Timmy’s Locker, the local restaurant, smelled of fried fish that made my mouth water and my stomach growl. I wondered if I should knock on the sliding wood door to the banquet room or just go in. I felt slightly anxious about joining the Blackfish Writer’s Club, but Timmy had suggested it as a way to keep occupied on the one night a week my new hubby stayed in Seattle while I worked in Blackfish.
A whiny voice carried through the battered wood door. “I know more about what’s really happening than the generals at the Pentagon. They only know what the illuminati tell them.”
I stared wide-eyed at the door. That didn’t sound like writers discussing punctuation. Was I in the right place? Didn’t Timmy say the writer’s group met on Wednesdays? I slid the door aside and peeked around the corner.
Timmy jumped to his feet. “Maude, come in. Have a seat.” He pulled out a chair at an oval table large enough to seat a party of twenty. As I approached the chair, Timmy pointed and introduced the other writers huddled around one end of the large table. “Enid is our chair. She’s traditionally-published several romances and is writing a fantasy story now.”
Enid was chewing her stubby fingernail. “Pastor, nice to meet you. Actually, my book isn’t completely fantasy. My characters are fae, but they interact with our world.”
I liked Enid’s slightly unkempt appearance. “Do you let people read what you’ve written so far?”
“Certainly, I always need beta readers to catch inconsistencies and commas. How are you at using commas?”
I grinned, “About as good as anybody. Those things are nasty.”
Timmy pointed again. “This is Jane, our poet.”
I nodded. “Oh, I know you. I met you at Skunk and Cricket’s house. Your hubby works for Willits-Manion with Skunk.”
Jane leaned forward to shake hands with me across the table, trailing the end of her scarf in the cup of coffee in front of her.
Timmy indicated the man beside Jane. “Carl is our science fiction writer.”
I nodded at Carl who was across the table, too far away to shake hands with.
Larkin lifted his index finger as if asking for attention in a classroom. “I’ve met you at my Uncle Glen’s house. You’re the pastor who lives down from them. I’m writing a political expose.”
Carl muttered, “He hasn’t written anything yet.”
Larkin nodded, “I’ve been researching. I want to be careful to do all my research and get my ducks in a row before I start writing.”
As I sat down and opened my little Macbook, Timmy concluded, “Our other members aren’t here yet. Hannah writes wonderful slice of life stories, and Cali writes for the local paper.”
Enid leaned forward. “What are you writing, Pastor?”
“Call me Maudy. I don’t use my title outside of church business. I want to write a collection of alternative worship practices. I’m starting with some of the things I encountered on my honeymoon. Later, I’ll research religious practices in other cultures that can be adapted to our culture to make worship more meaningful to our congregations.”
For the full novel click here: https://www.amazon.com/Blackfish-Writers-Club-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0831SPWF2/