I’m having a thirty-minute mini vacation at Bob’s Diner in Manchester today. It’s our usual spot on Saturday mornings, but on a weekday without family in tow, it’s just unusual enough. It’s five below and sunny right now, and I’m noting how much colder a diner is when it isn’t packed with skiers and a grill working overtime to feed that crowd. The sun’s streaming in, though, and people don’t seem to mind the cold that much.
Me? I’m plotting. Over home-fried potatoes I’m mulling past steps and next courses.
As I’ve written in the past, this blog is the result of an ongoing writer’s workshop at Hubbard Hall, a vibrant community theatre and arts center. The workshop’s leader and mentor extraordinaire, Author Jon Katz, assigned the blogs on the first session. They were to be a way to share out work (with each other and, hopefully, readers at large) They would also become our progeny – labors of love that only grew and matured with regular care. And, as our fearless leader has told us many times, they were an excellent first course at a literary buffet that has gone digital in a big way.
Over the last few months, our blogs have been everything he promised. They have been conduits between group members and then between writers and readers. They have called each of us to practice our craft with persistence – trying new flavors as we do. They have helped me find my stories and sometimes my sanity, and I’ve enjoyed every bite of this feast so far.
But now, still gorging ourselves on the appetizers, we are each trying to decide on the next course, with our mentor encouraging us forward. For one of our members, it’s becoming a research project. Others are considering books. I’m working on a play and along with my game plan to make the jump from writer to working author.
Now I’ll sift through the stories I’ve uncovered and search for the themes that dominate. We’ll all keep sampling the appetizers, though, knowing they’ve just been whetting our appetites for more. The next course at the banquet looks delicious. I just hope my eyes aren’t bigger than my stomach.