It's about the romance, I suppose. The image of a scarf-wrapped bohemian, sitting in the window of a small coffee shop with papers, laptop and cups of loose-leaf tea in from of them. There's a draw to the 'look at me, I'm creating' type lifestyle.
And of course, if you are infected by the disease of words there is nothing you can do but write. Because if you don't, if you keep your fingers still, the words will vomit themselves up all over your life. You'll have words in between you and your lover in bed at night and words teetering in corners, threatening to bury children scurrying about like little mice. Pasternak knew...there is no life without words. So life must be words.
So keep writing, you young Starbuck's stargazers. Continue tapping and draining those cups, you dreamy Dunkin' dwellers. The world has made a beautiful space for you to refine your art.