I did a reading the other night in Brooklyn. It wasn't really that well attended - probably fewer than a dozen people - but it was still nice to be able to get up and read some writing. The host hadn't showed up 20 minutes after the anticipated start time, so we just "mutinied" and got the ball rolling without her. The other two readers and I hadn't met before and didn't know each other's writing at all, but we ended up presenting pieces that had some common threads, even though they were depicted in three entirely different voices.
Perhaps the experience will encourage me to get back on the fiction-writing horse. I've been doodling some notes in recent weeks, but they're mostly just sketches, no real attempts at character, etc. But still ... it's nice to just open up and let flow at times.