A Writer’s Breakfast

I did it. Despite the rain and and wind and the chill, I made my way to the Canadiana Restaurant near the Kipling subway station to the WEN Writer’s Breakfast Meeting.

I’m not sure what I was expecting.

When I first arrived, I was confused. The restaurant was empty. Had I come to the right place? Did I get the date wrong? After staking out the place for a good ten minutes, I saw people entering the building and not coming out so I went in as well. There were stairs at the entrance leading to the basement, a glow of light at the bottom. Down I went.

The popcorn ceiling was low, the lights incandescent. It smelled a bit musty as basements do. There was a podium off to the side with a mic attached. The round banquet tables were already nearly full.

I stood in line to pay the twenty five dollar fee and when asked for my name, the man nodded enthusiastically as if he already knew who I was. For a few brief moments, I felt famous. A woman strode toward me and shook my hand and the man gave her my name and she said I’d be sitting at table one with her and a couple of other people who, like me, found the event via Meetup. It was their first time trying out the site in a quest for new blood and they were excited by its success.

Everyone was quite friendly. The food was typical breakfast buffet fare – scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon, French toast, pastries and fruit, etc and of typical quality as well. The buffet was run by a solitary women that everyone called by her first name. The coffee was good.

The speaker was Patricia Pearson and she spoke about the challenges that come with writing about people we love and how she navigates it with her own noteworthy family. She sat at table one as well where the conversation centered around the royal wedding, who saw it, what people wore, hat critiques, and the like.

Mostly, there was a lot of visiting. This was exactly what I had in mind – people to chat with that were involved in writing in one way or the other. No pressure to be “on”. No ass kissing or secret handshakes. It was nice.

I’m going back next month.