It Was Almost Painless

The writing group met, despite the fact that we were a month early and not everyone could join us.  Three of us went ahead with the group...I mean we were meeting for our Scotch tasting anyway, right?

I deflected the request to read my piece first and succeeded.  Having someone else jump into the icy waters first, helped me realize I could do this.  I could read aloud the words that came from me, crafted and whittled for hours and I could do it with confidence.

So I read.  Finding my own mistakes as I did so, knowing they were like a snag on a nail and they would be filed or clipped later.  The response from my fellow group members was positive and helpful.  The work I presented was a rough draft.  Okay, a rough, rough draft...but it had potential.  So I head back to the drawing board for further whittling.  This has to be ready for presentation by September 7....

What's it gonna take?

So.......

I'm a writer. There I said it. How or why do I know this, I couldn't tell you. It's not just that I've journaled most of my life. It's not because I love words and their origins. It's not because I was the "geek" (a word yet invented, but applicable just the same), in fifth grade who kept a journal in my black and white marble composition notebook on all the homophones I could find because I found it fascinating that two words could sound the same --- and yet be spelled differently and have different meanings. Or that I have a running dialog in my head....it's not any one of those things that make me a writer, but perhaps they are the sinew and marrow of the beginnings of one.

Tonight is my first experience with a writing club. Fortunately, it's made up of other writers who have a desire to write, improve their skills and hone their abilities. I am excited and scared. It's like the first day at middle school again. Will they like my writing. Will they laugh and wonder why I ever thought it was possible to link words together in a sentence. It's not like kindergarden where I'm sure the teacher is nice to all the little doe - eyed children who rush through her door. This feels like the stuff fear and wonder are made of.

And like every experience I had in high school, when it came to huge projects, I have procrastinated until the last minute. I've got the ghost of an idea. I've nutured the idea, while cleaning bathrooms, cutting hair and playing stupid games on Facebook. This afternoon, I will sit down and call this ghost to the forefront. I will give it life by breathing words onto a page and then I will hope and pray that the members of this writing club don't extinguish the flame and make my idea a ghost once again......