Dina Fleet Berry

Last night I sat at the Whatcom Writers and Publishers monthly meeting – at the speaker’s table. This usually happens because I’m not paying attention, not because I need to sit at that table. Two of the women I think are funny and fabulous were there and holding a place for me. Weren’t they kind?

I sat down and only knew one other person – Fred Su, the speaker. I caught up with the ladies and then we mingled with the other members of the table. Fred introduced his writing instructor and two of the critique class students. The teacher was completely white haired and she mentioned the class was held at the BTC before it was called the BTC.

This is normal in Bellingham to refer to a place by its name as you knew it from way back when. I know lots of place by their original names around town even though I arrived long after they were something else entirely. Want to know where the old Sears building was downtown? I could tell you even though its been out at the mall since before I arrived. That’s Bellingham.

The other two students were probably closer to Fred’s age, in sight of retirement if not already there. They mentioned they were in the critique class together for more than five years. That’s dedication.

The only other person at the table sat to my left by the name of Carl S. He said he had been a member for six years but I couldn’t remember him. Oops.

On my right, sat Kathy S., one of my happy friends. She writes dark fairy tales but she’s effusively happy. Doesn’t sound like it would mix but it does.

So Carl, by way of introduction, says he and Fred were in the service together during the war. Kathy said something like “oh, Vietnam.” Carl so “no.” Fred said he was stateside during the war. Carl is thin, tall, and a retired teacher of Creative Writing. I asked him what he wrote. He successfully evaded that with a smiling laugh and something about not having time to write since he spent 30 years editing papers from teenagers. Poor guy.

Some how the table’s conversation switched to the “man language” the teacher would have to say as she read each student’s work in the class at BTC. The other two women students gushed about how their proper teacher said these “man words” and the teacher nodded to Fred and Carl about how they knew those kinds of words since they were in the service.

“Man words?” I asked.

Oh, they blushed some more even thinking about it. How could they possibly explain? Finally the teacher piped up and said if the student had profanity in their writing, she was going to read it just as it was on the page. No mental editing while speaking.

Oh, so profane words: cussing, swearing – those were man words? I didn’t know.

Tags: Man Words, WWP