balding angrily

I went to my first writer’s workshop last night; I went as an observer.

First let me back up and share another bit. I am my father’s son; there are times when I can clearly see what he’s thinking. He once told me about an artist’s group that he was in. My dad is a pretty good painter, but he paints some bad pieces like any good painter will. When describing this artist’s group he intimated that his skill was superior to the other painters. I thought he was being boastful, but he at least showed some understanding; his boasting wasn’t cruel. He stopped going to the artist’s group after a while because he wasn’t getting what he needed out of it.

Well, last night I understood my dad’s feelings of superiority. I’m not proud of it, no.

Here’s another thing that my dad and I share. We are attracted to groups that come together in a common interest: writing, art, biking, motorcycling, etc. We engage in those groups for a while, but then we think to ourselves, “Wow. You guys are really into this. I mean, I’m into this, but you guys are, like, REALLY into this.” The thing is we are attracted to these groups because we can do the thing that we like to do with other people. Duh. But while we’re doing that thing that we like to do, we don’t want to TALK about doing that thing that we like to do.

There comes a tipping point when we’re talking to our fellow bicyclist, motorcyclist, writer, painter, etc. where we think, “There has to be something else that you are interested in. Can we maybe talk about you? Your kids? Your wife? Politics? Race relations? Cucumber salad dressing?” And we ask, “So what are you into?”* And our fellow bicyclist, motorcyclist, writer, painter, etc. looks at us like we sprouted a third eye.

The difference now is that I’m going to make a living off this thing. (With Gaia’s grace.) So, I can’t be snarky or stand-offish as is my tendency.

*Looking at that now, I see that “What are you into?” is chock full of innuendo. Another thing that my dad and I share: foot-in-mouth disease.