It is a meet I sopped attending last year but one I am keen to get back in the swing of.
Of course I was asked if I had anything to read and I was happy to say 'yes'. I had in mind to read from 'Buried'. When asked if it was a short story I said, 'well, not so much, it's a longish short story.' Whereby I agreed, as I had all ready thought of, to read say six or so pages. This was fine, then by the time the curator got round to asking everyone if they had anything to read for the group, there was so many of us wanting to read prose, it was decided we should have ten minutes each. Which was fair of course and there were no complaints.
I read and I read, at first rather gingerly for the nerves, as always, were getting the better of me, but this soon waned and I found my voice and the narrative became more fluent. Mouth drying I read for what I thought was ten minutes, then at a pause in the story I asked, 'Is that my ten minutes?' She gestured for me to continue, saying, 'We can't leave it there, carry on.' Or words to the same degree.
So I carried on reading and when no one halted me I read the whole story. Once finished I was heartily surprised to find everyone talking about my characters and congratulating me on a job well done.
A pat on the back for me.
This was not all. One of the attendees owns the local Bookshop and had brought with her a book I ordered some weeks ago. It is The Sword of Shannara by popular, and my favourite author, Terry Brooks.
The moment I got this home I opened the package and then fanned the pages before my eyes, breathing in, through my nose, the exotic and somewhat enticing, new page scent. (I think they should make this a car freshener scent, wouldn't that be something.)