‘ ” ” ” ” ” ” ‘‘ ‘‘ ” ” ” ‘Table. Dining table. Four chairs. Tangerines. Bright orange. Full of seeds. Hand-picked. Ripe. Oatmeal raisin cookies (My favorite cookie in the world). Karen, Annis, Kathleen. The four of us—writers training for an imaginary writing Olympics. Team Bakersfield takes the field. Watch us flex our imagination, stretch our minds, expand our souls, spill our guts in torrents of description bringing memories from the darkness of past joys or even abuses. Everyone earns gold medals for putting pen to paper, filling a page with words. The scratch of the pen across the paper is music to our ears. The national anthem of the united states of writing—together. The energy is palpable. What comes up—siphoned from the wells of experience. The thoughts of four writers circle the table, bounce off of the walls and ceiling, ricochet against our heads, slide down our arms, through our hands and fingers into the pen and out on to the paper. An act. Wondrous. Awe-full. Profound. Creative. Fantastic. A tea cup. Hot. Roiboos.
‘ ” ‘