Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Last one, I promise!


Last night, Darling Man and I went to the TGIO party (Thank God It's Over) for our local NaNoWriMo group.

This is not something we do easily as we are both kind of non-social hermit-types and for the most part, this entire group was comprised of strangers. I had laid eyes on some of them before at the initial meeting where we all pretty much sat in our chairs and listened to our Municiple Liasion Jenn give us a little pep talk and explain how it all worked. We didn't say much to each other then.

As the month progressed, we became a little more friendly online. Encouraging each other on, listening to tales of woe, challenging each other to get our words down on paper or screen. There were write-ins each weekend, but I never managed to make it to one, so I missed that comraderie-building potential. The other Municiple Liasion and I were neck and neck going into the last week on our word-count and it became a race to see who would beat who to the finish line (I beat him, but he surpassed me in ultimate word-count).

So while I felt like I knew some of these people better, there was still that shy-stranger quiet as we gathered together and waited for our table at a local Italian eatery. Ten people actually showed up and only two were non-writing significant others. Everyone else there had participated. And still, the quiet. It was a little odd, even for a social hermit like me. But as orders were placed for wine, martinis and sodas, people began to relax a little. Sitting across from me and Darling Man was Marilyn and her SO - a non-writing physician. Slowly we began to chat, asking about each other's stories and before long we were engaged in a marvelous conversation regarding how to commit murder-most-foul and creative ways to get rid of bodies and evidence and more creative ways to find the same. We talked about the different cultures we'd incorporated into our stories (I'm gonna have to edit mine to include something besides older, white-bread Americans) and then we began a conversation about cannibalism.

The rest of the table fell silent for a moment when exclamations were made about barbecue sauces.

By the time dinner was over and everyone had turned down dessert (people who spend so much time sitting on their butts can't really afford that luxury), we'd actually started to become a fairly cohesive group. We left amid promises to keep in touch and to see each other next year.

And the really weird thing is... I still don't know anyone's real name.

2 comments:

nikki said...

Real names? Is this like superhero name vs real name? To protect one's secret identity?

Sayre said...

Writers are like that. They don't want anyone to know who they really are - their stories should speak for themselves. Plus, if any one of us should become rich and famous, how would we be able to have normal lives if everyone knew who we were????

Joking, of course.

I know their pen names and/or screen names, but not the real names. I thought it was weird, but then when I left, they only knew my pen name too.