Every Wednesday a group of about six male coffee drinkers meets at a table outside the coffee shop I frequent for my writing. I’ve exchanged pleasantries with the men on occasion, but never stopped to talk.

This morning as I was leaving, having reached my daily writing goal, one of the men said, “Leaving early today?”

“Yessir. I reached my word count so now I can go spend my husband’s money on frivolous stuff like food and gasoline.”

They all laughed, so I figured my work on earth was done.

“You’re a writer then?” Another man asked.

Now, the smart a** side of me wanted to say something witty, but the regular side of me couldn’t come up with anything, so I just admitted to being a writer.

And then I went into marketing mode. Sold six books. Yay me.

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