I recently visited another writer’s group here in Jeff City. It was so much fun, and I have to say, I almost always have a blast when I’m with other writers. I think it’s because fiction writers, especially genre writers, are just as excited as I am to talk about weird, fantastical concepts, what-ifs, and how to craft an amazing story. They understand the bummer it is to kill off a character or the excitement that comes from a character taking on a life of their own. I get to hear their stories and get to know their characters. I think it’s exciting to watch another writer have an “ah-ha!” moment while talking out the kinks in their story line. I enjoy coming to an “ah-ha!” moment because of the input of fellow writers. It’s just fun times.
I was glad to see that there is another group in Jeff City. They meet at the library on the first (?) Wednesday of every month, and they have some poetry peeps as well as fiction writers. Those who brought a story read out loud what we brought, which was a little out of my comfort zone, but hey, if I become a published author, I’ll have to do readings sometime, so it was good practice, right? Out of the imaginations of the writers there, we were joined by a gnome/oversized fellow duo with quite the personalities, an old man who lived in an asylum for most of his life and dug graves as free labor, and a kid whose arrogance reminded me quite a bit of how arrogant I can be when looking at life from my limited perspective. I brought an Oracle from my first novel who had a prophecy burned onto his chest. I’m tellin’ ya, it was good times.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure my kids just threw 100 colorful counting bears all across my living room floor and there is a good chance that quite a few of them are now under my couch, so I better get in there before my kids start pummeling the walls or the t.v. with the things.