A Writer's Quest

by Madeleine Kando

I signed up for a writers’ group last week, thinking that I would meet and learn from other ‘like-minded’ individuals who like to write. Share their stories and get to know some flesh and blood people, rather than knowing them through their ‘words’. The meeting was set at ten at the 'Au Bon Pain' in Danvers.

It was on the other side of nowhere, but I thought: ‘Hey, it’s worth it. Who knows what kind of intellectual treasure I might find.’ I asked my husband how long it would take me to drive to the other side of nowhere, with high morning traffic time included and he said: ‘Oh, count on a good half hour’. So I gave myself plenty of time. I thought: ‘this is important, I don’t want to show up late for this ‘flesh and blood’ meeting.’

I googled the location and it looked so simple. Just take this exit, go down this road with blank spaces on the right and left, until you get to this intersection, take a right turn, more blanks on the right, a neat left turn with lots of blanks on both sides. ‘Au Bon Pain’ was plainly visible under my cursor at 495 Mall Road. I printed out the map with all the nice blank spaces so I wouldn’t get lost.

Twenty minutes later, with a calm feeling in my belly that I had plenty of time, I was driving on the exit road. But real life rendez-vous have a way of deviating from Google map reality quite a bit and there were no blanks anywhere**. Just lots of buildings, drive-ways, traffic, gas stations, stores, signs... Nowhere did I find a sign that said ‘Au Bon Pain’. What happened to all the blank spaces? I became frantic. I was on one of those roads that won’t let you turn around until you are half-way across the country, so making a u-turn was already a major undertaking.

It was now 10:30 and I was sweating like a pig, trying to pass drivers who had no idea what kind of emotional trauma I was experiencing. Finally, when I almost reached the highway again, I saw the blessed sign ‘Au Bon Pain’- turn left.

The meeting was well under way. My flesh and blood writers were all sitting there, sharing each other’s ‘words’. I self-consciously tried to explain my tardy appearance but nobody seemed very interested. This turned out to be a ‘serious’ group, one that only accepts writers who were working on life-altering pieces, on soul-bearing stuff. Luckily I had printed out a story that I had written in a moment of self-pity and I thought it would go over well.

One member had been working on her memoirs for the past five years. About her roots in Alabama. If she is not careful she will be writing about trying to write for the rest of her life. Another member gave us a glimpse into what it is like to be bi-polar. Excellent writing, but since the members are supposed to critique each other, there were immediate comments even before she had finished reading. I timidly asked: ‘Are you sure you want to change any of it? I rather like it.. why not leave it as is?’ Everyone stared at me as if I had freshly arrived from Mars.

Writing about personal tragedy is hard, I know. It takes guts. Or does it? Does it have to be shared in a group? Does it have to be read out loud to make it better? One day I will write about my personal tragedy. I will write it for myself, for my loved ones. Like a lover’s letter. My children will find it in an old box and read it to each other out loud and wonder: is that what happened to mom?

** Google was sued recently by a pedestrian who was injured by a car after she used Google Maps - she alleged that Google did not adequately warn her of the dangers of automobiles in the area. leave comment here