Writing Club met on Saturday mornings at La Coquette.
Toni had long black hair like Morticia Addams. Toni’s father had abused Toni and her sister. Toni’s daughter had been taken away from her when Toni was institutionalized for severe depression. Her ex-husband took the girl and Toni didn’t see her again for 30 years. Toni wrote monologs about child abuse, kids abandoned to starve on a remote farm, suicide, bleeding infants, demons eating her brain, girls falling into sharp stakes and having their intestines pulled out as they ran for home.
Andy smiled a lot, showing green mossy teeth. Andy wrote screenplays about people who worked in morgues and had obsessions: stealing property from corpses; having sex with corpses, cutting the eyes out of corpses, fucking the eye sockets, sucking the fluid out of the eyeballs and replacing the eyes, collecting hardened feces from corpses. Not all in the same scene; good heavens, no: these obsessions took place throughout the 90 pages.
Serim was a wraith, a toothpick, a wisp, invisible, a flash of flesh. Serim couldn’t sit still. Her intaken calories were burned up twitching and tapping her foot and winking and twitching and twisting and squirming. Serim wrote in rigid cursive so tiny that a reader needed a magnifying lens. Serim wrote her novels all over the proper page, then up and down the margins, then upside-down between each already-written line. If she filled up a notebook, she finished on her interior forearm. Every Saturday Serim arrived with another entire novel completed.
Lisa had a carefully groomed blonde streak in her Asian hair and a carefully trimmed rip in her Armani jeans. She wore cashmere sweatshirts over her jeans. Later, when cashmere became widely available, she switched to vicuna. She wrote reviews for the local toss-away newsprint, discussing the proper rhythm to whip matcha tea; and which tea-houses did it correctly. She wrote convincing arguments for the establishment of a charity to provide pedicures to indigent pregnant moms.
Michelle was an extroverted, gorgeous, natural leader. She had the best boobs in town. Michelle wrote a short story about picking her nose, digging into long strings of yellowish mucus. She described the different sorts of snot one could find and how to deal with each one. She was entirely serious about this short story as she read it at one of our readings. She did not include recipes.