According to a three-line ad in a Vegas newspaper, there is a Writer’s Guild in Las Vegas that meets twice a month at Borders. Excited, I showed up at the appointed time and place. Nobody was there. OK, I’m not exactly sure. The bookstore coffee shop was populated, but by writers? Hard to tell.
I lurked around the place pretending to look at bargain books while secretly inspecting the tables. Of the few groups, most had textbooks and graphing calculators. I ruled them out (get it? he he). Only one couple looked like they might be writers. Through subsequent observation, they were found to be discussing mysticism. While this subject did not rule them out, it did not rule them in either. In the end, I went home empty-handed, which says a lot for my self-discipline to be bumbling around a bookstore for an hour without buying anything.