"That's [i]exactly[/i] what happened to me. I went out on a skiff last summer with my sister..." I smirk as I sip some water. Benny seems to be good at this. It's the end of day one of my first writing workshop here in Georgia, and I love it. So many people passionate about writing, and structuring stories, and getting insights into the human condition and shit. There's a fire in everyone's eyes, this exciting energy pulsing throughout the whole day. Benny is the epicenter of it. He's a tall man, with a beard as big and thick as his personality. His eyebrow twitches when he gets excited. It's great. He goes in for the big finish to his boating story. Our circle of strangers erupts in laughter. A smaller man, Jeremy, chimes in. "That's happened to me, too! My aunt goes boating every summer, and one time, there was this intense storm rolling in from south of the lake..." I want to chime in, too. I've never been boating, but I want to share the energy. I want to take a huge bite of the conversation like a thick steak sandwich. But I've never been boating, so I smile and listen. [hr] The chatter dies down. I jump in. "Speaking of-" "I know what you mean," Benny says. "This one time, when I was in Alabama..." Of course. I put on a smile to blend in with the other writers at our table. Day one of some big writing workshop in California. The workshop part was fine, but not really the rest. Had to drive nineteen hours for this, with Benny in the passenger seat talking my ear off the whole time. Not sure I'll do it next year. There's a woman next to me, the only one who hasn't touched her pizza. She takes a sip of water from her plastic cup. She doesn't seem to be paying attention to Benny's story, either. I wait until we make eye contact, then wave. "Hey. I'm Dean," I say, quiet enough to not interrupt Benny. "Sam," she says, offering her hand. I shake it. She grips weakly. "Long day?" I ask, hoping for a yes. Sam shrugs. "Lots of conversations today. I'm just not used to it." I chuckle. She's tired. "Everyone wants to tell a story today, but no one actually listens," I say, making the subtlest of gestures towards Benny. " 'All writers are vain', right?" "That's... um..." Her smile fades and she looks to the center of the table. "...kind of rude," she almost whispers. [i]Shit.[/i] I turn away too. [i]Damnit.[/i] Benny gets to the big finish and everyone at the table glances at everyone else, feeding off each others' reactions. A man across the table looks to me. I put on another smile. The man almost takes it as permission. "That reminds me, my dad went dirt biking once..." [hr] "Hey, Dean!" Benny exclaims. He stands up and shakes my hand. He's shaven. "Haven't seen you in years!" I smile and shake Benny's hand. "Yeah, it's been a while." I look around the giant circle of chairs. "Been even longer since I've gone to one of these things." I'm not sure why I came. Closure for the death of my little writing career, I guess. I should've expected Benny to be there. I saw him earlier that day, standing in front of a sizeable booth with a giant picture of his book on it, like a backdrop to his own little twenty-square-foot theater. "You're published and everything," I say. He strokes his chin and nods. His eyebrow twitches. It's annoying. "Yeah, first best-seller. I'm so excited. And guess what? I'm hosting one of the workshops here. It's on dynamic characters." His laugh trails off. "Hard to believe it." I nod. "Yeah." He glances down at my hands. They're empty. "Hey, um, if you brought a draft of something, we could workshop it here. Or I could, you know, take a look at it personally." I sigh. The one time someone wants to hear my story. "Thanks," I say, smiling, "but I stopped writing a while ago. I appreciate the offer, though." "No problem," Benny says, offering me a seat next to him. "We're about to start soon, if you'd like to listen in." I sit down and stare at a spot on the carpet, and I listen. Benny rubs his hands. "Okay, everyone, let's start. I want to begin with a story. This one time..."