I am writing a novel- or several novels- that’s the whole point of this blog, to help me on my way. I’ll post excerpts in random order, depending on my mood. Yes, artistic temperament in full swing here. The woman in this piece is a housewife with a yen to write (original, I know) and this is her first writing class.
I walked into class today, my stomach in knots, erupting butterflies. White button down shirt, respectably dark denim. ‘Writer’ slash nerdy glasses carefully perched on top of head, securing my artfully messy bun.
New iPad ensconced in artdecoish, pucciesque sleeve( on sale at Marshall’s, thankyouverymuch)! Aspiring writers exterior- check. Writers inner confidence, however? Double uncheck.
What am I doing here? The class is such a writing class cliche I can barely stand it. Of course, I’m contributing majorly to the situation with my perfect ‘writers ensemble’, but come on.
I look around me and I’m convinced for a second that it is all staged. A deliberate prancing of wanna-be writers. There is a girl in a pink cheongsam and (I kid you not) slippers, your standard mix of writer ‘extra’ so and so’s- people of all sexes and ethnicities with dress, turbans, holey jeans, harem pants and tunics. Every iteration of bangle, bracelet, piercing and tattoo is represented here. Wanna be writers puke-soup.
Unnerved, I am just about to plot my exit, when I hear a deep chuckle right next to me. “Scary, isn’t it?” He is easy on the eyes, this one. “I mean, that we would have anything in common with anyone here.” Coming from anyone else it would’ve seemed familiar and a tad bit arrogant, but somehow when he said it, it worked.
“I’m Alex, by the way.” his eyes crinkled nicely as he extended his hand. My belly did a little flip flop. Whoa. Easy girl. “Les.” My voice sounded like it was coming from far away.