By: Jerry Grula
Posted: 03/30/2025
Introduction: Our Writer's Circle SIG is for writers of all experience levels; from folks just starting out to those who are working on a larger piece. It is a supportive group which provides encouragement and friendly feedback. Below are two of my writings as examples.
The first, "The Trumpet," was an in-group exercise on the senses. We chose an object from our surroundings and described it using as many of the five senses as we could.
I wrote the second, "The Look," between classes as part of my memoir activities. Building on the senses and adding dialog, it describes the beginning of my romantic relationship with my (eventual) wife.
We meet monthly on Zoom, and new writers are always welcome. Look for our SIG in the semesters ahead!
THE TRUMPET
Once you were my second voice. You sang at my behest, my lips pursed, my fingers caressing your body and valves.
I played you for joy and for competition, for myself and for others. Hour after hour of practice. The occasional warm spittle drops to the ground.
The smell of oil combined with the acrid kiss of your metal mouthpiece. Your body was a bright silver, shined through love.
The bittersweet memory of us playing the day before my throat surgery. The last time we sang together. The last time I could ever play you.
You are tarnished now, on my wall, through years of neglect. I’m sad that I can’t play you. I should polish you.
Perhaps I will.
THE LOOK
Large speakers blared “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer, one of 1990’s biggest dance hits. Strobe lights flashed to the beat of the booming bass. The floor grabbed our feet with the sticky grip of spilled drinks. A large bar dominated the middle of the floor, overflowing with customers.
Club UM was one of a long line of nightclubs trying to be successful on Mill Avenue in downtown Tempe; their hook was 25 cent drinks early in the evening. Our group of engineering friends gladly took the bait. We were nine months out of college, making good money and loving life.
I danced with some friends while sipping a whiskey sour, enjoying the mix of tart, sweet, and warmth. I used to hate dancing: in high school in my hometown of Wilkes-Barre, PA, boys didn’t dance. But in college I realized that the girls were dancing, so if you danced, you met them. Brilliant! I had rhythm, I had been in marching band, so it wasn’t hard to learn how to move to the music.
My eyes roamed between my friends and the surrounding crowd. They locked on Cherie and Beth, two girls from our group who were off the dance floor. Cherie was an exotic mix of Asian and Irish ethnicity, dark hair in a short bowl cut framing her freckled face, her typical black shirt and pants draping a thin body. Beth was of Italian descent, her dark curly hair cut chin-length and framing her pretty, round face with big brown eyes, and an hourglass figure beneath pink shorts and a cropped white sweater.
Just as I glanced at them, Beth leaned over to talk to Cheri, Cheri looked right at me, and her mouth gaped open, half shock and half smile.
Beth had clearly said something about me. And based on Cheri’s reaction, I was confident that it was something of an… unprofessional nature.
Beth and I hadn’t hit it off at first. She thought I was a cocky jerk, and I thought she was a pristine snob. But in the past month or so, we had gotten to be better friends. Our work rotations were in the same building, and we met in the cafeteria for a breakfast burrito every day. Without the pressure of dating, we had gotten to know each other. In hindsight, my best relationships had all started with platonic friendships.
But I hadn’t really thought about her that way until this moment. I was intrigued but also hesitant; if I pursued this, I would put our friendship in jeopardy. Intrigue won the day, and I slowly swaggered towards her. Cheri, seeing my approach, went to the bar.
Beth stood defiantly, chin up, arms crossed under her breasts, a slight grin on her face. I reached her and bent over, head tilted to her right ear. She smelled of flowers, spice, and sweat. Her head tilted to her right, mirroring my stance, waiting for me to speak, eyes locked.
“Hey, what’s up?” I smirked.
“Nothing. You?”
“Not much. So, um, what did you just say to Cheri?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing really. Why do you care?”
I moved a bit closer. “I dunno. It just seemed like maybe you said something about me.”
“Well, aren’t you the confident one?”
“Yeah, I’ve been told that. So what did you say?”
“Not much.”
I touched her left arm. “Really? I have a hard time believing that based on Cheri’s reaction.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You can tell me what you said.”
“It was just some girl stuff.”
“Girl stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“You can believe whatever you want.”
Just then Cheri returned with two drinks in hand. Beth saw her and relaxed her arms and shoulders. “Thanks for the drink, Cheri. Let’s dance!” She grabbed Cheri by the arm and whisked her into the middle of the dance floor. I stayed focused on her until she looked back; I knew she would. I grinned and nodded ever so slightly, then turned towards the bar.
