Writer write up

Being Written Reading

I walked into the local bookstore and it smelled of coffee . The delta blues was playing softly . I set up my workstation on a side table preparing to take notes . There were eight marigolds , a half-eaten muffin , and a nearly empty mug of some unknown beverage in my midst . The gothic fellow manning the coffee stand ate some sort of biscuit behind the counter . He spoke to a co-worker of an art studio that he used to have . Meanwhile , a man with glasses and slightly shaggy brown hair was

setting things up for the reading : the podium , the microphone , and the chairs . At first , I thought he was the author , but he wasn 't . William Conescu , the author , had short , curly black hair and no glasses . His eyelids were red . He seemed simultaneously nervous and illimitably delighted to be here . Support was present in the form of a close friend This friend snapped a photo of William when the reading began

Before William Conescu approached the podium , a gray-haired lady placed flyers of the bookstore 's current events on the eighteen chairs arranged in the open room . Then she made an introduction , speaking largely to the seven people in the cafe area . No one had yet sat in any of the chairs lined up in neat rows facing the podium . There were only four minutes left before the reading commenced . The sky darkened

Finally , two men draped their coats and scarves over the backs of chairs . I...