When chatting with other authors, I like to talk shop. Most writers don’t.
I don’t know why that is. Maybe they just… think of it too much like a job? Maybe they’re sick of it at the end of their workday and would rather just talk about something else, anything else?
I work with computers for a living, and I enjoy talking about computing-related geekery. I have no problem enjoying recreational computing afterhours, so I have a hard time relating to this antipathy.
I’ve wanted to join a serious writer’s group for a long time now, one that doesn’t let politics get in the way. One that’s full of discussion and a proclivity–a real, burning passion for the craft. Especially if that burning passion’s for fiction. Extra points if it’s focused on fantasy (Not sci-fi/fantasy, mind you. Juuuust fantasy).
Maybe I’m being too picky. But then again, I’ve tried getting involved in groups that barely fit the bill more times than I can count.
I checked the bulletin board at every local pub and library for years, hoping that someone, somewhere in this city would someday start a writing group.
Didn’t happen. Not really.
One day, I did stumble upon a writing group meeting in the area through Meetup. Of course, the members seemed to be all Boomer cat ladies, sipping their coffees while writing endless piles of non-fiction and romance.
Somehow, I didn’t think I’d fit in too well.
I’ve been involved in a few writing groups through Discord and Facebook (contributing heavily toward my decision to delete Facebook), but, I’m telling you, there were times my journey got ridiculous. For example, a few friends and I started our own writing group, just the three of us getting together armed with nothing but our imaginations and our respective laptops. What could possibly go wrong?
That group was exactly what I needed, but it was cursed from the start. We reserved a room at the public library only to be hounded for donations and costly membership fees by the rude staff. But I’m glad we never caved to their demands to pony up, because, in the end, interruptions happened far too often to make meeting there worthwhile.
Personally, I have a high toleration for noise, so it takes A LOT to interrupt my flow or get me upset. But the frequency of interruptions grew to ABSURD LEVELS, not to mention all the last-minute cancellations. Cancellations from the members? Oh no. It was those old biddies at the library reserving our room for other groups behind our backs at the last minute. We’d arrive. They’d say, “Tough luck.”
In our final writing session before the group finally dissolved, the library decided to have an entire drum corp march through the facility. Let that sink in– They invited a drum corp to march and drum indoors. In a library. During our writing group.
I came home so dejected, knowing it was all over. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if they were doing it to us on purpose. They didn’t want to earn our loyalty, our dues, or our donations (the public library is a PUBLIC PLACE, mind you) by being reliable, good hosts. Instead, they wanted payment upfront. No pay? = Get sabotaged.
Failure after failure. But lately it’s been bothering me more than usual.
I feel lonely. Downright atomized.
Feels like I need interaction somewhere. Conversations about writing, encouragement, and learning.
Visitorship to this website is scant (which I expected on a free account, don’t get me wrong, but it can be demotivating), and conversations simply don’t happen in the comments section of this blog. It’s barely a thing here.
I’m not sure what to do other than continue writing and hope that one day everything will work out. Maybe I should make my social media debut on Twitter or something? Sigh. It’s a difficult question.
…
Or at least that’s what I would’ve said. I typed that up yesterday. But God has a funny way of making things work out at just the right times.
A good writer friend of mine–somebody from that very same writer group (yes, he was there for the infamous “marching band incident”)–sat down and offered me some encouragement. And it came just when I needed it most. He helped me out of a rut, and he even talked shop with me this very morning.
You know who you are. Thank you.
Nick Enlowe 
We all suffer from a concern of being judged, imposter syndrome – the old ‘am I good enough?’ paralysis of doing something we are passionate about (and others, one would hope, will eventually see).
I think a lot of writers, actors, musicians, painters; anyone putting themselves ‘out there’, tend to keep their hand close to their chest. Perhaps it’s a case of some not wanting to give away what they perceive to be their winning formula, and others thinking if they share too much an audience will shoot down their approach.
It takes a lot to talk about the way you do something, it’s a vulnerable moment and takes a lot of quiet courage to say ‘I love this, and this is why’.
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