#195 A Brave New World

We headed to the south of Dallas for Cody's first critique meeting with the Dallas Area Writer's Group.  Critique meetings are the favorites of most DAWG members.  It gives writers a chance to share their stories with other people.  In the life of a writer, stories remain pent-up for so long that they can cause discomfort, oftentimes pain, if they aren't released.  Critique night allows for the pleasant release of inspiration in the loving company of fellow writers who are polite and understanding.

We left an hour and a half early so we could account for traffic -- get there in plenty of time to get Cody's name on the list.  To be honest, this was a bit excessive, but Cody had been stressed all week because he missed his previous attempt to read his story because we showed up 5 minutes before the meeting instead of 30 minutes before.  The list had already been filled.

We made good time until we hit the intersection of 75 and 35.  All progress stopped.  Road construction caused the convergence of several freeways to transform into one massive, confusing cluster.  The traffic was so bad that several bums littered the freeway, begging from people who were parked on the highway instead of driving home to their families.  Seemed to me to be the worst time and place to beg. Angry people stuck in traffic wouldn't be as generous.  But I could be wrong about that.

Cody crossed his arms and groaned.  "We're probably gonna be late," he said.  

I tried to remain positive, but I worried he might be right and I'm not a rose-colored glasses type of person.  I assured him we would do our best.

For 54 minutes we crept along the interchange to 35, which was especially annoying when driving a standard.  But we finally made it beyond the construction and had 36 minutes to travel 30 minutes of road between us and critique night.  I tried to cheer Cody up with talk of music and movies.  But he wasn't having it.  In his mind, he'd already missed his chance to read his story.  In a sarcastic, yet not-so-sarcastic tone, he said, "Next time we're leaving at 2p."  That would have gotten us there approximately 4 and half hours early.

Anyway, to make a long story short, we made it on time to get him on the list.  He was the last reader they accepted.  He read his story, took his criticism and for the first time in his life he felt like a real writer.  That's an important feeling.  Like being able to pinpoint the moment when you become an adult.  Everything changes after that moment.  It did for me.  And I hope it does for Cody.  Because after a writer realizes he or she is a writer, then the world opens up and becomes a new place altogether.  A better place.