… and I doubt it’ll be the last. We’d gone to a writers’ get-together, and a good time was had by all — plenty of really nice folks, all intensely interested in the fine art of stringing words together. Ah-hhh, the quiet joys of being amongst kindred spirits.
Until the subject of my writing focus came up: “Fiction? How nice! What kind of writing do you do?”
* sigh *
There has got to be an apt word I can use in lieu of ‘fantasy’, there just has to be. I swear, I’m developing a real and diagnosable phobia about That Word. But, silly me, I went and answered, “Fantasy.”
And that’s when it happened. Eyes narrowed faintly as the head pulled back a bit, nose lifting ever so slightly into the air, either as a default response to That Word, or because I’d begun to reek from my dire utterance of That Word.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. But it felt like judgment.
“Oh,” came the rejoinder, “fantasy, you say?” The polite smile was still fixed in place, but it had taken on the aspects of rigor mortis.
One of these days I’m just going to lie.