An Old Curmudgeon©

By Richard A. Falb

     I’m an old curmudgeon.  I’m saying that so you will put this all into proper perspective.  I used her, rather shamelessly, I’m afraid.  I think she realized that eventually.  She was too nice to say anything.  Oh, I wasn’t mean and I really didn’t do her any harm.  Actually the relationship did prove of some value to her.  However, that begs the question.  I really wasn’t exactly nice.  I did use her, I admit.  What I did was really for my own benefit.  That it was of benefit to her, was really inadvertent.

     It started rather innocently.  Actually, she initiated the whole thing.  It was an unusual meeting.  I was sitting in a bakery-coffee shop, having a cup of coffee, a roll and writing.  I was a regular patron of this place.  I came several times a week to have coffee and write.  It was a comfortable place for me.  It was big enough, so I could stay around and write while drinking my coffee.  I didn’t feel like I was taking up space that other customers needed.  Besides, the conversation of groups around me, was never loud enough to impinge necessarily on my thoughts, unless I wanted it to do so.  It was also a good place to people watch, it had a rather varied clientele.

     She seemed to take an interest in the fact I was writing.  She was sitting at a table close to the booth in which I was writing.  I did note her interest, but went on writing, not really paying much attention to her.  I also noted, an idle thought really, she was a bit younger than I was.  Oh, she was no young kid.  I do people watch while I am writing.  I write a while and then people watch.  I noted, as she came into the place, she was attractive and dressed very nicely.  I think I had particularly noticed her, because she was alone.  That went into my memory bank in case I wanted to describe a similar woman in one of my stories.  I think I noticed her, because she seemed to fit the character in a story I had recently started.  It was just a start.  I hadn’t done anything else with it since I started to put it down. I hadn’t yet figured out where I would go with that particular idea.  That was one of my problems.  I would get an idea, maybe a scene, start putting it down and develop it to a certain point.  Then I wouldn’t know where I wanted to take it from that point.  I had no clear idea what the whole story was going to be.  I actually had a number of those starts on my computer.  Oh, I had a number of finished stories that I was trying to get some editor or literary agent interested in, also.

     I had finished putting down a particular bit of action and as I often do, glanced around.  I then noticed she was looking at me rather intently, as if she wanted to say something.  I gave her a friendly, but non-committal smile.

     “Could I ask what you are so industriously writing?” she asked.  She said it in a friendly, interested way.  It wasn’t just a top of the head question.  She sounded like she was interested to find out.  For what reason I didn’t have a clue.

     “Fiction,” I said looking at her.  Her question didn’t seem to require any detailed explanation.  At least not at the moment.

     “Could you teach me?” she asked.

     I guess I looked a little surprised.  That question came out of the blue.  I had not anticipated anything like that.  I hesitated before I answered.  As I look back, I think she knew I was writing fiction.  Her question came too quickly not to be planned.  Course I have no idea why she chose me.

     “I’m really not a teacher of creative writing,” I said kind of hesitatingly, as if I didn’t want to cut her off.  I really didn’t.  She had a very nice sounding, friendly voice.  Her speech was precise as if she was well educated.  She had a nice smile.

     “But obviously, you know how to write.  You really look like you know what you are doing.  I have noticed you in here before,” she said.  I was surprised, because I don’t remember noticing her.  I really thought I would have remembered her, if she was alone, as she obviously was now.  Let’s face it, I do notice attractive women, especially one dressed as nicely as she was dressed.  Especially one around her age.

     She sensed my surprise, I think, so she continued, “I’ve been here with groups, really more chance acquaintances,” she smiled.  “They gave me a chance to come with someone.  I was never really a part of any of the groups.  I would kind of know one or more of the group.”  It would be possible I wouldn’t have noticed her under those circumstances.  I give a more cursory glance to women accompanied by a man, or in a mixed group.

     “Have you tried to do any writing?” I asked.  I thought I would try to find out what she knew about writing.  Was she a rank beginner, one who just thought she would like to write, but never tried it?  It would help to get a fix on that.  If she had done a little writing, and had some background in it, she would be an interesting person to get to know better.

     “Yes and I have had some creative writing courses in the distant past.  I guess I thought if someone like you, who seems to be good at writing, would kind of talk me through the process a little, take a look at what I have done, it might help me to get going.  I guess more of a mentor, not really a teacher,” she said.

     As she was talking, I started thinking it might be nice to get together with someone like her.  I could use someone to talk to myself.  It was true.  I didn’t have any problem writing.  It seemed to come natural.  The ideas seemed to keep coming and I kept putting them down on paper.  Perhaps I could give her a little help.  That is all she was really asking for, a little help.

     “Well, I suppose I could try,” I said.  “I’m not under any deadline to finish what I am writing.  It wouldn’t interrupt anything.”  Then I had a thought.  “Do you have something you have started writing?”

     “Actually, I have made several starts over the last nine months.  They always seem to bog down.  I guess I’m not sure that what I’m writing is any good.  If I’m saying it in the right way.  I’ve tried writing out plots and making detailed descriptions of characters, but then I seem to lose the idea of the story.  I get bogged down in detail.”

     “That is why I don’t plot, or write down details of my characters.  I let them and the story develop together, then I go back and rework it into a more interesting story.  If I had to put down the details of plot and character first, I would never write,” I told her.

     “Maybe that is what I am doing wrong.  That is what I would hope you could show me.  We could start by meeting here.  I’m a widow.  My husband died several years ago.  I got the impression you were a widower,” she said.  Then she added with a small smile, “Although I noticed you are still wearing a wedding ring.”

     “My wife died several years ago,” I told her.  “Writing keeps my mind active and gives me something to do.  Something I like doing.”  Then I answered her unasked question, “I just never saw any reason to take off the ring.  It was a long standing habit I had no reason to break, so far.”

     “I always wanted to write.  I decided now, that I really had the time, I should try.  But I felt I was floundering around,” she said.  She didn’t explain why she had the time now and not before.  I suppose it had something to do with her husband.  I didn’t make any comment on that.  It really wasn’t important.

     “Do you have anything with you?” I asked.  I had gotten a feeling this really wasn’t a chance meeting, as it first seemed.  I think she had come by herself, hoping I would be here.  As I said, I was sure she knew I was writing fiction.  She must have decided there was a chance I would agree to get together with her.  I had talked pleasantly with the people here and I have a habit of looking pleasantly and smiling at people who look at me.  I hope I give off the impression of being friendly.  My problem is, I really am not good with small talk.  I can put it down on paper, but not vocalize it.  I can usually carry on an intelligent conversation on subjects about which I have some knowledge.

     “Yes, I do,” she immediately said.  She reached for a brief case sitting on a chair beside her and pulled out some papers.  They were done on a computer printer, I noticed.  That would help.  I wouldn’t have to decipher her handwriting.  Besides, it would be easier for her to change and rewrite after discussing it.  She could just do the changing and rewriting on the computer.  It wouldn’t be such a drag to make changes.  It was a plus, as far as I was concerned, that she was writing on a computer.  Actually, I had really started to do a lot of writing after I got a computer.  It took the hassle out of writing and rewriting.  No erasing or starting over again.  Editing and rewriting were easy with a computer.  I could write faster and get my thoughts and ideas down and worry about making corrections later. 

     “Why don’t you move over here,” I said, indicating the opposite seat in the booth where I was sitting.  She gave me a smile and moved over.  I think that is what she was hoping for.

I noted the cologne she was wearing.  I liked it.  It wasn’t overpowering.  I have a hunch it was expensive.  Maybe it was real perfume.  The clothes she was wearing were expensive I am sure.  Of course, I’m no expert on that, but it was the impression I had gotten.  She did know how to dress, that I recognized.

     I took the papers she gave me, pushed aside what I was writing.  Then she got an embarrassed look on her face.

     “I’ve interrupted your writing,” she said apologetically.

     “No.  I was at a natural break place.  I had put down my thoughts at the moment.  It won’t hurt anything,” I assured her.  “That’s the way I write.  In takes.  I bring it back home and type it into the documents on my computer.  I actually do my writing on a computer.  Laptops are a little too rich for my blood, or I probably would be writing here with one of them,” I admitted.  She just smiled at my frankness.  I figured I might as well be truthful.  It would save some explaining later.

     I started to read what she had written.  It wasn’t bad.  Too much description, I noted right away.  Too much detail to start out with.  I started flipping through some pages looking for some action, some dialogue.  About the fourth page, there was some dialogue.  She was watching me rather intently.   I began to read again.  It wasn’t bad.  A little stiff, but that could be fixed, because some of it was good.  Maybe she did just need some mentoring, a little direction, some encouragement.  That I could probably do.  She might prove a good sounding board for my writing also.  She had good word skills, that was very evident from what I was reading.  Her writing was just a little pedantic.  It was obvious she was both intelligent and had a good education.  She just had to learn to make it truer to life.  Make it more relaxed, smoother.  I was thinking that maybe I could help her accomplish that.  I smiled as I looked up at her across the table.

     “You do have good word skills.  Some of your dialogue is good.  Try speaking your dialogue after you have written it.  It will give you an idea what you should change.  Some of it is a little stiff.  Make it truer to life, real conversation.  You would see that when you read out loud.  You need more action, less telling in your stories.  See if you can’t develop some of the description through the characters eyes and their actions.”

     She was listening intently.  “You’re saying get into the action right away?” she asked.

     “Yes, then you can intersperse some of the description among the action scenes.  Sometimes you can develop what a character is like in how he reacts to situations and how he says things.  Is he or she serious, flip, hesitant, forceful?  You can show all of these things rather than tell them.”

     “Some of my characters end up not seeming true,” she said questioningly.

     “Maybe you’re trying to force them to be what they aren’t.  You have to let your characters tell you what they are like.  Sometimes they don’t like what you are trying to make them do,” I told her with a smile.  She had a questioning look.

     “You’re making it sound like my characters have a life of their own.”

     “If they don’t, they become stick figures.  Put them into a situation and see how they react.  Don’t impose your ideas on them.  You have to let them be real people.  They can surprise you.”

     “But doesn’t the writer create the situation and the characters?” she asked.

     “Yes, but how the characters you create, react to the situation, has to be up to them.  Just like real people.  You can’t superimpose your ideas on them.  Don’t try to write your characters too tightly.  Give them some room to be themselves.  Let them surprise you.  They really can, if you will let them,” I told her.

     “Maybe that was my problem.  I wanted to be in complete charge.  Make my characters act exactly the way I wanted them to act.  You’re telling me to paint my characters in broad strokes to start out with, then let them tell me what they are really like within those broad parameters.”  She looked at me for confirmation of this idea.

     “That’s right.  You may, and some times do, end up with a different type of story than you started out with.  Most of the time it is a better story because you didn’t try to force it into a particular mold,” I answered.

     We talked a little more about writing and then exchanged some information on ourselves.  Apparently her husband left her very well off.  She had a townhouse in one of the very upscale sections of this suburb.  I recognized the name of the subdivision she mentioned.  I lived in the adjoining suburb, not known as being nearly as affluent.

     We decided we would get together here in a couple of days.  Actually it was her suggestion.  I immediately agreed.  She said she would work on some of the suggestions I made.  She asked if she could look at something of mine.  I gave her one of my short stories I had recently reworked.  I was interested in seeing what her reaction would be.  During our conversation it became very obvious she was well read.  I could use another person’s view on my writing.  Especially someone, who was intelligent, well read, obviously had a good education and was interested in writing.  We agreed on the date and the time.  I was retired.  I was flexible.  Apparently her time was also pretty much her own.

     When I came on the day we agreed to meet, she was already there and had taken a booth.  When I came in she came up to meet me with a smile.

     “I have a shorter distance to come, so I thought I would try to get us a booth,” she said, as we went together to put in our order.  I loved a particular bagel and cream cheese combination they featured, so that is what I ordered.

     “Is that especially good?” she questioned, before she gave her order.

     “I’m hooked on it,” I replied with a grin.  She decided to try it also.  We got what we ordered, got our coffee and sat down.  She had a laptop with her.  It looked rather new and a very expensive kind.  I brought a book on writing I thought might be helpful and gave it to her.

     “I think this is one of the better books on writing fiction.  It gives you options,” I told her.

     “You mean it doesn’t say, this is the way you have to do it or you won’t succeed?” she asked with a smile.  It sounded like she had read some of those types of books.

     I nodded, “It gives you options and then says, find the one you’re most comfortable with,” I replied.

     “How do you find the one you’re comfortable with?” she asked.

     “By trial and error.  By writing and writing.  Do what you like to do and what comes easiest,” I said.  “You’ll recognize it.”

     “You mean you kind of find a natural rhythm to your writing?”

     “I did.  I don’t know about others.  I’m not saying it’s always easy,” I told her.  “In fact, many writers say it is hard work, but it is work they like to do.”  She just kind of smiled and didn’t say anything.  A moment later, she pointed to the laptop.

     “This was my husband’s laptop.  I have my own.  It has been just sitting around.  Why don’t you take it and use it.  You can’t get much for used equipment.”  I hesitated for a moment.

     “That’s an expensive piece of equipment.  I recognized that,” I said.  Let’s face it, I would love to have a laptop like that one.  But I didn’t know how to handle this offer at the moment.  We really had just met.

     “It’s not that new and it would be much better if you used it rather than have it sit around gathering dust.”  She said it as if it was really no big deal.  I didn’t say anything more.  We concentrated on enjoying our roll and coffee for a while.  I was finding her easy to be with.  The trouble is, I don’t know why she would want to be with me.  I hadn’t lied to her about my abilities as a writer, or as to my financial situation.  Let’s face it, I was just getting by.  Oh, I didn’t have to do any real skimping, but I had to watch what I spent my money on.  It was apparent from what she had said, she didn’t have that problem.  For some reason, that didn’t seem to be important to her.  Perhaps she was just looking for someone who also had a serious interest in writing.  That I could offer her.  I was kind of looking for the same thing.  I said, kind of, because that was not an immediate priority for me.  It seemed a little more important to her.  That is probably why she initiated this relationship.  That might be why she made the offer of the laptop.  That would help to formalize the relationship.  I wasn’t objecting.  I figured I would just see where this led.  She seemed like someone I would like to keep getting together with.

     While we drank our coffee, after finishing our bagel, we kind of talked a little more about writing in general.  Then she pulled out my story and gave it back to me.

     “I really liked it.  You do great dialogue.  I wish I could be that facile with people talking.”  Then she added, “I wrote some notes, separately, not on your story, about what I really liked and what I had questions on.  I keyed it in to your page numbers.  I hope it might help a little.”  Apparently she was real organized.  I wish I could say the same about myself.

     “I can use all the help I can get,” I told her with a grin.  I knew I could.  “I made some more notes about your work.  I made a few suggestions as to how I might handle a particular situation just to give you a jumping off point and maybe trigger some ideas of what you want to do with it.”

     She smiled, “You’re telling me you’re just giving me a for-instance.  It wasn’t meant for me to do exactly as you suggested.”

     “That’s right.  It’s your story.  You know where you intended it to go.  You have to keep it your story or it won’t work,” I immediately said.  Actually I expected her to do that.  I was sure she wasn’t going to slavishly follow what I had said.  That is why I gave her those ideas in that way. 

     While we were drinking coffee, we both went over what we saw in each other’s writing.  She did have some good questions about my story and it did give me some ideas on how to improve it.  I really hadn’t expected to get anything of real value this soon.  I hope I did the same for her.  She seemed to indicate that I did.  She asked some really intelligent questions about what I had written down.  That gave me a chance to elaborate on some of the things I mentioned.  I think I had gotten her thinking and in the right direction.  At least I was hoping that was the case.  

     This was proving to be enjoyable, as well as helpful for me.  We decided to meet in a couple more days.  I was surprised.  It gave me kind of a lift, just thinking about meeting her again.  I began to plan to make sure this continued.  I really was thinking about what it was doing for me, not for her.  She was proving nice company.  That is why I said I used her.  I was being selfish. I admit it.  I wanted this to continue because I liked being with her, and she had a serious interest in writing.  It was a perfect combination for me at this time.

     We decided we would go over what we had done with our writing as the result of this session, at the next time we met.  I was glad she was willing to meet again so soon. 

     When I came, I found she was already there and had gotten a booth for us.  She gave me a smile as I came up and put my things in the booth.  I had brought along the laptop and some blank discs.  Then she got up and we went to get our roll and coffee.

     “I felt much better about writing this time.  I felt more confident in what I was doing.  I really felt like I was making some progress, not just spinning my wheels,” she told me.

     “I’m glad to hear that.  I really didn’t think that would come so soon,” I told her smiling back at her.  I really hadn’t.  I didn’t think my suggestions were that good.  She sounded really positive about that.  She wasn’t just saying that to make me feel good.  Maybe she was on the brink of finding her voice and a little nudge on my part did the trick.  I was thinking that was great, because she would be willing to keep meeting.  I brought the laptop along so if we wanted to put something down while we were working together we could.  I brought several discs with some of my writing on them.  I was finding I really did want to keep meeting with her.  She was very pleasant and it was very enjoyable to be with her.  However, I wasn’t carrying that any farther than just to keep meeting with her to discuss writing.  Oh, I suppose, in the back of my mind, I was thinking it would be nice to get together with her just for her company.  I wasn’t about to suggest any such thing yet.  I had the intelligence enough to be very careful in this.  Actually, under the situation of our very different financial situation, it would be better if she suggested it.  It might be suspect if I made the suggestion.  We actually did use the laptop to do some writing as we worked some things out together.  We saved it to discs, so we could take it back and put it on our computers.

     We did fall into a regular pattern of meeting at this place.  In fact, we began to meet twice a week.  We did do a little writing on the laptop, occasionally.   This went on for two months, then one day she asked,

     “Would you like to come to my place for lunch?”

     We’d had a really good discussion that day, and it seemed kind of natural to carry it over to lunch.  I had a hunch she had this planned and for this day.  It was just that the discussion was especially good today, lent that natural feeling to her suggestion.

     “I’d be happy to,” I said, but tried to make it kind of non-committal.  I didn’t want to sound too eager.  I was interested to see what her townhouse looked like.  I knew the area, but not the location.  We gathered up our things and went out to our cars.  I had never seen her get out of her car, so didn’t know what she was driving.  It was a real luxury car, and new.  I kind of silently let out a whistle.  She might have more money than I had figured.

     “I’ll follow you,” I said and went over to my car.  We were just parked a couple spots away.  I had a relatively new, small car, but I had kept it looking good.  She drove off and I pulled out and followed her.  When we reached her townhouse, I really did a double take.  It was in a section of very expensive townhouses.  Her’s seemed to be one of the biggest.  It was obviously very expensive.  It had a three-car garage.  She pulled into the nearest one and I parked my car behind that garage.  She went inside and opened the front door. 

     “I could have let you come in through the garage, but I thought it would be easier this way this time,” she said.  It sounded like she was planning to have me over again.  That sounded good to me, but I better not look too eager, at least not yet.  I just smiled pleasantly at her and didn’t make any comment.  I just followed her in.  Her townhouse was beautifully decorated and beautifully furnished.  It was obviously expensive furniture.  I began to wonder what I was doing in here.  I shoved that thought aside. 

     She led me into the living room, at least that is what I called it. 

     “I don’t even know if you drink?” she said kind of hesitatingly.

     “On real rare occasions,” I answered then with a smile I added, “If you are asking if I might have problems with liquor, the answer is no.  I just never felt the need for it, so I only drank when the situation called for it.  The situation no longer calls for it,” I then added with a smile.  She laughed at the way I added that last sentence.

     “I have some good wine,” she said.  “Would you like a glass?”

     “Sounds good to me,” I replied.

     She brought me a glass and then went back into the kitchen. 

     “It shouldn’t take long,” she said over her shoulder as she turned to go.  She had put an apron on.  It was somewhere in between a real frilly one and a real working apron.  On her it looked good.  The wine she gave me, was very good, and I think very expensive.  Of course, I’m definitely not a wine connoisseur.  Pretty soon some wonderful smells came out of the kitchen.  I think this was planned out well in advance.  Although I wasn’t about to admit it, I could use a good home cooked meal made by someone who really knew what they were doing.  Oh, I did all right for myself.  I wasn’t ready to subject anyone else to my cooking, though.  I hadn’t even wondered if she could cook.  I really hadn’t got to the point of wondering if she would invite me to her place.  I definitely hadn’t thought she would invite me for a meal of any kind.  Up to this time, it really had been us just meeting to discuss our writings.  Neither of us had mentioned any other possibility.  Apparently she was ready to move it along.  I wasn’t objecting.  In fact, I found I was very willing.

     It wasn’t long before she invited me out to an eating area just off the kitchen.  It wasn’t small, you could seat eight people comfortably.

     “I thought this would be more informal than using the dining room,” she said.

     “Looks wonderful to me.”  And it did.  The kitchen was big with an island counter.  The appliances were obviously top quality.  The kitchen and the appliances were color coordinated, that was obvious even to me.  Her table and chairs in this informal dining area, were better than my dining room furniture, I figured.  Her townhouse was looking more and more expensive all the time.  Some real professional with outstanding taste had seen to the furnishing of her townhouse.

     She had set it up to look informal, but it was obvious, thought had gone into it.  Her casual dishes were as good as the ones I considered my very best.  In addition, this was a lunch you would serve to good friends whose opinion you valued.  In other words it was thoughtfully and beautiful done.  I sat down and she sat down beside me, not opposite me.

     “I hope you like it,” she said.

     “It looks wonderful and smells even better,” I immediately replied.  That was the truth.  I was prepared to really enjoy it.  I was again making a mental note to try to prolong this relationship.  I wouldn’t mind enjoying this fairly regularly.  I did have the intelligence to not hint at that.  Actually, I got the impression that was the direction of her thinking.  I still didn’t know why.  She was quite a few years younger than I was.  In fact, I would guess ten or more.  Probably more.  I definitely had never considered myself a ladies man, so that had no influence on her.  Also, I could not be considered a successful writer yet.  I pushed those thoughts aside.  No sense in introducing any negative thoughts on my part.  This was her choice.  I wasn’t about to be stupid and object.

     The meal was really great.  She could cook.  I guess it surprised me in a way.  I had found out she had a master’s degree and most of her work done for a doctorate in psychology.  However, she had taken a lot of courses in literature and creative writing over the years.  That had sparked her interest in writing fiction.  Her husband had been a doctor who had invested very wisely over the years.  He had died rather suddenly.  I also found out they both came from money.  That kind of slipped out inadvertently.  That kind of explained why she was so casual about the home she had and the car she was driving.  It didn’t seem to mean that much to her.  She had seen the car I was driving.  I wondered what her reaction would be when she saw the house I was living in.  Oh, it was a nice place in a nice neighborhood, but it would look tiny compared to her place.  Well I would have to worry about that when and if I ever brought her home to my place.  Of course, this was still a very casual relationship so far, built around our interest in writing fiction.  Besides, I had been truthful and hadn’t built myself up. 

    We did sit around after the meal and talk about writing.  I did help her clean up after we finished eating.

     “I do know my way around a kitchen,” I said with a grin.  “At least my kitchen.”

     “You mean you do your own cooking?” she inquired with a little smile.

     “I have to,” I replied truthfully.  “I don’t like fast food or TV dinners and I can’t afford to eat out everyday at good restaurants, so I had to learn to cook for myself.  I really don’t mind the cooking that much.  I’ve learned to live with it.”  I almost added that I didn’t like to eat alone, but thought better in time.  That would sound too much like I was angling for a permanent relationship.  Even I wasn’t ready for that yet.  Not that she wasn’t proving to be a wonderful woman to have a permanent relationship of some kind with.  We really didn’t know that much about each other yet.  Besides, just because she invited me over for a lunch, didn’t mean she thought me suitable for more than that.  I will admit, I wouldn’t object if she started to move things slowly in that direction.  However, I was a realist.  I couldn’t see why she would want to do that with me.  I was sure there were men her age out there, who would be happy to connect up with her.  I did get the impression she really wasn’t looking for that at the moment.  Maybe she thought men her age would try to move in on her in a hurry, once they saw her townhouse and the car she was driving.

     After we cleared off the table, she showed me where she did her writing.  There was a room she used for an office.  Her computer was state-of-the art.  I was envious, but I had the intelligence to make the appropriate remarks.  We decided to take our work out to the kitchen dining area, so we could spread out.  She brought out her lap-top and I got my stuff from the car.  We spent all afternoon, then I said I should be getting home.  I think she considered suggesting going out to get a bite for dinner, but then decided not to.  I was kind of glad she didn’t.  My budget wouldn’t stand many dinners out, and I hadn’t figured out how to promote going out dutch yet.  I gathered up my things, thanked her for the wonderful lunch.  Complimented her on her townhouse and said I would see her again at the coffee-house in a couple of days.  It had been a wonderful day, but I did wonder where it was leading to.  Not that I worried.  Even so far, I was getting much the better part of this bargain.

      We did meet again a couple days later.  She didn’t say anything about the lunch, so I took her lead and didn’t either.  However, we picked up where we left off at her house.  The next couple of times we met were back to our usual meetings.  She was definitely making progress, as far as I was concerned.  Actually, I felt I was too.  I think it was partly the result of my working with her and part her suggestions about my stories.  In addition, meeting with her regularly was giving me a lift.  I was really looking forward to the times when we would get together.  I was glad she seemed to want to continue these meetings.  I definitely did.

     It was several weeks later she mentioned getting together for lunch.  I said it was fine with me.  I was trying to not sound overly eager, but just noncommitally agreeable.  We set it up for one of the days we did not ordinarily meet for coffee.  This was strictly going to be for lunch and of course conversation.  I was glad she suggested that day.  It would mean I would get together with her another time.  I was finding I really enjoyed her company.  It had nothing to do with the fact we were working together on our writing.  No that is not really true.  The fact she was interested in writing fiction, was a plus.  It made it even more enjoyable to be with her.  As I said, I was thinking mostly of what this relationship was doing for me.  That is really why I wanted it to continue.  That is why I was happy she suggested to also get together for lunch on a day we didn’t usually meet.

     She was at the restaurant waiting.  When I came up to her, she smiled at me and said,

     “We’ll go dutch.  I thought I would establish that right away.”  I laughed.

     “You wanted to keep down the arguments?  Or were you eliminating the possibility we would be around all afternoon waiting for the other one to pick up the check?”  She laughed at the way I said that and the silly grin on my face, but she didn’t say anything.  I’m sure she would have reached for the check right away and given me a good argument if I had tried to insist I pay.  We were ushered to a table and we began to look at the menu.  We discussed some possibilities and then made our decisions.  It became apparent that we did have some similar likes and dislikes as far as food was concerned.  She seemed to be really interested in this and discussed it more thoroughly than you would ordinarily discuss something like this.  Of course it did make a good conversational subject, but it did seem to particularly interest her.  I did make the comment that this was a good choice.  Actually it was her choice, which I heartily agreed with.  It had very good food and fairly reasonable prices.  It was the type of restaurant I would feel comfortable eating in.  I think she chose it for that reason. 

     While we were waiting for our lunch, we did do a little talking about writing.  She kind of explained why she hadn’t tried writing before her husband died.  Apparently he liked to do a lot of entertaining and they were active in a number of organizations.  She opted out of most of that, after her husband died.  She casually mentioned that all those people were pairs and she was a single.  She implied it became a little difficult.  She decided it wasn’t that important to her.  It also might have been that a couple of men were getting too interested, some of whom were married.  I think she could be blunt if needed in that situation.  She did have a sense of confidence about her.  She would definitely not be a push over.  That gave me a little more insight on her.  I still definitely liked what I saw.

     When our meals came, we put the conversation on hold as we enjoyed what we had ordered.  The restaurant did have very good food, which one tended to savor, not just eat.  As we ate, I still did wonder why she seemed to be indicating she wished to take this relationship a step beyond just meeting to discuss fiction writing.  I wasn’t objecting, mind you, but as a realist, I did wonder.  As we were finishing up our meal, we did talk a little bit more about ourselves.  I kind of explained why I was writing fiction.  That I was putting down stories in my mind and I found I enjoyed doing that.  I said I had recently begun to work those stories over with the thought of trying to have them published.  I hadn’t started out that way.

     “In other words, you were just getting the stories down and not thinking about how another person would read them?” she said kind of questioningly.

     “Right,” I replied, “As a result I have had to do some major rewriting of my first efforts.  I have sampled the books on writing fiction and have made some changes in my writing as a result.  I haven’t changed the stories I am writing though, or basically the way I write.”

     “You mean you just have tried to refine it and make it more interesting for someone else to read,” she commented.

     “That’s really what I have been looking for in the books of writing.  Some of them do a better job of that than others.  Some of them don’t do a thing for me,” I told her.

     “May I ask you a personal question.  Is it really important that you get what you are writing published?” She looked at me to see how I would take that question.

     “If you mean, is the only reason I am writing is to get published, the answer is no.  However, I would like to get published and I will work at trying to do that, but I will continue to write whether I get published or not.  If you are saying will I change what I am writing and how I am writing just so I can get published, the answer again is no.  That’s really an ambiguous answer, but it’s the best I can do,” I answered with a grin.

     “No, it gave me the answer to my question,” she said.  “I had a feeling you are writing because you enjoy writing and as you said it keeps your mind active.  You are not writing solely for the idea of becoming a published author.”

     “I don’t think I am writing undying prose, nor do I think that what I am writing cannot be improved,” I said.  “I’m willing to learn as long as someone doesn’t say you have to completely change what you are doing and how you are doing it.”

     “That is why you keep telling me it is my story and I have to write it the way I see it,” she said.

     “I don’t have the magic bullet.  I’m really not aiming to be a best-selling author.  I do hope to become a reasonably successful author eventually.  But then again, I am not planning to hold my breath until that happens,” I told her.  I added the last with a rather broad grin.  She looked at me rather thoughtfully.

     “I’m actually glad that is the way you think.  I think I would be uncomfortable if you were hell-bent on being published by any means possible.  I was just hoping to be able to write something that I was happy with and might have a small chance to get it published,” she said with a small smile.  Apparently I answered her question in the right way.  I was glad.  If she was comfortable meeting with me, she would want to continue to do so.  I know I really wanted to continue to meet with her.  I could see the value to her meeting to discuss writing.  However I still wondered why she seemed to be indicating to take this relationship a step beyond that.  As I had said, I wasn’t a great conversationalist and financially I wasn’t in her ballpark.  I am sure she sensed that.  I hadn’t hidden it, although I hadn’t really made that obvious.

     We did do some further talking about our writing.  She had now started on a story I was sure would end up novel length.  She kind of sounded me out on some of the ideas she had for that.  I had an idea for a new short story I bounced off her.  It was a relaxed, casual conversation.  I was finding more and more that I really enjoyed her company.  The story idea she had, sounded like an interesting one.  It also sounded like one she could do very well.  It was set, from what she told me, in a setting she would be very familiar with.  It was encouraging that she would choose that setting.  Of course, it was not one I would really be familiar with, so I couldn’t help her there.

     She did make sure we went dutch, but she did it with a smile and a little kidding.  We sat around awhile, after we finished and talked about a number of things, not writing.  When we left the restaurant we arranged to meet at our regular day.  We then went back to our regular meetings to discuss our writing.  After the next three meetings, it became obvious she was really making some progress.  Actually, she seemed to be doing better than I was doing.  When I commented on that she kind of kidded me about it.

     “Meeting with you has done wonders for my writing.  I’m beginning to feel more comfortable with it,” she said.

     “I’m really surprised at the fast progress you seem to be making.  I really can’t claim any responsibility,” I told her.  “I know what advice I gave you wasn’t that good.”

     “Well it did the job so far, so it must have been,” she insisted giving me a smile.

     “I think you only needed a little nudge and I wasn’t sure I was nudging you in the right direction,” I said, kind of shaking my head.  I really did think that if anything I did helped her, it was my encouraging her to keep trying.  I knew she wouldn’t buy that. 

     “Well it definitely was in the right direction and I hadn’t found anything else that was about to do that.”  Then she hesitated for a moment.  “Besides it has been fun,” she added.

     “Oh, I’d agree with that last statement,” I immediately said with a grin.  She gave me a happy smile.  She seemed to be thinking for a few moments.

     “Maybe we should go out for lunch again next week.”  She looked at me for my reaction to that.  I kind of wondered if she had been thinking about suggesting dinner, but decided to change it to lunch again this time.  The way she hesitated before she suggested it made me wonder.

     “Sounds fine to me, what day would be best for you?” I asked.  We decided on a day, we wouldn’t be meeting to discuss our writing.  I was happy about that.  I didn’t push for it, but I was happy she suggested it.  We also decided on the restaurant, it was one I suggested.  She readily agreed. 

     “Dutch,” she said.  I laughed at how she got that in immediately.  She didn’t want me pulling the gentleman stuff.  I’m now sure she would gladly pay for it.  I had a hunch she was trying to think of a way to suggest that while allowing me to save face.  That was probably why she backed off suggesting dinner and suggested lunch instead.  I had a good hunch that as soon as she figured out how she could pay for it, she would suggest going out for dinner.  Going out for dinner could have other implications and I really wasn’t ready for that.  Of course, maybe she had decided she wasn’t either. 

     We met once for coffee, rolls and writing, before the lunch date.  That is what it was, a lunch date.  It wasn’t for discussing writing.  She was the one that was moving it in that direction and I wasn’t objecting.  I was really enjoying her company and obviously she must have been enjoying my company. I wondered if she would suggest going to her place for lunch again.  I think she didn’t want to push me to think I would have to invite her to my place for lunch.  I’m sure she would have willingly come to my place, she just didn’t want me to think I w