‘Twas the week before Christmas and only one story was even vaguely Christmas-y. It talked about snow and a snowflake aptly named Susie.
There were three of us who brought in tear-jerkers. Well, only one that actually elicited tears (alas, that one was not mine): 0ne about a mom who thinks she’s lost her kids (wandered away or kidnapped); one about a brother struggling with his sister’s cancer diagnosis; and Julia at her father’s memorial service. I started off this festive bunch of writers.
I hate going first. Everyone is still warming up and getting into the mood/mindset of group. Historically, very few people give comments to the first writer to go and that played out again tonight.
I suppose it’s OK to admit to a little jealousy when the heartbreaking and absolutely beautiful poem (that’s right, I’m complimenting a poem) brought out people’s tissues. Well deserved tissues. But I was jealous because I haven’t registered on the Tissue Rating System since I devised it back in July.
After the group was over, a few of us were milling about. One person apologized for not talking, saying that his not commenting wasn’t his way of saying that he didn’t enjoy it. And someone else said that they were invested in Julia and that it didn’t read like a story, but like it was real. I suppose I’ll take that instead of some tears.