It's been a long, long time since I've been on here. I've been recuperating. Not from an illness, but from just too, too much. Last March I had just finished putting this book together for the Writers' Guild. It is a compilation of our best stories and poetry from the Greater Canton Writer's Guild and the Canton Poetry Society. That's right - the Canton Poetry Society merged with the Guild. My husband broke his leg in February - and was housebound - no - bed bound (and we live in a two-story) for three months. Picture me going up and down those stairs about 25 times a day. And all summer and fall I was incessantly working on my newest hobby, crocheting. I've a lot of afghans and stuff now. Pictures will come later - count on it...
Now back to the book. This is available on Amazon. If you can't find it by title, just put my name on the search bar. My sister in law said she found it that way. I did the cover art work and my friend and Guild V-P did the interior images. This was a learn-as-I went kind of thing since the original person who was supposed to have done this (and more technological) basically put this in my lap. That's all I'm going to say about that. I took a deep breath and kept calm with this daunting task. Now I've got the Guild it's own account with Create Space, an Amazon Company that does print on demand.
I have two poems and a short story in this book. I can share a portion of the story here. It's called
Dying for Laughs.
The door was
ajar and it creaked open when Stewart pushed on it. This was the last place he
wanted to be. The request to come back as a guest lecturer was politely phrased
by the committee, but held the threatening undertones of a command. Dread now filled
him with every reluctant step as he heard the sound of his feet echoing and
bouncing off the walls all the way down the dimly lit corridor of the old
school building. An ancient service elevator
door stood open at the other end with its interior light flickering, looking
more like a yawning mouth ready to consume him. He hated being summoned like this. He hated
this place. As he walked down the long silent hallway to the meeting room, Stewart
felt like a school boy being called to the principal’s office. But this time he
felt, in the pit of his stomach, the consequences were dire. With his footsteps
echoing down the hallway in the almost deserted building, Stewart stopped by
the water fountain to get a drink. He
readjusted his tie and took a deep breath. The truth was, he had forgotten
about this meeting until about two hours ago. The members of the small,
long-suffering writers’ group were waiting for him to give a presentation and
his mind was blank. He could improvise, yes, that is what he would do. He did that all the time at the comedy clubs
where he had his gigs. He was an up-and-coming comedian. Everyone loved him. “I’ll have them eating out of my hands before
this is over”, he thought.
Taking a deep breath, Stewart opened the door to find a
half-filled room. There they were, the three witches, he dubbed them, huddled
around the podium, whispering. Miranda saw
him enter the room and pasting on a smile, she came up to greet him.
“Stewart! It’s good to see you –
it’s been a long time.” She pursed
her lips and gave him a brief smile, along with a derisive once-over, noting
the beading perspiration on his forehead. He held out his hand and she looked
down on it, refraining from touching him.
“Bitch” he thought.
“We’ve missed you, Stewart.” Rowena
chimed in, in her sing-song voice. Her
overly-long fingernails dug into his arms as she grabbed him for a bear hug.
“Please be seated.” Astrid was stone-faced; she raised her
eyebrows as in a question clearly trying to figure out why she hadn’t seen him
at all during her presidency at The Club.
As he listened to his introduction,
Stewart glanced up at the three women sitting across from him at the other end
of the table. All three in a row. He caught their eyes and they smiled at him
simultaneously. Forced little smiles showing no teeth. His stomach fell and his
eye twitched. He walked nervously to the front of the room and scanned the
small turnout. There were some new faces and they all had pens poised in hand to
take notes. Uh-oh. Stewart hoped he had note-worthy advice, but did what he did
best: he rambled on about nothing, throwing some jokes from his last routine
into the mix. They all smiled politely, except for Rowena, who cackled when she
laughed. The rest of his audience, about seven of them, sat there frowning,
unimpressed. No one had taken any notes. Stewart rambled for fifteen minutes
and ended his talk. There was a small, pathetic smattering of polite applause.
The room went silent. Astrid stood, and made a point to check the time on her
watch. She looked around the room and sighed.
“Are there any questions for
Stewart?” Someone in the back of the room snickered. Astrid turned to Stewart and asked him to sit
down while thanking the members for attending his very brief talk. Stewart hung his head in embarrassment. He
was certain he was going to get a lecture.
The polite smiles stayed on Astrid and Miranda’s faces until the room
emptied. Rowena blocked the door saying goodbye to the last few people. The
door closed with a thud. Stewart found himself surrounded.
“Fifteen minutes? What was that?” Astrid poked her index finger
into Stewart’s chest. Stewart watched her sharp red nails pecking him. In and
out. He backed into the closed door and the women followed each jabbing him
with their fingers. Astrid looked at Stewart in disgust. “Did you prepare for
this meeting at all?”
He whimpered. “Hey,
I’ve been busy – ouch! You know how it is – work, kids – and I’ve had a lot of
gigs – watch it, you’re drawing blood!” Astrid raised her eyebrows in response.
“Oh really?” Sarcasm dripped from
her. Stewart broke out into a cold sweat. Rowena glared at him.
“Oh Stewart, this was such a
disappointment. And to think we gave you your start. Look at you – You’ve been
on Oprah! Tell me, did you prepare for that?” Miranda, still pissed, poked
him, just to see him squirm. She narrowed her eyes.
“So you’re telling us you do your
best work on a stage? You like a big audience, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news
for you: we’re all busy; Stewart, but I know how it is. LIFE just gets in the way, doesn’t it?” She
poked him again and gave him that little smirk he always despised. She grabbed
his tie and gave it a tug, drawing it closer around his neck. She got in his face and hissed “Maybe that’s
something we can fix for you, huh?”
“You’re moving up in the world.
Stewart. And we’re proud of you.” There was a furrow in Rowena’s brow and voice
as she stared at Stewart. “But you need to remember where you came from”.
“Of course I do!” Stewart’s voice
was shrill. He cleared his throat and
loosened his tie. Looking at Rowena, he realized he had misjudged these women’s
intentions. This meeting was not a random request. His heart sped up.
“I’ll be at the next meeting, I
promise” he squeaked out as the women backed away. Astrid threw her arms up in
disgust. “Let him go – he won’t get far!”
They all knew, especially Stewart that he was lying. He saw it in their
eyes as he backed out of the room, heart pounding in his ears. Astrid waved her
arms again and the door shut violently in his face. He turned and ran down the
endless hallway.
With the door shut, the three women looked at each other.
They shook their heads and silently agreed. Astrid went to her valise and
retrieved the ancient pen she kept in a locked case. Rowena produced the
inkwell that she kept in her possession. The pen and the inkwell were given to
Miranda who opened her hands and a worn membership book instantly appeared.
“Write him out.” Was the simple
command from Astrid. Miranda sat down at
the table.
“He thinks he’s a comedian, so his exit should be funny,
right?” Miranda smiled at the others. Laughing softly, the three women sat down
and put their heads together…
