This Is How Much I Love My Writing Group

On Wednesday night, I brought the worst piece of writing to Starbucks.

While I sipped my salted caramel hot chocolate, Christy, Anjie, and Julie's pens went to work, crossing out circling and adding arrows and inserts.

It was an essay I've had in my head for four months, an application for a National Endowment of the Humanities fellowship.

The thing was, my creative juices just weren't flowing. At all. I ended up pretty much writing two opposite things and trying to mash them together.

Nope.

And then, there were the beginnings, all twelve of them:anecdotes, imagery, question, setting, thesis.

It. Was. A. Mess.

But after a few minutes, er, an hour, thanks to my WG, I had ideas!!! And since Wednesday, I've let them sit and stew and get all juicy and yummy.

Today is the day I will take Christy's suggestion to really plug the need for diversity in Southern Oregon. I'll add Julie's argument that our current composition topic, "Terrorism," only fuels the fear our students already have. And I'll answer Anjie's questions about how my past experience will enrich the program.

And that will make a way better four pages than I've got right now.

And I promise. Next week, I'll bring my A game to edit for them.

This Is Where I Stop Fooling Myself

It's been going on for a few years, now:

I buy myself a fancy little coffee at a fancy little place, and I consider it free of carbs, calories, and sugar because I didn't see the barista put any in the fancy little cup.

I mean, I could make a fancy coffee myself. But it would require my actual observation of fatty milk and sweet flavory things. And then I would know for sure that maybe it wasn't the best thing to be coating my teeth, stomach, and thighs with.

But I can't keep forking over four bucks to trick myself.

It has to stop.

I'm have to go out abd buy some cream and some caramel syrup. It might be just as unhealthy as the java in the fancy little places, but it will definitely be cheaper!

Home Improvement

So the other day, I offered my husband some tips on how to be a better dad (like taking the kids hiking on their day off instead of watching two movies in a row). Needless to say, this advice--or much other--was not well-received.

Without sounding sexist, I'm wondering if perhaps one gender is more open to "suggestions" than the other? Does one gender have more of a desire to evolve?

There's that, and this: I am critiqued, criticized, and even rejected daily. Writing group, query letters, submissions...my "art" is constantly being hammered.

In the beginning, of course, it hurt. I didn't know how to receive or even really give constructive feedback.

Two years later, though, I see how critical it is to making my writing stronger. With more developed characters, tighter plot, twists, fluid sentence structure. Especially that last one never would've happened without the influence of my talented writing partners.

I had to learn to put aside my ego, and try their suggestions. To think critically, which is to consider plural perspectives--the perspectives of Anjie, Christy, and Julie.

Last Wednesday night when we met at Starbucks, my new first chapters garnered lots of praise. There are hearts and stars and happy words all over my sample.

I have a long way to go, but I am growing.

I want to.

Now about that obstinate but completely adorable husband of mine...

Minus One Whole Day

Today I had the flu. Not The Flu (I had that one in the fall). But just enough tummy trauma to keep me in bed all day.

It was a bummer.

Because today was also my kids' first day of spring break.

From my bed, I could hear them giggling over puppet shows, trading Legoes, reading to each other.

I wanted in!

But it was a no-go. My legs and hips wouldn't cooperate. So the fun went on without me.

Hopefully, in a few years, I won't remember this day as lost. But the memory of Reesie jumping on me at 8 AM and shoving a Starbucks Frappachino to "make sure I was alive" is probably unforgettable.

That, and Dominic and Daney offering me a huge helping of hot-off-the stove ground Italian sausage. After I just, well, you know...

Where Would I Be Without My Writing Group?

Not sitting on the pavement outside a closed Starbucks, that's for sure.

When the coffee shop shut down in the middle of my new novel's conclusion, these girls took it outside.

While Christy and Marcia crammed together on a cold metal bench, Julie sat frozen in a parking space. Under the light of the moon, they went over and over and over my pages, offering incredible insight.

I'm telling you, that's devotion.