Writer’s Group: First Impression
Mohawk, running shoes, crisp blue jeans, and a brown pullover with a dragon in black on the front.
Shaved head, steel-toe work boots, faded blue jeans, and a black Marine Corps t-shirt.
My son and I enter the coffee shop downtown where the most recent writer’s group I have joined meets on Sunday afternoons.
I walk to the back with my son in tow.
Sitting in a separated room with double doors open, a lethargic man sits at the long wooden table in the center of the “conference room.” On his head, a 1950s-style felt hat commonly worn with a suit in that era, but worn in poor taste with jeans and a day-old t-shirt this afternoon. Some would call it eccentric; I would call it sloppy. Or, in the words of my wife, “That looks frumpy.”
“Hey.”
“Greetings,” he responds in monotone as he pulls his ear buds out and salutes me with his other hand. He does not smile or stand. Instead, he makes himself look busy and preoccupied with something else as though he is always busy.
Does looking busy make one look successful? I think he believes it.
I sit at the table while my son sits at a table behind my chair. He gets to play with his Spiderman figurine while I partake in the meeting.
Fifteen minutes later or so a young lady joins us, and sits down beside me. I will name her Blondie.
Hellos are exchanged between the young lady and Mr. Eccentric, who also happens to be the organizer. I quietly continue setting up my laptop and opening the necessary files for the meeting. After an awkward silence and a few sly peeps at me through the corner of her eye where there has been obvious omission of my introduction, Mr. Eccentric supposedly remembers. As though he forgot?
If he would have failed to introduce me before the meeting or near the beginning, I would have allowed the meeting to begin. Then, I would have interrupted with making her acquaintance.
“Oh, Blondie, this is Artificer. Artificer, Blondie.” Motioning between us with a wave of his hand, she and I turn to one another and greet. She smiled at me with her soft, thin lips parting only slightly. Her shoulder-length blond hair gave a bit of a whip when she turned her head to face me, her smile already present. Perhaps she was nervous. Perhaps she was shy. Perhaps she was dead set on not liking me.
I have been told that my greetings with women are old fashioned and outdated. Many have said that my greeting is not modern and is no longer necessary. However, I have never been poorly received by any female when I use this:
- I never reach out, first, to shake her hand. I allow her to initiate the gesture, be it a handshake, hug, or anything else.
- I always position myself at her eye level, so that means I sometimes must stand or sit.
- I always: 1) compliment her appearance, or 2) express pleasure in meeting her, or 3) express appreciation in having her attend.
I smiled in response. When she stuck out her hand, I shook it. Girls never know how to shake hands. They always leave their hands loose and do not grip your hand. If they do shake, they over do it way too much. Otherwise, they do not shake at all and leave their wrists limp. I never know how to shake a woman’s hand. I usually squeeze slightly on their hand, which folds every time, and lift only high enough so my pinky finger takes the place where my middle finger was.
Shaking hands is a man’s greeting. I do not think women should shake hands.
By this time, I am sure the mark has been branded upon me: the man in steel toe boots and the black t-shirt with faded jeans and a shaved head is obviously not a good writer, if even a writer at all.
Then, we proceeded with the meeting. We shared our writing for an exercise Mr. Eccentric assigned two weeks before. We were to zoom in and zoom out on any subject and limit our piece to three pages or less.
My zoom in and zoom out writing was chosen to be discussed first, in honor of the group’s newest colleague, before we passed around laptops and shared our compositions.
When we were ready to share feedback, or criticism as they like to call it, Blondie and Mr. Eccentric had only compliments for me.
Having experience in sales, I understand the effect and psychology of questions and statements, aka leading the conversation. So, I started with, “What did you like best about it?”
Blondie kept going on and on about how much she liked my writing, and how the imagery in her mind was so vivid as she read along. Also, she thought it was really fascinating how I began with something physical and took it into something philosophical.
“You know, I was thinking only in a physical aspect when trying to write my zoom in zoom out. It was really interesting reading yours,” Mr. Eccentric added after Blondie finally finished.
Then, Blondie gabbed about how her father has a tarantula, so she found the subject of a spider relatable.
The two of them took turns speaking on specifics of my piece, explaining how it affected them, the questions they asked themselves while reading, and what things they may have overlooked in their life.
I really did not have an opportunity to lead with any further questions. They pretty much ran away with the feedback after my first question.
“I would love to read anything you have written,” Blondie added, wide-eyed, earnest, eager, and at the edge of her seat. She had really made it a point to emphasize “anything.” She was so much on the edge of her seat that both her legs were pushing against my closest leg. Her back was straight, leaning slightly forward, her chest out, smile wide, and her hands beside themselves in her lap. She was giving me the “fuck me” signal. If not, then I am totally confused.
Mr. Eccentric was visibly agitated. From this first meeting, I believe Mr. Eccentric holds meetings for the writer’s group mostly so he can meet girls. And, as the meeting gradually progressed, Mr. Eccentric’s agitation increased as Blondie’s flirtations, innuendos, light touches to my arm (she touched my hand once), and laughter at my jokes increased in frequency and boldness. With me, she always made eye contact with a smile.
When I was able to share feedback on their writing, I held back on my first opinion that they write like third graders. Furthermore, since I am the only writer who does not focus on fantasy and magic, I failed to include such distinct and creative things such as a character named Merik, a wizard’s guild, an eight-hundred-year-old instructor who specializes in ancient runes and incantations, and pets known as familiars.
Needles to say, most of my writing was deemed unacceptable due to its sexual explicitness. What’s more, my style and skill of writing, as well as my feedback, was admired by Blondie, but stifled by Mr. Eccentric. I think he feels threatened by either me or my writing, or both.
In conclusion…
They never saw me coming. My writing blew them away.
I was very pleased with myself. At the same time, though, I was disappointed because I was really hoping the writer’s group would have something to offer me.
I gloated about the outcome of the meeting with my wife. I could not stop smiling, and I could not stop enjoying hearing positive feedback on my writing. It only encourages me to write more.
Still, today, I gloat to myself about how much better I write than them. In spite of this, I would never boast of my writing to anyone. Am I boasting here? Of course I am. However, the only presentation I give here, in Mind Fissure, is my candid self. Therefore, there are no stops, censorship, or editing. I am as I am.
“What a person says is equally important as what a person does not say.” ~~Artificer
