This story reflects the life of writers and how they talk, sit in a writing twist.

 

Writing can kill you. Writing is just such an obsession: always composing, always working feverishly against odds and deadlines, looking out for mistakes you know that you couldn’t have made, and never quite finishing. Strange creatures who teeter between life and another world, writers sit and compose, silently communicating with their pen and paper, never breaking out sweat, not even knowing they are dead unless and until sun goes down and the body temperature too lowers. Often no one notices that they aren’t here anymore.

I looked around the writer’s group table and noted our thinning ranks with the alarm. The Writing Disease was thinning our ranks.

“Has anyone seen Sasha?” I asked.

Jason looked glum. He was Sasha’s friend and every one of us used to think that he wanted something more out of that friendship but maybe, that friendship was the only thing which he could cherish. There was tad competition between them to get close. In spite of that, their friendship based on critiquing each other’s books, had lasted for years.

Sasha is having her appendix out. She ate too many plastic fruit tags on apples, chomping away at them while mindlessly dumping useless junk into her appendices.” Jason replied.

“Hey! I write those labels. They’re not harmful.” Jon objected.

Jason started to object, but saw the fire in Ron’s eye. He continued about Sasha.”I can’t remember the last time I used an appendix, can you?”

“We’re all wondering if one day no one will be able to read the tags on apples.” I replied. “Anyway, did you hear about Simone?” They all shook their head.

“Doesn’t she write articles for magazines?”

“She writes them but has no clue what she is writing.” Rocky agreed. There is no sympathy in Rocky for anyone due to his highly competitive writing business: screenwriting.

“You’re just jealous because they are getting publishes.” Jacob retorted. He is a science fiction writer, was one of the newer members, young, and never taking any non-sense from anyone.

Rocky rolled his eyes. “She rehashes the same old draft all over again and sells it to different magazines every month. They aren’t even original, as real as fairy dust. Give me a break.”

I put brakes on Rocky before he goes off track. “Have a little sympathy Rocky. Simone is lying in the hospital, her back painfully curved.”

“Isn’t she a bit young for scoliosis?” Linda asked. Linda’s age showed in the slouch in her own tiny frame.

“Let me tell you, the doctor found her condition was life threatening and wrote orders to put her in a coma. But he wrote “comma” on the orders. So they called in an orthopedist and he put her in curve. Painful!”

“Could happen to any of us. Doctors need lessons in writing.” Marty resonated.

Paula and Rick were the two technical writers in the group. They had never been friends, actually could not stand each other.

“The doctors are talking about a hip replacement. So far they are all talk, no action.”

Lots of people write books without knowing the end before they start. That’s half the fun.

There was writing talks all around the room and nothing else. This is how writers live, chat and survive.