A Meeting of the Minds

I hate meetings. Loathe them.

They are just such a waste of time. Whatever needs to be said can just as easily be done with an email or chat. Skip all the pleasantries and usual blather and get to the point, I always say.

I mean, we’ve all got things to do.

But I’d had enough and decided one last meeting was called for. That we needed to take the time to hash things out. To have a meeting of the minds. And to do that, we needed to meet in person. Not on Zoom. Not via Google or Facetime or whatever app of the day. Live and in person, like the before times. The pre-pandemic times.

So, here I am. All cleaned up and professional like with a smile and warm handshake to go with it. To show I’m sincere and all.

The usual suspects have already arrived.

There’s Fenton Pierce, as immaculately groomed and dressed as always, carefully arranging food from the buffet table on his plate in perfect proportions and precise harmony.

Trailing behind in line is Stan Erp, not nearly as particular in either appearance or etiquette, loading his plate in a more haphazard, random methodology. Basically, whatever strikes him in the moment.

Buster Oldef is already halfway through his plate where he sits alone in the corner, though he seems a bit unsure of his selections. Always doubting himself, no matter the situation.

And then there’s Pearl Ann, already done with her plate and face deep in her phone – likely planning every minute of her day. And the days ahead.

I’ve known them all my life, it seems. And had the same complaints about them. No one ever changes.

“Anyone seen Patricia?” I ask, pulling out a chair and sitting at the front of the room.

“She’ll be late to her own funeral,” Buster says, eliciting groans from the rest of us at his cliche.

I kick myself for it because I know how hard he must have worked up the courage to say anything. Now he’ll be doubting everything else he says all evening or, more likely, clam up all evening. Hard to build your confidence when you’re ridiculed just for trying.

I feel for the guy, I really do. I know what he’s going through. Probably everybody has had feelings of self-doubt and defeatism at some point in their lives. Best way to overcome it is to surround yourself with supportive people or peers. Erase any negative thoughts with positive affirmation and encouragement.

He did his part in coming here tonight and we had already let him down. And when any one of us is down, we’re all down.

Of course, if Patricia were here on time it wouldn’t have come to this. And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as the thought crosses my mind she comes waltzing in.

“Oh, wow, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says, hanging her jacket on the rack and digging her notebook from her purse in one nonstop series of motions. When she’s motivated, there’s no stopping her. “I know everyone’s busy, so let’s get to it.”

Everyone diligently takes their seats but before we can begin, Patricia suddenly realizes she should load a plate herself first. We kindly wait until she does and takes her seat again.

“Sorry. Famished. Planned to eat earlier,” she says, “but decided to put it off.”

It’s the way she is. The way we all are sometimes. Always putting things off when some other opportunity, some other distraction, presents itself. With Patricia, it’s her biggest flaw. It’s what we’ve always strived to help her overcome.

I clear my throat and begin. “So, it appears we’ve all come to an impasse of late. No one has any new writing to present and, from what you’ve all said in your emails, you’re struggling to even find the time to write.”

The others nod along solemnly.

“Look, I know how much this writing thing means to everyone,” I continue. “It’s been my dream since I was a kid in grade school. I used to tell stories on the playground. Used to act out my characters with my friends. Or always had my nose in a book or writing in my journal every night before bed.

“And then I let life get in the way.”

The group nods again.

“When you’re young,” I say, “it’s easy to say, ‘I’ll do that later. There’s still time.’ Well, we’re not getting any younger. The time to do those projects, to finish that novel, that screenplay, that short story, is upon us. If we don’t move on it now, it may never happen!”

I push my plate of food aside. I’m not really hungry. But I am on a roll.

“Face it, we are our own worst enemy.”

I’ve got their attention, that’s for sure.

“The doubt in our head is unfounded,” I say. “The constant delays, unnecessary. The detailed, obsessive planning? Too much.”

I’m pacing the front of the room now. Quicker and quicker the more agitated I get. And I’m pretty agitated.

“We meet over and over again. We read help books and articles. We sit through countless webinars…and the message is clear: To write, you have to get out of your own way.”

I look right at Buster. “Believe in yourself.”

Buster nods, but I can feel the doubt that still lingers in him.

I look at Pearl. “Let the research and the planning go and just start writing.”

She smiles, somewhat amused at the notion.

I look at Patricia. “Stop looking for something else to do.”

She looks as if she has something else to do.

I look at Stan. “Set some goals.”

He looks as if the very idea is foreign to him.

I look at Fenton. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

He looks like I slapped him.

They’ve heard it all before, but it just won’t sink in. So, I’ve decided to take this drastic step.

“I hate to do this, I really do,” I say. “We’ve known each other for a long time. But all we’re doing is bringing each other down. Giving us an excuse to meet each week and bitch and moan about the same old things instead of doing the work. Doing the writing.

“Well, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.”

Patricia stands up. “Hey, now – “

“It’s like none of you want to change,” I continue. “You just want to get in the way and bring everyone around you down rather than lifting each other up. So, I’m here tonight to say that I’m through. I’m disbanding the group.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Finally, Pearl finds her voice. “No, you can’t.”

But I’m resolved. Determined. Maybe more than I’ve ever been.

“I started the group, I can finish it. I want you all gone. Now. Take your doubts, your planning, your perfection and your procrastination elsewhere. Go bother some other author. We’re through.”

They stare dumbfounded for a long time. No longer intent on arguing with me. And slowly, one by one, they leave.

My mind is finally clear.

And as I sit at my computer, it is flooded instead with worlds of possibilities. Fantastic characters, places, and conflicts.

And my fingers fly across the keyboard. Finally free.

THE END