Write Club - Xtratime Community
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Write Club

Posted September 23rd, 2012 at 22:46 by

Members of Write Club must abide by the following rules during every weekly meet-up:

You can not talk during write club.

Phones and all similar devices must be turned off during write club.

You are only free during free time. During write time, you must write.

If it's your first time at write club, you must write.


This is your first meeting. Upon arrival you're not surprised to see that few people had arrived for the get together; the group organizer had struggled to promote a lot of interest in this group, somehow, and the necessity for a $5 down payment via PayPal prior to the engagement had discouraged some from going. Nevertheless, the group's proposal, that an hour should be spent committing yourself towards writing, spontaneously if you wished, about anything you liked, appealed to you immediately, so you signed up for this first meeting.


The meeting took place in Ross House, a non-profit community owned building that's vital for furthering social and environmental justice in the area. Community groups of all sorts gather here as Ross House allows access to all sorts of networking access and meeting space, given the five stories and 500 rooms capacity in total.

You were instructed to arrive outside the entrance in Flinders Lane 15 minutes before the meeting began, though you jump the gun and you're standing outside Ross House with little to do, the meeting still 30, 25 minutes to go...

You scold yourself for arriving so early. Now you're left with nothing to do with these remaining minutes except to drown yourself in contemplation; you wonder how this meeting will pan out, what the other members will be like, what they'll think about yourself. You've seen them on the Internet, read the brief profiles they provided on the meet up site, but it wasn't much. You know the group organizer is a woman named Kay, brown hair tied back into a ponytail, perhaps a bit younger than middle aged...

You're standing alone outside the Ross House, feeling so conspicuous, seemingly everyone else around me in motion, everyone else doing something, and I stand out so glaringly in this picture, I felt sure someone would notice me standing there, waiting, as I had been doing for minutes...

I was saved. She may have recognized me as I'd uploaded one of my pictures as part of my profile, or perhaps she simply put two and two together and recognized that anyone waiting outside of this place, at this time, would hold an association to the Write Club. Additionally, the last time I checked, I was the only male attendee to this meeting.

"Excuse me, are you Jeff?" the voice came suddenly, a woman's. I swiveled quickly to the right, from where I'd heard the voice, and there she stood, and if I judged correctly, it was Kay, the group organizer. Her hair was styled slightly differently from the image I'd seen, and she wore additional jewelery, but otherwise it was an easy judgment.

I cleared my throat. It was dry, as it so often was. I hesitated, but went forward anyway, saying, "yes, this is my first meeting." The words came out hoarse and indistinct and I doubted that Kay had heard everything I said, maybe she picked up the gist, as she just smiled at me and said some nice things in that condescending manner I'd grown so accustomed to from people, and as always I showed the person no signs that I was bothered by this, I only stood there, smiling like a dimwit, which I was, nevertheless I recognized the fury I felt towards others during such moments as these was all a ploy on my behalf to deflect attention away from the numerous shortcomings of my persona, my character, that people were so attuned to.

As it transpired, the only other member expected to arrive had to bail for personal reasons, so the two of us entered Ross House and Kay led the way to our prescribed meeting place, a plain, square-shaped room, the walls a pale yellow, and adorning the center of the room was a row of desks, lined up one after the other.

You unslung your carry bag and reaching inside you take out your writing pad, which you place on the nearby desk. Before seating yourself, you stand before Kay, who has similarly made her own short preparations, but before beginning work, it seems she wants to make a final message to make things clear, perhaps as I'm a first timer.

"You're comfortable with how this group operates?"

"Sure... we write for one hour, don't speak until the hour is up, it seems pretty simple."

"Do you have any particular idea about what you'd like to write about?"

"Vaguely... I have a general outline, like a sketch. That's often the case for me when I write, I don't have a clearly defined picture in my head. Still, I'll see how far I can go in the alloted hour, anyhow."

"Well, if you're OK about it, I'd love to look at whatever you come up with."

"I'd love that. I love getting responses to anything that I write, whether it be positive or negative, you can take something and learn from it..."

I didn't ask whether I could read her writings. I feared the suggestion was too aggressive and I may have been rebuffed.


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