“What would you recommend if you’re already having a bad day?”
“A curried margarita.”
So began the latest meeting of this writing group. Me drinking alone an hour early before the meeting at an Indian restaurant because it was too much trouble to go home. My chiropractic appointment was unexpectedly canceled. Of course it was since we writers planned to meet.
The first time I attended this writers’ group, I drove through the rain, which transformed into a deluge complete with flash flooding and damn near zero visibility. Worth the effort since we table read my short film screenplay. Not that I’ve polished it up much since then, but the experience brought me closer to the goal.
For my second meeting, we met at an upscale grocery store. I’d never shop there for my weekly provisions. Honestly, any “good for your health and the environment” grocery store is out of my budget. Anyway we’d met to discuss a feminist children’s religious book. Such a rich conversation ensued despite the unconducive ambiance. Plus, a con artist sat amongst us.
She brought her disruptive energy to the mix, which I fought everything within me not to tackle head on. Only my respect for the feminist religious children’s book author/illustrator restrained my verbal parry. I didn’t want to consume her creative feedback time by drilling the Imposter.
For our next meeting, we gathered at a relaxed chic Southern restaurant I’d recommended. Since the noise level inside rivaled a sports arena, we sat outside in triple degree weather. A Bikram yoga hot. The weather app on my phone read 105 degrees, confirming my suspicion. I’d learned years ago when I first moved to Texas that I couldn’t drink alcohol in such heat. Nonetheless we had an enjoyable discussion about one of our member’s poem. Another member brought a box of hats, which inspired our next meeting: to select a hat to write about.
I knew just the hat. A very wide-brimmed one with stuffed cloth bones dancing along the brim and long thin bamboo sticks jutting out the top. I wrote a haunting poem about how the hat evoked evil to the wearer and all who saw it. I wore red and black belly dance pants and a red lacy kerchief over my face. I’d made that costume for a performance at The Austin Writers Roulette and used it as my Halloween costume for that year. It had sat dormant for years until then.
Prior to joining the other members at our table, I talked extensively with one of the food truck staff about what to get. Unfortunately, another dude took my order. I believe the hat razzle-dazzled him into mixing it up. The silver lining: I had enough leftovers to get my money’s worth.
After finishing the last of 156 rough draft paintings for my upcoming “World’s Sexiest Dictionary,” I hopped into my car and sped into the nearest traffic jam en route to the next writers’ meeting. GPS guided me to a toll road. I’m still not sure how I feel about toll roads, but I was hungry for Thai food and anxious to share my paintings.
I transversed town much faster than if I’d taken the free route. That momentary win soured when I arrived in the vicinity of the restaurant but couldn’t find it. I parked and stomped around on foot. When I still couldn’t find the restaurant, I called the member who’d recommended it. I described all the other stores I saw, but none of that rang a bell for her. She exited the restaurant and into the shared parking lot. We saw one another after a few minutes. I took a few deep yogic breaths as I made my way to the restaurant with the understated signage.
At least the libations hit the spot and since no other member had brought anything to discuss, I had a captive audience to show my illustrations to, complete with reading the definitions and example sentences. What the experience lead me to believe was that I needed to revamp the sentences. I’d originally wanted to keep them short and sweet, but since I’m essentially telling a one-sentence story, the more descriptive ones received a better reaction. The nude illustrations didn’t hurt either.
By virtue of all experiences, good and bad, becoming writing fodder, my creative contribution to this latest meeting was documenting all the sideways shit that happens when I’m meeting these women writers. I’m sure I only see a pattern because these are the times I’m meeting with them. Bad shit happens all the time. I just don’t have a unifying activity to recall them and string them together.