Writer’s Night

“Hi, I’m Jon. And I’m a writer…”

“Hi, Jon,” the crowd says in Borg-like unison. Another confessing author telling his awful stories of why he became a writer.

“I’m new to this group, but just want to say I really feel the love in the room. I write mostly science fiction, humorous detective, but also dabble in sports blogging….”

The group breaks to get bad coffee, and danishes on paper plates. Half of the so-called writers are here hoping for a hook up. They strike up meaningless conversations with folks they think they might match up with.

The attractive redhead approaches the middle aged man. He looks the part. Glasses, small hands, ill-fitting suit. He could be the one.

“Hi, I’m Marley,” she smiles, hoping there still isn’t danish residue on her hands.

“I’m Tim,” the man replies. “Do you come here often?”

Really, she thinks. He’s an author and that’s the best line he can come up with? This guy is not who she thought he was.

Now that guy over there, HE may be a publisher. She makes her move.

“So, you’re new to the group Jon,” she starts. “I’ll just come out and say it. Do you have publishing, or do you publish?”

Jon smiles. “Sure. Smashwords. It’s awesome. Find me at Smashwords.com/profile/view/jonricson

Marley frowns and storms out of the room. “Jerk!”

Jon shrugs and eats another danish. “Tough room.”

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