The Reading Group.

Writing is like cooking a Thanksgiving dinner. The cook spends hours on what is demolished in minutes. Equally a novel can take months to years to write and a few hours or days to read. As a writer, unlike the person who cooked Thanksgiving dinner, I usually don’t see the response of my readers.

A reading group in Lausanne had selected my novel Chickpea Lover, Not a Cookbook, as their selection and invited me to discuss it. The day arrived and I woke with a bit of trepidation. At the train station I thought a special Swiss sweet roll and some fresh squeezed mango would be good for the ride to Lausanne. Because it was a grey day, the Alps were in hiding, but the snow covered fields of grass, fruit trees and wheat were beautiful. Three shaggy ponies raised their heads from munching their grassicles to watch the train pass.

The nine women in the reading group met in the barrel-shaped caveau of a restaurant. The rounded walls and ceiling were decorated with pre-historic type drawings of local activities, fishing, grape harvesting, etc..

The speciality of the restaurant was a fondue Bacchus, a wine-flavored bullion kept warm over a fire like the better known cheese fondue. The waiter brought a tray of dipping sauces with garlic, curry, and seasonings I couldn’t identify other than good. He also brought each of us sticks with small pieces of veal on the tip and a nutmeged mashed potato stuffed back into the skin. We dipped out meat in the broth, listening to the warning, not to let it overcook then covered it with the sauces. The sticks went into water glasses placed strategically on the table. As the number of sticks increased our appetites decreased.

Then came the discussion of the book. Was David believable? Was Peter believable or only a fantasy? (He has been my fantasy). What about the sexual harassment? Could describe his food stand in more detail? I answered questions on how I write, rewrite, get ideas etc.

What was a gift was listening to people who had read the words that I had typed into my computer years before. What was a gift was that people had read them and thought about them. I will continue writing and I might even make another Thanksgiving dinner someday.