Magic

Magic. That's what a woman named Mary Ellen Aschenbrenner performs - magic.

Under the auspices of the Somonauk Public Library, she gathers her acolytes around her.

I notice a small blurb in the free community newspaper about something that is being billed as a writer's class. I always said that if my local library started a writers' group, I would support it. Accordingly, the following Monday, despite the pain, I drag my sorry, paralyzed ass out of bed. My son, Nik, gets me into the car and wheels me into the library's meeting room.

The room is abuzz with activity as a dozen people, mainly retirees and high school kids, settle into chairs around several long tables formed into a square. Everyone gets five minutes (by kitchen timer) to read their work. This is followed by discussion and analysis. We go around the table. Hey, there's some real talent here, I think.

When it's my turn, by way of introduction, I read a piece about my humanistic approach to writing. It is well-received. One woman refers to it as "deep." They ain't seen nothin' yet, I think. Mary Ellen remarks that she's been published in five states. "Well, I'm WANTED in five states," I reply. This gets everyone's attention. When Nik comes to collect me after the session, I am surrounded by young girls jotting down my Facebook information.

Through the pain and ill-health, I continue to attend week after week. As the participants get to know one another, I observe that what started out as a ragtag group of dabblers has become a core group of serious writers.

Everyone's writing improves, including mine. As the weeks and months roll by, the regular members develop respect, camaraderie, friendship, and most importantly, trust.

This enables the group to explore its deepest thoughts and experiences and share them in a public setting. The work continues to improve.

Regrettably, school lets out for summer vacation and the youngsters drift away. They will be back in the fall, they say, but this never happens. This is a shame because their youthful energy, enthusiasm, and bright smiles are sorely missed. On the occasion of the group's one year anniversary, I feel this is the biggest challenge we face in our second year.

When I was diagnosed with cancer last fall, it was the group that rallied around me. Submitting stories, especially when I could not make it in person, kept me going. Reading the stories of the other writers while I was too sick to get out of bed was a welcome distraction.

Since I am not feeling well enough to leave the house while going through chemo, the group takes me up on an offer to check out my Halloween decorations. They turn it into a party. The house is full. People are eating and drinking. Conversations are punctuated with laughter.

Over the course of the holiday season, more get-togethers are planned. I manage to attend and am rewarded for the effort. After New Years, I resume going to the meetings. The group has taken on the air of a social club. We talk and joke before settling down, but writing is still the focus.

However, I do notice a change. In addition to the respect and friendship that we now share, there is one more palpable feeling - love.

That, in my book, is magic.