by Stephen Ross
First Published: Sleuthsayers, July 6, 2018 READ
I’m too old to play in a sandpit anymore with my toy cars, toy gorilla, and action man. And if I did, people would think it odd; at best, eccentric. Some might even alert the authorities. However, as a grownup, I can let my mind wander freely, letting my stories and characters flow (action man, gorilla, et al.). And so long as I do it on paper, no one will bat an eyelid. My joy of writing is creation; the joy of making things up. For me, a blank page of paper is like the sandpit of my childhood.
I wrote the above, more or less, in about three minutes today (Saturday, May 12). I wrote it from scratch. It was a short writing exercise answering the question: What is your joy of writing?
I belong to a writing group. A bunch of us meet once a month at the local library, and we do things such as talk about writing, discuss competitions, hear from guest writers and speakers (today we had a comprehensive tutorial on social media for writers), and occasionally we undertake short, on-the-spot writing exercises, as above.
The group is delightfully informal (behind the scenes, it is a fully incorporated society). I’m not sure how many people belong, maybe upwards of 40-50, as attendance for some is delightfully casual. There’s a fairly wide range of ages among members, and a fairly wide range of writing experience: published, self-published, not-yet-published. Everyone in the room is a writer. Everyone has a WIP: a book, short story, play, poem, or piece of journalism.
I believe I am the only mystery writer in the room. But I’m not the only former teacher. It seems almost every second member of the group is, or has been, a school teacher… Apropos of nothing.
I came late to joining a writing group. I’ve been writing all my life, but I only went along and joined one two years ago. The gateway drug was a post I chanced upon on Facebook about a guest speaker (Frances Housden) who would be giving a crime/mystery fiction workshop. Visitors welcome. Tea and cookies provided.
I liked the atmosphere.
It was local.
(I took in a cappuccino.)
I’ve kept going back.
I’ve said it often: Writers are the friendliest people you’ll meet (and I’ll add that mystery writers are the friendliest of the friendly).
The writing of fiction is a solitary pursuit and an unsociable practice. By god, it is the very definition of unsociable. And even if you’re sitting in a crowded café, slamming out chapter 27 of your usurper to the Harry Potter franchise, you’re probably wearing headphones and ignoring everyone… except for the waiter bringing more coffee.
Writing is on the list of unsociable occupations along with IRS employee, jail warden, lone astronaut stranded on a hostile planet, and ascetic cave hermit. So, once a month, it’s nice to go along and meet up with others who also do the writing thing, and to talk shop.
Sidebar: I bow to those rare literary pluralists who can truly write in tandem with another.
I work days in an office (software company). If I started randomly talking to my colleagues about first person omniscient, writer’s block, word count, page formatting, current submissions, or who was nominated for or won a Derringer Award this year (claps and cheers for Elizabeth, Brendan, Rob, and John), their eyes would glaze over.
I suppose, it’s a little bit therapeutic in that respect. A writing group is like an AA meeting. “Hi, my name is Stephen. I’m a writer. I haven’t written a paragraph since 9 A.M. this morning.”
Sleuthsayers is an online version of a writer’s group, with the advantage that it’s open 24/7, and we can all be anywhere at all: Florida, Seattle, Canada, down here at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, or at the Stork Club (Thelma?).
The bottom line is: Belonging to a writer group, be it at the local library, or in cyberspace, is a chance to learn stuff (big or small); to plug into the collective writer mind and soak up new and interesting things. To hang out with fellow travelers.
Did I mention competitions? My writing group has a bunch of them, and one of them this year is a trophy-prized, short-story comp: “Crime and Mystery.” I’ve not yet entered any of the group’s competitions, but I plan to (pardon the obligatory pun) give that one a decent stab.
Photo ©2018 Becky Carr