I'm at my writer's group, feeling rather shamefaced because I didn't write anything on either the Icky Yucko Autobiographical Series or the murder mystery. I instead started a short story about a relationship.

"Well," my writing teacher, Bea, remarks, "the dialogue was really good, as usual."

"Yes," chimes in the art-school grad. "You're so good at that."

"But you need to balance it with description," continues Bea. "Right now it's a little unbalanced."

"Maybe it's because you're so good with dialogue," chimes in the education professional. "You could be staying in your comfort zone."

"I'm not so sure," I reply. "I'm not so confident about my dialogue: I suspect everyone sounds like me."

"Oh, no."

So I got that going for me.

* * *

"But what is the relationship with Annie?" our teacher continues.

"She's the sister," reply, sipping on a sparkling lemonade. "Isn't that kind of obvious?"

"I'm not sure how we're supposed to know that, really." Bea is looking at me quizzically, and the room is getting smaller as all eyes turn to me.

"Um. He calls her 'Kiddo.' That's, you know. That's what my brother calls me."

"Well, none of my brothers have ever called me 'Kiddo.'"

"I guess I could, you know. I could clarify that a little bit."

* * *

I'm at home, relatiing my evening to my husband: the agony of being an unbalanced writer of fiction. The ecstasy of being told I write great dialogue. The feedback from the group, who just did not get that the main characters were male lovers, until one of them called the other "Honey." The oddity that one woman actually insisted, even after the word "Honey," that she still thought the guys were straight. After all, she argues, a guy might say that to another guy in an ironic way.

"Well, Forrest wasn't there tonight; he's on vacation." I twist the top off my bottled water and take a swig. "And I think I could have used his help; they wanted me to make the main relationship more obvious."

"In that piece I printed out for you earlier?" Attila the Hub puts a placemark in the book he was trying to read until I came in and strong-armed him into talking about my day.

"Yup. That's the one."

"You know, I saw a little of that story," he remarks.

"You read it?" I don't feel betrayed. On the contrary, I'm delighted.

"The first half or so, as it was coming out of the printer."

"And?" I'm leaning forward, waiting for the verdict.

"I could tell it was a gay relationship on the first page. I mean, what straight guys talk like that about having a good time?"

"Exactly! You're right. None. Um, except my father, of course. He talks like that. But, you know: no other straight guy does."

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