Cape Cod Weather today: Sunny. Beautiful. Period.
I joined a new writing group this fall, and finally made it to a meeting last night. I met the six other women and the group facilitator, and introduced myself. We joked about politics, and touched briefly on the economy, both subjects too nerve-wracking at the moment for anyone to want to discuss in depth...
I listened as the other women shared their week's writing. The first story was about a mother's pain at placing her autistic son in a group home. The second tale was of a cynical againg woman who rejects the chance of new love. The third was a memoir of a woman who grew up in Communist Poland, pre-World War II. Then we took a break to eat a pot-luck bounty provided by the members.
I had brought four new pages form my mermaid fantasy. A simple children's tale, apges I worried were not rich with enough descriptive details. How could I read such lightweight stuff in the company of these others? Hurridly I ate my salad, worrying all the while. I finished eating first.
The facilitator noticed I had finished, and asked me to read while the rest finished their plates. I protested that it was too light for the group. She assured me it was fine, and might lighten the mood. I took a deep breath and explained the premise of my story. Then I read.
The women laughed in the right places, they asked specific questions about the landscape I had described (they listened!) and they assured me the details were wonderful, rich and colorful enough to paint a picture in their minds.
I exhaled, not realizing I'd been holding my breath. I was glad I had shared, and felt validated by the experience. No one minded that it wasn't heavy and emotional, they enjoyed the story.
And then we moved on to dessert. Cheesecake.
All in all, a succesful first class.