Retreated

Day 1 - How did I get included with this bunch? What exactly is a writer’s group? The court gave me a list to choose from to fulfill my community service. Instead of roadside trash clearance, I checked this by mistake. Guess it pays to read.

I need to keep a journal of my experience. My first impression is roadside clearance is more practical. It has better company and simpler rules. But here I am, ten miles from nowhere and fifty from somewhere. How do I turn down the volume on the birds?

Before realizing my mistake, I asked the two other guys, “What’re you in for?”

Who expects a blank stare to say so much?

Case you’re interested, the judge gave me this choice because of a DUI. I’m not some hardened criminal. Didn’t kill anyone. But I’ve been around. Seen more go down than these rubes ever will, is my guess.

That judge was a character. Speaking from his bench, staring down at poor little me, he said, “Finish this community service and you will be free to drink legally and responsibly. I suggest you do that. All of it. But it isn’t a suggestion.”

He smiled when he said the last part. But I don’t think he was joking. I nodded and didn’t laugh.

Maybe this will be a chance to tell my sob story and how I’ve been bouncing my head off the low bar of expectations everyone set for me since I was born. How can a loser catch a break?

Isn’t that a line in a song?

Oh well, on to it.

One perk, we each got our own little cabin on wheels, like a Gypsy wagon, but not as pretty. It’s got a cot for sleeping and space for writing. Have’ta say, I’ve been in jail cells with better decor. Claustrophobics beware!

This morning, the old guy, Prof. Rance, sat us in the meeting room to introduce ourselves and get the plan.

A guy I’ll call ‘Block,’ wrote a best-selling mystery a few years back. Still working on a follow-up. Never heard of him. Others had.

Another, who I’ll call ‘Super,’ wore a tie to the meeting. No one else did. He claims he’s written seventy novels. All unpublished. Something about illiterate editors. Seventy of them.

There were also a bunch of women who I suspect made a wrong turn to get here instead of their planned for coffee klatch. Some looked as dusty as a stack of library books. Not that I ever go to a library, but you catch my drift.

One lady, I’ll call ‘Kidlit,’ writes children’s books. And she brought her parrot for company. Who’s the brains behind that operation?

And then there’s me. I told them I’m not a writer, but curious. Flying under the radar.

We get three meals daily, morning time to discuss chapters and free time after lunch to write. Glad I brought my deck of cards.

Rance explained his structure for the retreat. “Our purpose is to break out of our ruts. Basically, everyone takes turns writing a chapter of everyone else’s book. A different style each day.”

That’ll take two hours tops. No big deal. That noise you hear is a deck of cards being shuffled. Anyone up for solitaire?

Today we’re supposed to write our own first chapter in a genre from a chosen prompt or idea. Tomorrow, we’ll read our output to jump start everyone. Once everyone writes a chapter for everyone else, we tie our story up with one last chapter of our own.

Whew! I just realized this might be another form of picking up trash…

Rance asked us not to be critics. “We’re not to ‘bend’ or ‘improve’ other writers into our own image. Our task is to imitate the style of the other writers, like it or not.”

He promised we’ll ‘learn more about our own writing than anyone else’s.’ Easy as A, B, C…

Rance said, “Forget perfection. Capturing others’ styles won’t happen. These are rough drafts. We’re opening ourselves to seeing reality through a different lens.” Far out, man…

I thought Rance would never shut up.

Oh, and we signed a release agreeing ‘each author of a finished work is the sole owner of their literary property.’ That includes our input too. Authors may acknowledge us, or not, as they choose.

I have no pretensions that my ‘work’ will have value beyond adding to the contents of a trash barrel. So, acknowledge away.

Since dropping out of high school I’ve barely written my own name. My ‘story’ and everyone’s chapters are neither here nor there for me. When I want a story, I turn on the TV.

I don’t know anyone’s stuff. So, I tackling their styles will be a challenge.

I went to Rance and owned that I’m ignorant as hell. Completely out of my depth.

He asked, “Do you know about the writer’s voice? The narrator’s voice?”

I shook my head. “I know nothing…”

He smiled at me. “Imagine you’re sitting around a campfire. The narrator is not in the story. But he tells it. He provides clues guiding the reader in understanding the story. More like an attitude, the voice sets how the narrator relates to the story’s characters and to the reader. Does the narrator confide in the reader? Provide irony? The narrator shares info the characters may not have. And the narrator may be a liar…”

That last bit threw me. I have permission to lie? Cool.

I picked a prompt – Tell a story that has a surprise ending.

For my first chapter, I wrote about a guy on the run. Thinking he’s headed toward freedom, he gets lost. I don’t know the ending so, it should surprise me.

I pulled my thinking cap down to my ears. I decided to adopt styles suggested by the others’ personalities.

Day 2 - After everyone heard the first chapters, Rance opened the discussion. Most everyone was sympathetic, if not supportive.

Mr. Super groaned that my first chapter was ‘replete with pedestrian prose.’ Whatever that means. Rance complimented Super on his alliteration and reminded him that we are here to learn.

We’re supposed to spend our lunch break in quiet contemplation of the day’s chapter. Two women friends chatted loudly throughout the break. Rance graciously asked them if this was their first silent retreat. Shocked by the question, they nodded and said nothing more. I’ll call them, BFF-A and BFF-B. Do they even write?

I heard Block tell Kidlit they attended the retreat to get a break from their husbands. Should’ve heard her laugh.

That afternoon, Mr. Super and Block got into it over who was the better writer. Everyone gathered to watch.

Super towered over Block. “One measly novel? Who cares? Can’t get it up for another?”

Block responded, “Yes, you’re right. Only one… Which happened to be on the best sellers lists for months. At least I’m published. Don’t you weary of only pleasing yourself?”

“Such elevated company you keep. You know what’s out there. If you can get published, anyone can. Planning a cookbook for your next opus?”

Ms. Kidlit tried intervening. She said, “Guys, guys, please don’t fight. You’re too bright. It’s not right. Let your imaginations take flight…”

Rance arrived and shut them up. “If this was about competition, I’d have you run a race. Grow up and get to work.”

Walking away, Super huffed “That would be an easy win…”

Day 3 - You should have seen Block and Super’s faces when their fight appeared in most chapters read today. Interesting details caused lots of laughter. The fictionalized versions showed what some imagination can do. One scene even described it getting violent.

“He doesn’t know basic grammar.” ‘Ms. Commahawk’ protested after hearing my chapter for her sci-fi novel.

“Please focus on story and character.” Rance said, “Editing solves such matters.”

A woman I’ll call ‘Ms. Knitter’ sits in the meeting and knits every day. Finishing her sweater seems more important than writing, or talking. While everyone discussed the chapters, she sat clicking her needles like talons. Turns out her genre is horror.

Block read his chapter written for me. This guy can write.

Day 4 – Clutching a single knitting needle like a weapon, Ms. Knitter arrived late to the morning meeting. She brought no kit. She said her other needle had gone missing. She’d neglected to bring a spare. Scanning the room with fierce eyes, she stopped short of accusing anyone of theft. But her eyes said plenty.

My chapter for the day was for Ms. Kidlit. Her stories are fanciful poems. Not my strong suit, I did my best with some doggerel about ‘The Cat in the Vat.’ I wrote about a guy trying to cook a cat for dinner. But that clever cat turned the tables on him. Poor him.

I heard chuckles when I read, but not at the funny parts.

The literary Mr. Super knows words Webster never dreamed of. People rolled their eyes when he read. His endless sentences were - endless. Bet his laundry lists come with end notes and bibliographies.

Ms. Kidlit approached me after lunch.

She said, “I enjoyed your brilliant chapter. Maybe we, my parrot and me, could discuss it with you after…?”

Something about the way she batted her eyes stopped me. Was there an agenda beyond writing?

Though flattered, I was there by court order. Didn’t want to botch that with extracurricular activities. I needed to focus on doing my chapters.

I said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard. But I am allergic to birds.”

Wrote a chapter for BFF-A, a Western. Featured a showdown. Got to have a showdown.

Day 5 – Everyone read their chapters to the group. Prof. Rance encouraged us to get out of our trailers and explore the creek flowing down the hill from us. So, after lunch, everyone traipsed down to wade and splash around in the cold, clear water. The creek turned out to be the tail end of a half-hearted trickle. It barely provided more dampness than a full-blown sneeze would give you.

To clear my head, I wandered up stream, away from the chatter. I discovered an overgrown mound. Closer inspection revealed an ancient pile of trash. There being no roads nearby, I wondered how it got there. An empty Richfield oil can proved it had been there for years. Richfield went south decades ago.

I put that detail in my chapter for Block.

Day – 6 Today, everyone read their chapters and they were all about the stream. Every chapter but mine included lengthy descriptions of rushing water and butterflies. More words than actual water.

Block liked my chapter for him.

Still irate at her missing needle, Ms. Knitter injected a knitting needle into her day’s chapter.

Day – 7 Last night, I got ambitious and confused. I accidentally wrote a second chapter for Mr. Block, instead of for Mr. Super.

Trying to be gracious, Mr. Super said, “Go with it. Don’t waste time writing one for me. It’s all good.” When someone says, ‘it’s all good,’ it ain’t.

Tonight, I put in the extra time writing Mr. Super’s chapter besides Ms. Romancer’s. You know, fulfilling my obligation. Late night.

Ms. Romancer looked to be from the generation when ‘spinster’ described her type. You’d see her huddled behind the front desk in a library, always glaring and rarely helpful. She’d say little except ‘Silence.’

Romancer rarely made eye contact or spoke. But her having been published, everyone deferred.

Everyone struggled with her style. Not used to the genre, they veer into soft porn. Then when it’s read, they giggle like kids.

Not much of a romantic, and unfamiliar with the genre, except for sitcom jokes, I kept it simple. Could do worse.

Trying to write for Super, presented a different challenge. How could I imitate his style? He wore a tie every day. I never wore one in my life. Should I make up words that sound like him?

Some writers approach a sentence like shopping for groceries. They only go down aisles dictated by the list. They place their goods into the basket, this and this and that. Then on to check-out and home. Simple and straight forward.

Mr. Super’s sentences are more like exploring a flea market. One can start one of his sentences, go take a smoke break, and return to find it still plotting a path. His casual sentences stroll up and down the rows and browse from table to random booth without purpose or direction. One only discovers its end when serendipity finally intervenes to reveal its point.

One thing I’ll say about Mr. Super, you’ll never find a twelve-dollar word used in a two-bit sentence. Not a two-bit sentence in the lot.

Day -8 I read Mr. Super’s chapter aloud and he declared his surprise at how much he loved it. That made two of us.

Commahawk protested. “You cheated. You skipped them.” She looked at Rance for help. “He didn’t bother with periods.”

Super laughed and clapped his hands.

Ms. Romancer listened to my chapter for her without comment except to nod gravely. That told me I’d done alright.

The BFFs are so casual. Inspired by my earlier error, they traded their stories back and forth. So, I ended writing two chapters for BFF-A and none for BFF-B. By their design.

Day - 9 It wasn’t obvious until the end but Ms. Knitter got her revenge. She didn’t just include her lost needle in chapters. She made it the main character of every chapter she wrote.

When writing her chapter, I described her lost needle getting found in her luggage.

Day – 10 I guess I picked a good prompt. Everyone’s chapter contributions made for a lively story with lots of twists. I wrapped up my ‘novel’ with a final chapter including the surprise ending. After hearing everyone else’s chapters, I woke up and knew how to end it.

Day - 11 All done.

At the end of the workshop, several writers gave me a thumbs up. A few even promised to acknowledge my contribution to their novels. Amazing.

Block said, “You kick-started my sequel with that clue found up the creek. My hero finds lost treasure.”

Ms. Kidlit stood by patiently. When Block left, she approached and praised my writing. She added, “You’re finished. Your chapters are done. Do you now have time for some fun?”

I said, “Though I’m through, I must tie up some loose ends too. Do you live in a garret alone with your parrot?”

I know I’m no poet.

She gave me a slip of paper with her number.

The retreat was finally over.

While packing, Ms. Knitter found her missing needle in her suitcase. Since I’d written that, she claimed it proved I was the thief.

No one cared.

Packing to go, I couldn’t find my unused deck of cards. I never had time for them. Who would steal them?

I went to Prof. Rance for my Community Service paperwork. I’d earned it.

Sitting me down, he offered to mentor me if I’d accept a position as his assistant, helping run the workshop.

He said, “I’m planning to retire in a year or so. I need someone competent to carry the torch. I think you’ve got potential, Lou.”

I’ve never been so surprised. I’d never expected an opportunity like that. And out of nowhere? I jumped at it.

“Thank you, Professor Rance! That’d be great. When do I start?”