If J. reads this, the secret is out–finally after 18 years. JT and I arrived at J.’s graduation ceremony and we took our seats. Then we snuck out. We rushed to The Olive Garden and made a meal of salad and breadsticks. We got back in time to meet J. in the concourse of the stadium.
“Congratulations!” we said and hugged her.
“Thanks,” J. replied. “You must be hungry. They’ve got cookies over there.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” I said. “I don’t really want any cookies.”
J’s mom handed us some anyway. “I got a few extra,” she said. “I’m ready to go eat, aren’t you?”
We made our excuses and left, a mix of relief and guilt at not getting caught skipping out. But we still had the cookies. JT walked over to the nearest car and put her cookies on the car’s roof.
“Hey!” shouted a man behind us. “That’s my car!”
I don’t know why the man got so angry. What harm can a handful of oatmeal cookies do to a car?
One. Having friends to support you as you venture out into the writing world is a great thing, but maybe they don’t support you in the way you want and recognize. Maybe they want to cheer you on but they also want their breadsticks. Do you always recognize support from others or might you expect too much? Of course, you might be giving some people too much credit. Does it matter if you want to be a writer? Would you write if your family and friends called you crazy and told you to quit? How many cheerleaders do you (any writer) need?
Two. Have you ever written something that you thought was innocent enough, only to get an unexpected reaction? And if you did make someone angry, what would you do? Shout back, pretend it didn’t happen, or throw away the work? If you make the effort to get the words down on the page and even published, then how sorry would you be?