Thursday, March 25, 2010

Writers Groups

Yeah, so I have just finished a short story about dishonesty
- my variety of dishonesty.

Today I get to share it with my writers group...fear and trepidation reign!

I love the two women whose writing I critique and who critique my own, but each time we meet I am reminded that writing is my quiet inner self reaching out to its public! No hiding behind a screen of make up or a new hairdo or some brand new op-shop outfit. The words are on the page! Can't be quickly changed or erased or deleted before anyone reads em.

This writing is therapeutic for lots of reasons, the best of which happens when the author lets fly. When the kite of words lifts above the earth and soars in the breeze - free, but always with the chance that it may not only drift to earth, but plummet suddenly dragging the string attached to my ego through the mud.

So, below I have included the first page of this story - just in case you want to know what kind of 'dishonesty' haunts my psyche.

love you....


It had been a year since the couple shopped in Lone Pine, a small community snuggled below the eastern escarpment of the California Sierra. They had planned to spend a month at their mountain cabin only to find that the bathroom needed some immediate repair.

'You want me to grocery shop while you pick up the plumbing?'

'No. Let's do both together.'

'You don't want me to forget the Baileys?'

'Right,' he grinned.

They entered the hardware store that often functioned as home appliance and camping equipment center, lumber shed, and sundry five-and-dime store as well as the repository of ice, batteries and various accoutrements of household repairs. The aisles resembled some underground critter tunnels, packed from ceiling to floor with goodies of which only the clerks knew the whereabouts.

Standing in the midst of the plumbing aisle, Gena whispered very softly, 'David, Sam is not at the counter. Did you notice? That's a fellow I've never seen before.'

David looked back over his shoulder at the check out corner. With Aussie irony, he chuckled, 'Maybe you got him fired.'

She punched his shoulder – always her reaction when she had no words to respond.