When I want to feel more like a writer, I have the Antioch University Los Angeles MFA mug I got at graduation; when I crave sunshine, my Matsumoto's mug from Hawaii. There's my British grandma's purple-flowered mug and my "Paris" mug, where they don't drink their café crèmes out of coffee mugs but, missing the feeling of a mug in my hands, I found one in a shop in the Marais—both now graced with hairline cracks. And when my throat is scratchy and my nose is running, like today, a good, solid mug with sweet, minty peppermint tea in it.