I joined a writing group several weeks ago. We meet at a local Barnes & Noble every other week. The group consists of three men and one woman, all of which are at least 15 years older than I am.
They're very serious writers. Most have written several manuscripts and they come to group very serious, wanting to improve their work. That's why I joined. I need some major help and they're very helpful and supportive.
My friend Christie came with me for the first time several weeks ago, got me settled, then took her leave. She's planning to write a book, but hasn't started on it yet--not until June, after some pressing matters are finished.
Last night, as we're all voraciously reading through each other's work, the man next to me pointed at the travel book section facing toward us and said, "Look." Some person had placed an outdoor Kama Sutra book (complete with nude cover) out toward us and had run off giggling. "It was some woman, not a teenager." I glanced up at the book and stifled a laugh. "Looks like she was in her early 20s." I shrugged, "That person could probably use a hobby. Maybe we should see if she wants to pick up writing." I dismissed it, continued reading, wanting to catch up to where the rest of the group is, to participate in the discussion.
At quarter after nine, we broke up to go home when I saw two of my good friends, Christie (who knew my writing group from the first meeting) and Brenda, both of which are in my book club. They're giggling, and running around like kids. I realize immediately who put the Kama Sutra book out for us all to see. Brenda--my wild, fun, cute, crazy friend Brenda, who is actually 32.
I thanked the group for an exhilerating discussion, shaking my head that these serious writers know that it was my friends who were tittering over a Kama Sutra book. Oh, will I ever be mature enough to be a serious writer? Probably not. It's hard to get older, but it's nice to have some friends who keep me young and laughing.
