The Writers Society

Dear Person,

it is with utmost regret that we hereby inform you that your application to participate in our writing society formal soiree has been declined.

regards,

Secretary of The Writers' Writing Society.


I turned up anyway.

The function was being held in the large mansion of a publishing tycoon. I had never been to a soiree before, so I assumed that I had to bring my own food. I was stopped by a couple of elderly women who had set up a small desk in the foyer. 'Sorry sir, you can't bring that in here.' said the taller of the ladies, as she pointed to my food.

'I've brought it for the party.' I replied.

'Please leave it outside.'

I did not want to argue with these women, so I dragged the pig outside and secured it's string leash to the exhaust pipe of a limousine that was parked in the driveway. It grunted in protest. A few seconds later, the limousine drove off, dragging the creature on it's side along the gravel as it squealed loudly. I tried to get my food back, but it was too late, the driver who was oblivious to the extra passenger was already at the exit of the front garden and about to join the highway.

I went back into the house. The two women I had seen earlier were sipping red wine at the desk. They were busy discussing how tasty the the small triangular pieces of toast that they nibbled were. I hastily snuck past them and entered a large doorway into the main room.

The formally attired crowd was composed of small groups of people who were engaged in superfluous self promotion. Finally, I am here, where I belong, amongst the company of fellow writers, I thought. I pushed through the throng towards the long table where there was an assortment of different types of cooked creatures and small triangular morsels of toast.

As I spread some mashed pig's liver onto my toast, I noticed a tall lithe girl standing next to the table staring at me. I caught her eye, and she smirked at me.
'That's an interesting t-shirt.' she began as she motioned her eyes to the A-Team t-shirt that adorned my muscular body.

'Thanks. I'm a big fan of the A-Team. Do you like them?' I replied enthusiastically.

'It's a very badly written show.'

'You're a writer then.' I asked.

'We're all writers here darling, and we're all very serious about what we do.' She sniffed at me, glanced around the room, and directed her nostrils at me, 'If you're not in the business of writing, then you shouldn't be here.'

'I write mainly as a hobby, although I do have some work that I will volunteer for submission to a local theatre company.'

She laughed. 'I said,' she emphasized, 'that we are serious writers, darling. We're not hobbyists, we write with the intent to be published.' With that, she walked away, disappearing into the mesh of people.