...quiet, about a lot of things...
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Stupid Poets Society
The writers workshop is in an old Victorian house with a creaky front door..and equally creaky stairs. So, I disturbed not only my group..(upstairs)..but the downstairs dining room group as well...probably advanced novel revision. They all looked pretty serious when I feebly asked "Poetry??"..."Upstairs." was all I got. WAY to make an entrance!!
The room upstairs held only women..prompt women, adult poet type women, sitting in a circle. If this had been a play, I believe my character would have been written in as comic diversion. I stumbled in, found a seat closest to the door and crossed my legs at the ankles.
I could share all the gory details but I'll spare you. I'll end as it really ended. The leader handed me a packet of papers stapled at the corner. We were to read the first poem for next week. There was no title...and a hand written name on the bottom.
"Oh, a local poet??" I asked. "Ancient Greek." she answered. Great. WAY. TO. SCORE. POINTS.
On the way home, I cried....I told you I would. I considered writing a post today titled F@CK..F@CK..F@CK... but decided that was not very literary.
The only chirpy thing to say..cause I am often a chirpy cheerleader for myself...is that I went. I wanted so badly to turn around and go home. I was lost. I had had the day I had...(see,wicked language skills huh?)BUT.. I made myself find the damn place and go.
That's all I got. That's all there is.