Thursday is when I write the blogs, usually at a little library one county over, sitting across from a couple of writer friends who don’t mind putting up with my glitches and random need for unpaid therapists between Couch Lady sessions.
Today is Thursday.
A typical library writing day goes like this:
We pull into the parking lot, sometimes as much as a half hour before the doors open if the weather’s nice. We park in the same spots. If someone is in one of our unofficially assigned parking spaces, we gripe.
Weather permitting, we’ll sit on the steps a bit and chat outside before lugging our laptop-laden bags inside, where we make our way to the back of the building.
We have our table. Comfy chairs and an outlet in the floor underneath. If someone is at “our table,” we gripe. But by this time, many local patrons know that the table is unofficially spoken for.
We set up the laptops. Someone gets under the table and plugs everyone else in, sometimes getting bopped in the face by swinging charging cords. No one gripes.
We pull out our beverages.
We pull out our notebooks.
Peripheral mice.
Then things go off the rails. Sometimes the conversation from the steps isn’t quite done and one of us continues to vent/share/relay/impart. Though the speech is more rapid because now we’re inside and the clock is ticking on everyone’s work-in-progress.
Sometimes there’s a word giving someone trouble: what does it really mean, which is the preferred spelling, and can it be used in this manner or will some editor faint dead away and never read my stuff again?
Important work, that.
And then one of my favorite parts: The smorgasbord.
Inevitably, by the time we’re really typing, the table between our computers gradually fills up with snacks. Lunches. Salty. Sweet.
Chocolate.
So much chocolate.
A whole smorgasbord.
Once in a while, the buffet is ceremoniously unpacked before the laptops are even opened.
Sometimes it gradually appears as one or the other of us reaches into our bag and pulls out something to share with the group.
Unusual chocolates. Foreign samples from a unique place one of us has been to. Home-baked goods made with love and good intentions (okay, that’s them, not me. I don’t bake with love. My offerings usually come from Walmart).
Today we have cinnamon mints, miscellaneous Lindt truffles, gingerbread cookies, tomato and basil Wheat Thins, and a couple of new-to-us chocolate bar flavors to sample. One was cookie butter milk chocolate something. Very mild. Nice.
The other is pink chili and raspberries. I open the outer wrap. I open the foil. We all ooh and ahh at the deep pink color of this chocolate.
I flip the bar over and we take in the artwork embossed into the chocolate.
Writer One: That looks like *orn.
Writer Two (me): What did you say? (I thought she said “porn” and asked for clarification.)
Writer Three (remaining civil): She said corn. We’ve discussed with this brand before. Those are cocoa plants, not corn. But when you’re from the Midwest, everything looks like corn.
Writer Two (not civil): I still think she said the other.
We each snap off a small corner of the pink chocolate, which is free of any untoward embossing, though the chatter around the table has become slightly untoward and all the way unhinged. I refuse to call this a stalled writing session. I think our respective muses needed a creative meandering, and they all got ornery. And hyped up on sugar.
I declare that I’d already titled the blog “Smorgasbord” and read them what I had so far about the unpacking of the snacks. Writer Three says, “Well, now we have to behave.”
We pop the chocolate chunks in our mouths at the same time. Writer Three loves the pink chili chocolate. Writer One and Writer Two commence instantaneous gagging and their eyes water. Writer One gargles large swigs of water. One and Two also chase the heat down with some milk chocolate because milk calms down spice, or so we think and we can now justify those calories.
Writer Three beams, coming out the victor, because Writer Two gifts her the entire bar of chocolate she loves, which will not likely make an appearance on our smorgasbord again.
And such as it is with smorgasbords. Some things land on some palates in glorious satisfaction. Some things make other palates cringe and gag and make people gripe. But there are other choices to make and plenty to go around.
And there’s always the next session’s offerings to look forward to.
Our chatter dies down. The gagging and gargling cease. Fingers over keys, the clicking of mice. The slinging of words has returned to our unofficially assigned table.
Some of these stories will land with some readers—delight and satisfaction forthcoming. Some of them will make eyes water. Some will make readers cringe. We offer a smorgasbord of flavorful escapes.
With a side of orneriness to keep the muses amused, lest they find something to gripe about.
