Second Helpings

Mutiny at the Library

There was a rather heated slanging match during my writing class this morning. I didn't know whether to laugh or be disgusted.

As it's nearing the end of the course the tutor asked us all to contribute a story to put into a small booklet as a souvenir. The theme was chosen by randomly pointing to a word in the dictionary. It was 'hunt' which gave me the perfect opportunity to write a tongue in cheek tale about geocaching. I had a feeling the two interests would join at some stage. Today we were asked to read each other's stories and offer suggestions for improvement. They were a very mixed bag of pieces, both in content and standard, but I think most of us tried to balance any criticisms with some praise.

In my experience no one likes giving or receiving criticism, so it's essential to attempt to make gentle comments and offer constructive advice. Over the weeks of the class you get to know more about people and their characteristics. It's very rarely I take an active dislike to someone, but the small, elderly, harmless looking man I first christened Mr Hesitant has proved to be one of them, though thankfully I'm not the only one to feel this way. I have renamed him Mr Sleazeball, though I know that sounds rather harsh. From work he has shared and things he's said, it seems he has a rather perverted fascination for erotica and fancies himself as the male equivalent of E.L. James. I have already written about my opinion of Fifty Shades of Grey, which I personally think is crap writing and his is ten times worse. Not that I have anything against that particular genre; written tastefully and with a good back story it can make for great writing. Anyway, I digress...

Mr Sleazeball has a tendency to make sure he sits firmly between females and has made one or two inappropriate remarks to some. He also loves the sound of his own voice, dominates any discussion, rambles, hesitates and pontificates to the point where most of us switch off as soon as he starts talking. The tutor is too nice a guy to be overly domineering so tolerates Mr Sleazeball, but I'm sure he's aware the rest of us don't like the guy and get annoyed that he takes up so much time in the class.

Anyway, another chap, Mr Factuality the reporter, had written a rather obscure story which no one really understood. We were discussing ways he could make things clearer without detracting from the twist in his tale, when Mr Sleazeball came out with the suggestion that we should have a stuffed toy to pass around the group and only the person holding it would be allowed to speak as he thought we were all interrupting his flow. Pot, kettle, black sprung to all our minds I suspect, but Mr Factuality had obviously had enough.

He retorted to Mr Sleazeball that he seems to have no difficulty making himself heard above everyone else and voicing his opinions as if they're more important than anyone else's. I think we quiet cowards were cheering inside, but retaliation ensued and before long a full scale argument between the two blew up. It's obvious neither can accept criticism, but at least Mr Factuality isn't verbally abusive. The final shot from Mr Sleazeball was that he would call Mr Factuality by the B word if there weren't ladies present.

After the class we ladies had a good laugh outside and debated what the B word was, coming up with many varied suggestions. Maybe we're not as ladylike as Mr Sleazeball thinks, but then his motives around women would be questionable at best. I did add that I couldn't totally condemn Mr Sleazeball as he'd raved about my story, whereas Mr Factuality had been quite critical. The other ladies seemed to think there might be a hidden agenda behind his praise which would have been enough to put me off my lunch if I'd dwelled on the idea. I thought I was far too old for all that and besides I have no desire for a Christian Grey of any description, let alone a short, arrogant dirty old man.

Honestly, the things that go on at our quiet little library.