By Maggie Good
‘It’s today,’ she says, a little ripple of excitement shivering through her morning cup of tea. ‘Today I go there. I wonder who I’ll meet.’
Dressing for the day, from her wardrobe she chooses to wear her Brave Face with a Veneer of Affability wrapped around her. Her shiny black computer in a matching carry case accessorises her outfit.
She crosses the Sand Bar and gives herself to the lining up of tables nice and straight, a pleasing sort of symmetry that doesn’t go down too well with the Girl Wearing Exotic Orange Shoes. She likes that girl who smells of mandarins and magnificence.
Introductions. Her Veneer of Affability flutters in the breezes of impressive achievements, words and deeds made solid in publication. She delights in a delicious whirling and swirling of words. What bliss to feel them fall on her ears; old friends, some dusty and forgotten. Her heart sings; she is heady with it all. The Man Who Splits Atoms and Hairs says, ‘No words of ours shall go across the Sand Bar.’ They all nod, nod, nod in agreement. She likes that very much.
Now it’s her turn to be visible, make herself known, step forward with her garment of beautifully woven words, to be one of them. This is why she launched herself across the Sand Bar; no turning back now. She flounders, not ready yet to let them see past her Brave Face and Veneer of Affability. She searches for the words and matching face. It all goes too fast; in her haste she says something blurry and ordinary, and she cries. Oh how she hates that, when the world sees the Cry at the Drop of a Hat face. She replaces her Brave Face and clings to the tattered remnants of her Veneer of Affability. They smile at her, she smiles back. The world still turns.
Got to write now, crunch time, type, type, type ... what a relief to immerse herself in the streams and currents of the familiar world within. In the safety of the interior she forgets for a while the Authors and Wonder Writers around her. Her own expectations swim about her in a feeding frenzy, eager to bite and bring her down. She remembers just in time she is a Hero, and saves herself from the biters and spiters swimming and circling around her.
Time’s up. They stop writing and read out what they’ve written. She listens with delight and awe at the words all strung together in artful forms: clever, funny, enticing, sharp, spicy. She is absorbed by the story told by the Lady Who Doesn’t Do Emotions. So clever; she wishes she could do that.
Her turn to tell a story now, but the only word she can say is ‘Pass’ as she sinks inside. ‘Got to do this next time, got to, got to, it’s now or never, come on Hero, help me here.’ She types some stuff, babbles some words, ice broken, leap leapt and the Girl with Orange Shoes declares, ‘She’s off!’
Food, cups of tea, toilet, pancakes arriving on the Wing of a Lark, the Authors and Wonder Writers ordinary now as they eat, drink and attend to some of their natural desires. Heliotrope Who is Loved by the Bees returns from the Opp Shop with a dolphin made of brassieres, or bras as the modern-minded would say. They sit back down, the writers and her, their words and weavings settling around them. A fuss and bother over a tiny spider. Spiders, spokespersons, sex and silliness eddy and swirl around her as she waits to become a writer.
‘Get on with it,’ she thinks, anxious as to where the words will take them now. They write and wriggle around, playing funny exercises that make her brain fizz and hum. She feels her Brave Face soften with a glimmer of hope that she can be a Wonder Writer one day, too. She plays, daring to be nearly as naughty as the Granny Who Said Fanny. Granny’s words had ruffled the folds of her Veneer of Affability a little, but no harm done.
Day is done. She packs her things, bangs a few pieces of furniture around, transforming the Writers’ Place into a Children’s Place.
She walks away smiling and wondering what she’ll wear next time.
Note: The group meets in what is known as the Sandbar Room
