The Fellowship of the Pen

I take my change, tuck my wallet away in my backpack and hike the heavy bag onto my shoulder. I pick up my mug of black coffee. It’s a little too full to safely carry, especially with my gym bag in one hand and a cranberry muffin balanced in the crook of my arm. I carefully make my way through the crowded café to our usual table in the far corner where my writing group has met once a month for nearly two years. I’d been kicking around the idea of writing for a while and one day, a note showed up, pinned to the bulletin board near the cash register inviting any aspiring authors to meet here to share ideas and talk about their work.  We have come to be known by the staff and by each other as the Fellowship of the Pen.

I’m the last to arrive, as usual. Just as I reach to put my coffee down, Finn, with his back to me, gestures widely, jostling my cup just enough to splash my hand with the scalding liquid.

“Sorry Lisa!” Finn says as he tries to help me mop up the mess. “I didn’t see you there. And Max is being thick.” He glares across the table at Max while I assess how much of my coffee is left.

Max rolls his eyes and says, “Of course Mars is in what we call our solar system, but is it really OUR solar system? Humans inhabit the Earth, not Mars. The best you can claim is that it’s our planet, but even that’s debatable.”

“Why are we even still arguing about this?” Martha asks. “Max has nearly finished his book and we’ve been arguing this since he started it last year!”

Finn throws his hands in the air once more with an exasperated sigh. Max’s story about a group of aliens colonizing Mars and the ensuing space mission from Earth to intercept has had Finn in a never-ending battle with Max, even though Max is only arguing his character’s point of view, not his own. “I’m just sayin’,” Finn mutters, “I think the mission you’ve written should be run more by military than by scientists. Earth would have to defend against invaders at all costs.”

“Why would the military have full control of the mission if there is no aggressive behaviour shown by the aliens?” Max asks.

“No aggressive behaviour?” Finn’s voice has gone up an octave or two. “They’re colonizing in our back yard!’

I think for a moment, then chime in. “But I thought Max said these aliens can’t even survive in Earth’s atmosphere? How are they a threat?” Max nods as if the matter is settled and Finn simply drains his green tea.

Chelsea picks up her drink (a venti matcha frappucccino, hold the whipped cream with a shot of vanilla, plus extra whole milk) and taps her long fingernail against the cup. “Now that Lisa has FINALLY decided to join us, I’d really like to share the chapter I’ve just added to my book.” Martha looks down at her lap and starts blushing just in anticipation of the erotica Chelsea is about to read aloud. Max and Finn both lean in and nod for her to start. As she reads her newest chapter, the guys listen attentively while Martha tries to sink into the floor. I carefully pick at a cranberry from my muffin and pop it in my mouth. I learned a year ago that my habit of eating all the cranberries first, then the rest of the muffin, drives Chelsea nuts. So, I’ve ordered one for every meeting since.

“Well, that was…“ Martha stumbles over a few words before finishing with, “interesting.” Chelsea rolls her eyes and keeps her attention on the men. Seeing the reaction she was hoping for, she smiles, sips her Frappuccino and sits back in her chair. Finn and Max gush over her piece. So much that Martha and I roll our eyes at each other, so invisible to the guys right now that we needn’t worry about hiding our disdain.

When Chelsea’s ego is sufficiently stroked, she turns back to Martha and asks, “So did you follow my advice and add a sexy scene or two to your story?”

Martha blushes again and stammers, “What? No. I told you. My characters are elderly! The story takes place in a retirement village.” She shakes her head and opens the file to read us her latest addition.

Martha’s story is sweet. An old man, nearing his final days, befriends the newest old lady to arrive in his building complex, regaling her with stories about “how things work around here.” There are some very funny anecdotes and some very sad moments. All in all, I think it’s a very moving story. I get the impression a lot of it is based on things Martha has witnessed while visiting with her own parents, which is likely why the sex scene suggestion is never going to happen. Chelsea may be a one titillating trick pony, but I think the old folks could maybe use a bit of steam.

While we discuss Martha’s work, I notice a small group of women at the table closest to us. One of them has stopped talking to her friends and is ever so slightly leaning towards us. I smile to myself, realizing she is listening in and enjoying our discussion. Her companions have noticed that her attention is elsewhere and simply carried on their conversation without her.

When it’s Finn’s turn to talk about what he’s written over the past month, we all get refills and settle in to listen. I manage this time to bring a full cup of coffee back with me.

Finn writes crime and mystery stories and they’re quite entertaining, if a bit heavy on legal details for my taste. He has a collection, now, of about twenty short stories. Finishing the last bit of muffin, I try to remember exactly where we left off last month. I glance to my left and notice the woman at the next table has turned her chair to hear us better. Her friends have said their goodbyes and she is now alone, sipping a coffee and listening to us.

“I just don’t know how believable this is,” Max says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong --It’s fascinating. But would the police really be able to solve the case just on that evidence alone? I’m just sayin’.” I suppress my urge to laugh. I know he’s just trying to annoy Finn because of their whole disagreement about Mars.

Finn proceeds to walk us through the case his fictional detective has made, and, in the end, Max concedes.

“Your turn, Lisa,” Max says. I open my laptop and click the file.

My protagonist has finally overcome most of the key obstacles. He’s won back his lady love and beaten all but one of the bad guys. The lovers depart into the sunset, so to speak, complete with the steamy scene Chelsea suggested.

Martha is the first to speak. “Wait. So they get away, which is great. But what ever happened to Trey?” She is referring to a character who has been a thorn in the side of my lead players throughout the book.

“Nothing,” I reply.

Finn leans forward and asks, “He lives? And he’s not in jail? And he just gets to keep all the money he stole from them?” His voice is getting higher in pitch with each sentence and his eyebrows nearly vanish beneath is thick mop of hair.

“Yup.”

“But I thought he was going to be the final not-so-tragic death. That they would get vindication for everything he put them through,” Max says, shaking his head like he must be missing something.

“Nope. Trey is just an asshole. An asshole that gets away with shit. As assholes do,” I say.

“Well, I gotta say, as good as the story is, that’s a little…” Max searches for the right word.

“Unsatisfying,” says Finn. Max nods in agreement and I am amazed to see these two finally agree on something.

Martha offers her thoughts on my writing, which are more or less positive. I close my laptop as we start to wrap things up for the night. The woman from the next table stands up and approaches us.

“Excuse me,” she says, “I couldn’t help but overhear all of the creativity being discussed over here this evening. I have to say, I think you all have some real talent. Would you mind if I joined you next time?”

I glance at the others and they each shrug. Martha asks, “Have you ever written anything before?”

The woman smiles and says, “Oh once or twice. In fact, I have some contacts in the publishing world, and I would very much like to introduce you to a few people.” This last part seems directed at me in particular.

“That would be nice,” I respond, rather non-committal. We’ve all heard pitches like this before -- Get published! Become a Bestselling Author! And it always turns out to be a fly-by-night outfit that never really comes through on what they promise.

The woman smiles, and hands me a business card. “Call me,” she says. As she leaves the café, I move to throw the card into my backpack when I glance at the name embossed there. My sharp intake of breath is enough to make the others stop packing up their things and move closer. I hold up the card for them to see. This is no fly-by-night operation. And she is no amateur writer. The Fellowship of the Pen all look at this card much like Gollum eyed the one true ring. The words, “my precious” play in my head.

I hold in my hand the business card of one of the most successful and respected authors of this decade. I look towards the door, but she’s already long gone. We are left staring at each other, not sure who is going to make the first move. I know the next phone call I make will be a game changer.