Writing for Write Club

As the monthly Write Club meeting looms closer I realize I have nothing to share. No biggie except I like to share. Frantically, I dig through old Word docs looking for something suitble.

I find nothing to my liking. Either I have already shared this piece or it's too unedited for human consumption.

So, I implement the hasty and ill-concieved Plan B.

I will write something new, something short, then I'll go to bed.

As I look at the clock it hits me, it's Friday night and it's only what 9pm. Who goes to bed before midnight on a Friday anyway?

With a new sense of purpose I continue. The clicking of the keys egging me on, the word count tally hidden just enough to be seen but out of sight as not to be glaringly obvious.

Yet, it still taunts me.

I bet you can't hit a thousand words.

It's a challenge that bounces from one temporal lobe to the other and I type faster, think faster, create harder.

Now, it 2am I have exceeded and risen beyond the challenge and I feel a sense of triumph as I close the laptop 3,125 bidding me good night.

Time to rest my worn out eyes and still my achy fingers.

Helios has risen and the obnoxious beeping of the alarm knocks rudely on my eardrum.

I carry on my routine and leave with ample time to stop for an overpriced and not so tasty coffee. But without it I don't feel like a real human so I grab my order and head back to my little blue wagon.

Next stop the library.

The meeting starts.

"Who wants to go first?"

I had walked in so assured and confident but I fidget slightly looking around giving my fellow writers the chance to raise their hands first.

Put your hand up. My inner self hisses but I am too late another has beaten me to it and I vow to go second.

That moment passes as well.

Now, we are in the middle finally I get the courage to share and my palms are damp but I am excited.

I read self correcting in my head as I go keeping my eyes glued to the screen.

I will face judgement after my five minutes have elapsed.

The feedback is helpful more gracious than I was anticipating. I am my harshest critic and I state my thanks for lending me their ear.

Critique time is over another writer has taken the floor and look on not really hearing them over the sound of my heart racing.

A fire is burning within me and an overwhelming sense to get back to writing is over me.

I am anxious to get home and get started once again.