Dear Lanier—Writers’ Luncheon

Dear Lanier,

It was terribly clever of you to type up an agenda for our little writers’ luncheon yesterday. Without it, I fear we would have held court for even longer than the three hours we occupied our corner of the café. (Although it wasn’t so much our corner, was it? Seeing as despite the restaurant’s considerable size, they saw fit to seat nearly every one of the day’s patrons in the small space toward the back. Maddening!)

Our server, I believe, thought we were crazy, ordering second pots of tea and shuffling papers all over the place. I wonder what the party of six women at the adjacent table—thank heaven they weren’t noisily unruly—made of us reading our pages out loud to each other. I was a bit disappointed when they didn’t ask us if we were famous—or simply assumed we were and had us sign their napkins.

We have come a long way since the days when we were friends who did not confess our writing habits. Why did we hide? Now look at us, sharing our unpolished first drafts over nothing stronger than Earl Grey. Brave souls! (Or insane?)

I must say—I have read a chapter or two of my current project out loud before—but there was something about your ear that helped me see the flaws loud and clear. You didn’t have to say a word.

This is a good thing.

May the wind be at our backs, friend, as we hole up for the rest of February in our respective homes, abusing caffeine and ignoring piles of laundry and making pets out of dust bunnies. (At least, this is my plan.)

Here’s to the fools,
Laura

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