As the sun set over Queen Anne Hill, I stood on the deck of the Navigator, a 1968 Chris Craft cruiser with two big Chevy V-8s, full kitchen and BBQ, three decks, and a radar big enough to scramble your brain if you stood too close. We watched the sea planes taking off and landing, puttered past Dale Chihuly's house, and listened to the traffic on the I-5 overheard. Oh, and there was a modest amount of wine before we did our various readings and critiques.
The sunset was near-perfect, the weather warm, and almost no one was out on Lake Union or Lake Washington on a Monday night in September.
It didn't suck. In fact, all writer's groups should be this well situated.