Tonight was the twice-monthly meeting of the West Side Gang, the local writers' support group. It was a good turnout tonight with a total of 11 people. That's the most that have ever come since I've been attending (admittedly not very long).
The idea is that we bring some writing to share, read it aloud, and the others offer friendly (and hopefully helpful) critique. Not everyone brings something every time, but that's OK too.
I've been reading chapters of News from Dead Mule Swamp. I managed to get one more written before tonight. That's a total of eight, so far. With this kind of support group, I might even finish this little project.
We heard several poems, an essay prompted by a picture, a portion of a semi-factual historical novella, some pages from another mystery in progress, and my two chapters.
Next Tuesday, the group is hosting an "open mic" night at a local coffeehouse. I said I would read a poem.
Here's a teaser from Chapter 8 of News from Dead Mule Swamp:
Tom guffawed. "Ma’am, I can tell you don’t know Cherry Hill any too well. Ain’t you that lady what bought the place over in Dead Mule Swamp?" He went right on, not needing an answer from me. The question was apparently rhetorical. "You got to call Jerry at home. Everyone knows that."