open all night.] If she’s up for a sharper edge, I take her to Cyber Pete’s in Bedford where Pete loads the mug with so many shots of espresso that she wants to don cheap sunglasses, sit in the dark with the brightness cranked and make the keys blur.

Calliope and I have hit most of the coffee shops in the county over the years—our one prejudice is we don’t go to places where they expect you to use words like grande when ordering—and are always watching for new venues. For a long time it was Caribou, Arabica’s heir on Coventry where the refills are free was the place where they knew my name.

These days, however, it’s the new Arabica—at 2206 Lee Road, just south and across the street from the Cedar-Lee Theater—where some of my friends think I spend way too much time. The owner has put together a package that is the best in Cleveland. Wonderful baristas, great coffee, free Internet wireless and a fireplace to circle around all make writing and coffee almost seamless. Add to that the fantastic pastry and food and it’s a bit of paradise.

When you stop in, tell them Jeff sent you (although I can’t promise anything more than a smile in response) and please be sure to say hello: I’m easy to spot, just look for the Have Coffee Will Write logo on the back of my laptop.