It is probably not so unusual for me to be a little bit nervous this weekend with all these professional writers scripting around South Whidbey.

Just like the Italian columnists of Turin, I feel a chill across my fingertips as I approach the starting gate of my Gateway keyboard for another 800 word run.

What will my time be today? Will I have a subject? Will I have an object? Will I get style points from the judges or will everyone just go to a commercial?

Being a very sharp reader yourself, I can surmise that you may be asking yourself and your bunkmates: “Gee, Jim, what actually is a writer?”

Like any retired attorney, I face the tough questions first by checking the meaning of the word in their Bible of Jurisprudence, Black’s Law Dictionary.

Black’s is the Webster’s of law dictionaries. Henry Campbell Black, M.A. published his first edition in 1891. Without intellectual opposition, Black’s Law Dictionary quickly became and remains the world’s most widely used and recognized authority for definitions of legal words and terms.

Wouldn’t you know, “Writer” is not listed in my Black’s Abridged Fifth Edition?

However, moreover and nevertheless, on page 828, Mr. Black gets close to “Writer” as he defines “Writing” — “The expression of ideas by letters visible to the eye.”

How’s that for getting the point to the pupil?

One will most assuredly not find the Federal Rules of Evidence quite as abridged in defining “Writings.”

Get this gem of journalism: “Writings consist of letters, words or numbers, or their equivalent, set down by handwriting, typewriting, printing, photostating, photographying, magnetic impulse, mechanical or electronic recording, or later form of date compilation.” Fed. Evid. R. 1001(1).

No wonder lawyers charge by the word.

Webster defines “Writer” in his 14-pound, heavier-than-a-Cub-Scout-backpack, unabridged Third New International Dictionary (1976) at the bottom of the first column on page 2,641: “Writer: One that practices writing as an occupation: as a (1): one that writes books, articles, or other material for publication.”

Thanks, Mr. Webster. So much for my being a writer. Just as I did with my clarinet, I stopped practicing long ago.

Funny, I still have the writings that I did when I was practicing writing. The writing is not that funny. The words are frightening. The images are depressing. The collections lay dormant in faded green and torn USMC Record Books that we jarheads were required to utilize when we had the duty, writing such military history as: Saturday, 4 March. 1350 hours. Headquarters Battalion hallway still empty and quiet. Areas secure. Dodgers 4, Giants 2, Koufax pitching, 8th inning.

Whenever I had the duty, I always squirreled a few extra record books for my midnight musings in the barracks. I wonder if the statute of limitations has run. I hope so. I still have my Marine Corps footlockers and the 4th Marine Division’s framed pictures of Nixon and Agnew.

What a comedy team they were.

Speaking of comedy teams, last night at the historic Dog House Tavern in Langley, many of the more sarcastic writers in town joined for levity and lucidity amidst the splendiferousness of Julie and Pete Jacobs humor, hospitality and home cooking.

For the fifth year, seemingly consecutive, the Whidbey Island Writers Association has allowed me the joy of emceeing the Writers’ Conference Poetry Slam.

Each writer who participates receives three words to weave into a poem of self-expression. After 25 minutes or so of writing time, each writer then steps up to the Shure 58 microphone to share his or her creation with the audience.

Celebrity judges, using an elaborate pointing pattern that would rival any French figure skating system, then reveal the winners of the poetic soiree who then storm the stage for free gifts from my caboose shed.

This year’s winners received many of the no longer needed special Super Bowl supplements from the Seattle Times, Seattle P-I, Everett Herald, USA Today and New York Times. Why do we locals need a poster of Shaun Alexander now?

Other gifts and prizes included a coupon book of free ride tickets for our Whidbey Transit bus system.

Aside to the locals here: I didn’t tell the out-of-towners that our bus is already free. Don’t you love the fun that we can have with these not-so-accidental tourists?

One of the most appreciated gifts was my poem, entitled “Meaning Less,” laminated on a paper plate. Do you have a minute? It’s real short. It is more a Low-Coups than a Hi-Coups.

Meaning Less: Like a slow luge to nowhere, the cascading rhythms of the rain dripped upon my memory banks.

Poetry is really powerful sometimes, isn’t it?

If you missed last night’s fun, for the last 13 years our Island Arts Council has sponsored I.A.C. Poetry Slams in the Backdoor Restaurant of the Dog House in Langley.

Our first 2006 fun-filled family and friends Wednesday will be March 15 — The Ides of March. What better way to celebrate Brutus’ big night than by sharing your creativity with like-minded friends?

We begin at 8 p.m. for a fast-paced, easy-going 90 minutes.

Remember — If you look as young as many of our wonderful Whidbey writers, wanting to enjoy an adult beverage upon arrival, please bring your poetic license.

Julie and Pete run a tight ship.