Apparently this is my 4,800th post. I'm not sure why Blogger offers silly information like that, but there you have it.
So once again you've written comments that have made my heart sing. Wouldn't it be amazing if we had a big lounge where we could actually meet? Though, something tells me the introvert/extravert ratio would be way off. As in, lots of writers are introverts.
It might be a very silent room.
Though, "introvert" doesn't mean "socially inept" and it doesn't mean "hates people". In fact, introversion has gotten a bad rap because of its darker side--the side that develops when introverted children are made to feel that it's wrong, somehow, to prefer a single friend to an entire classroom, or to stay inside and read a book instead of throwing feed corn at the neighbors' windows.
"You're shy." "You're awkward." "You're no fun."
Grow up believing those things, and you will become those things, right?
Anyway, I am an introvert who has finally realized that it's okay to be one. People are usually shocked to discover that I'm not an extravert; I'm incredibly chatty, I banter with strangers, I don't mind leading groups of people. But don't make me walk into a room of people I don't know. And don't ring my doorbell when I'm busy doing something.
Recently, I've learned the term "ambivert", which seems to better describe me, despite my Meyers-Briggs score. "Ambivert" is somewhere in the middle, and that seems about right--I'll organize the neighborhood autumn picnic, but I'll need to be alone in my hole to recharge afterward.
I'm actually happy curled in bed in the evening with a good book and a glass of Chardonnay. I sincerely like sitting alone in the coffee shop, writing. And I'm okay with that.
So our little (huge?) MSFV lounge would likely ring with my incessant chatter and occasionally raucous laughter. At least for a while. If I'm sensing that I'm on the outside of the circles of conversation around me, I'll retreat. Because I will never foist myself upon people who are already engaged with each other.
Unless, of course, I know them really well. Then it's "safe" to barge in.
So, picture it: A large, round room, dimly lit, with soft jazz playing in the background. Collections of overstuffed chairs, positioned conversationally, with scattered low tables for drinks. A buffet table at one end, with round tables and seats for people who don't like dropping food on overstuffed chairs. And dorky, con-esque name tags so we can all identify each other.
Where will you be? On the perimeter hiding behind your plate of sushi? Curled into chairs with two or three of your crit partners? Dancing from group to group, telling jokes? Standing on the buffet table in your latest steampunk constume?
(Oh, wait. I know that gal. It's J.M. Frey!)
Let's create our lounge and see what happens. (Notice it's a round room, so you can't hide in a corner.)