The silver pen award

To look at ordinary, everyday me, nothing outwardly would reveal that I am a chappie who’s won a Silver Pen Award for writing. Yes!…at the local writers group I go to. I knew it would happen one day and the thing is I hadn’t intended to go this month. I mean, the time’s going on as they talk about all manner of things and I’m sitting there with several newly hatched items to try out on them. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve said to myself, ‘I’m not going anymore’. But they’re such an interesting bunch you see. It’s been almost eighteen months since my first tentative venture into their slightly off-centre literary circle. Most of them have been writing for years, even contributed to a booklet they’d had printed. ‘Looking back’, it’s called.

Well at the last meeting my name came up as winner. I tried to look suitably surprised and happy. The lady seated next to me became more friendly than usual, chatting and smiling as she handed me the award. The little box was the worse for wear, held together with sticky tape. You don’t keep the award you see, it’s brought back each month to compete for again. The point is to encourage folk to write; makes sense really.

I had a feeling about the item I’d written; maybe this time, that sort of thing. I wore one of my better shirts for the evening, and my nice blue pants. They’re rather tight in places now but go well with the shirt. And what’s a little discomfort when you’re in exalted company? More discomfort actually. Anyway, I kidded myself that the award, plus the dab or two of after-shave, and dare I say it, my tight pants assisted in the chummy closeness of the lady member I mentioned earlier. A rather quiet chap sat on the other side, well up with the play though with his witty sense of humour, and I was looking at him and wishing he’d surprise everyone; blow his top and let everything out, literary-ily speaking that is.

So here’s me holding this pen in its sticky box, finding out it’s not silver and feeling just a bit deflated. I can’t really go home to my wife and brag about winning a Silver Pen Award that’s not silver, can I? Then I asked the chummy lady how the award came about and was interested in what she told me. It seems that one of our company had been in a serious plane crash some years ago, came out unharmed but with a feeling of, ‘I’m still alive…what do I do with my life now?’ She decided she should write about some of her experiences, because as she saw things now, material things don’t, and can’t, say anything; they just get rusty or mouldy and finish up as dust. If she’d been killed at that time, what was there of herself that she’d like her family to remember? So she started writing, putting down her thoughts and opinions, things she liked or didn’t so that when she’d gone and folks asked what she was liked, instead of just showing them photos of her they could show them things she’d written. Then she bought this pen, took it to the next meeting, told them her story and the pen has gone from writer to writer since.

I guess we’ll never know how much down-to-earth stuff of life has been preserved in groups such as ours. Great idea of the lady who survived don’t you think? A Silver Pen Award! Yeah!

Dennis Crompton © 1996
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)