Every Wednesday a group of about six male coffee drinkers meets at a table outside the coffee shop I frequent for my writing. I’ve exchanged pleasantries with the men on occasion, but never stopped to talk.
This morning as I was leaving, having reached my daily writing goal, one of the men said, “Leaving early today?”
“Yessir. I reached my word count so now I can go spend my husband’s money on frivolous stuff like food and gasoline.”
They all laughed, so I figured my work on earth was done.
“You’re a writer then?” Another man asked.
Now, the smart a** side of me wanted to say something witty, but the regular side of me couldn’t come up with anything, so I just admitted to being a writer.
And then I went into marketing mode. Sold six books. Yay me.