Happy St. Patrick’s Day. The luck of the Irish was certainly with me the day I joined the Rocky Mount Writers’ Guild. We’re a diverse group of people with one thing in common: we like to write.
There are usually eight to ten of us who gather the second Thursday night of each month. Each meeting begins with a prompt (more about that in a minute), and then anyone who has brought something for critiquing reads it to the group.
If you like to write and don’t mind sharing with a group, come join us. Click on my contact page (Contact Patsy) and send me a message, and I’ll give you the specifics of our next meeting.
Let me finish with what I wrote at one meeting in response to this prompt: you’re sitting in the street waiting for a man to come out a door.
Bet my Daddy never thought I’d track his sorry ass all the way to New York City. But here I am, big as life, in the back seat of this yellow taxicab waiting for him to come out the door of that café across the street, where his landlady told me he eats breakfast every morning.
“The Pancake Palace, corner of 57th and 9th,” she said. “Can’t miss it, hon. You must be Sarah Jane. Your father talks about you all the time. Tell your mother to come in and meet me. What? Oh, she’s waiting in the cab for you? Maybe later then.”
Yeah, I told her, Mama’s in the cab. But she ain’t. She’s back home, six feet under, where my daddy put her. And now I’ve come to see about some justice.