Madrid Writer's Club

Tristan has now had his first writing experience as an adult.  I enjoyed the class, but it was Tristan who completely knocked my socks off.  That's him behind the guy in blue.  More about our interrupted photo shoot later.

Tristan did a better job of fulfilling the assignment than the adults did!  It was to write a paragraph of “omniscient conflict” as opposed to character conflict or internal conflict.  Omniscient conflict is when the cat stalks the bird, smacks the window, knocks the papers off the desk and the blue envelope ends up hidden behind the planter.  The reader knows, but none of the characters know.  The peg coming loose from the train engine or any other machine failure would be another example. It is like foreshadowing but has to involve a change that will cause problems later.  The letter is missing, the boiler is blocked and pressure is rising, the root beer spilled onto the gun and we know later it might not work (that was Tristan’s).

If, as you are reading this week, you come across something like that, tell me about it.  Leave a comment.  We sat around six in a circle and couldn't think of any examples, though I know I have seen it lots of times. 

We take turns reading what we write.  I thought I would die the first time I had to.  My hands shook, my chest constricted, my voice cracked.  But Tristan didn't seem to mind.  He read clearly, though a little fast.  I was going to tell you how elegant his prose was, etcetera, but I will get him to send it to me so you can all read it.

• When my son spilled some Root Beer all over one of our many tables I did not care. but my old nine millimeter from the war sat untouched and trapped in the musty old drawer under the spill. Somehow the sugary soft drink penetrated the thin top and dropped down onto the action of the gun, rusting it so it was unusable. Now for some reason my two years experience in Europe didn't carry on till now and the gun was never examined or cleaned and so it sat uncared for for many months.

The group consisted of four guys plus me and Tristan.  They all said that they started writing at 14 and announced to everyone that they were going to publish a book.  Some of them have succeeded and the rest of us are still plugging away.   David organizes the group and he is very positive and encouraging.  There are some bossy women who fail in this regard, but overall being with other writers is so refreshing.

Winston and Wyatt meanwhile were doing something on their tablets involving earphones and emitting little bursts of "he-he-he," probably at the comic Asterix, in which Gallic buffoons with super-strength taunt the Romans in ancient times.  Winston LOVES Asterix.  I had them all in tow because we went to a friend's house all the way across town at 5pm and I would not have had time to take them home before 8.  I told them to please trust me, that in years to come, they would remember a night out in Chueca as something fun and interesting.  They were highly critical of the funky fashions.

Wyatt:  "That guy wearing platform boots looks ridiculous." 

Me:  "But imagine if they had rocket boosters in them..."

Wyatt:  "But they don't."

Me:  "We can imagine."

Wyatt:  "Yeah (-:  You're right."

Then there was the older guy stalking along purposefully like the movie villain,  or the good guy who has been nice until it was time not to be nice.  He was wearing cowboy boots, an ammo belt, a dixie flag tank top and scarves trailing down from his belt like a tail.  I have seen him before with another guy dressed the same, so he must be on his way to or from work with a gypsy-rock-country-flamenco band.  I would tell Wyatt to go ask, and Wyatt would do it, but the guy was tall and fast and seemed intensely busy.  I guess if you are going to dress like that you have to be intense to pull it off.

Back to the photo. You saw what Wyatt got a photo of.  What did he NOT get a photo of?  We waited a bit for the guy in blue to buzz off, but he didn't.  He lit that cigarette and canoodled with his partner.  In my opinion it was way to hot for canoodling outdoors.  Downstairs is lots of canoodling, gay and straight, unless someone is busy on a laptop or there is a game on.  Upstairs is where we meet.  You can see a balcony with wrought iron and shutters. The shutters were closed against the afternoon sun and the lights are never on until we ask.  The bartender comes up when he gets a minute.

Lance who is jolly like Santa Claus and so hot he carries a rag: "Should we go ask him to come up?"

David: "I already did."

Lance:  "OK. We'll sweat here in the dark."

So yes, I took my kids to a make-out bar.  But like Deborah and Barak (Judges 4), I trust God to go before us and after us and all around us.  

Wyatt, after watching the guys rub all over each other like cats:  "I got ONE picture."  And that was that.  Very mature, I thought.