where the writers are
The Writers Met

There were only three of us on this night, Becky, Beckie, and me, drinking beer or wine, but we were lively. There were so many topics bouncing around, it's hard to remember them all. Two oatmeal stouts may have contributed to this memory issue.

I seem to be on an oatmeal stout kick. It's a smooth, heavier beverage than a lager or pils, and not as bitter as an ale. I do recommend them.

I remember that we talked about the question, are writers really different? We decided that we are. Why? We had some ideas but didn't reach anything conclusive. We did agree that it's not good to ask your significant other to read your work. Writers use the clay of their life to create novels and short stories, and readers bring baggage to the work. We thought the other would have trouble disassociating their life with the writer from the fictional account being presented.

Beyond that, we just talked movies, books, writing projects, and complained about our work, which is evil and keeps us from reaching our full writing potential. We were together for about 90 minutes but it went by so fast.

I look forward to seeing them again. Two weeks can seem like a long time.

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