Or…connections writing as in meeting wonderful people while taking creative writing classes or a workshop or a conference or an on-line course or a podcast. On Tuesday, I had lunch with one of my all time favorite instructors, Stephanie, and a core group of great writers. Stephanie, funny, full of life, she encourages, cajoles, she’s a poet, writer and inspiring teacher. And, Tamsin, a woman of many talents and an amazing writer, writes a-m-a-z-i-n-g imagery. I miss taking classes with her. Richard, our token gentleman, who has grown his hair longer and is looking very much the part of an eco, fantasy writer. Annie, tres chic world traveler, so encouraging, who writes intrigue and murder with a twist. Dell, our hostess, dancer, yes, a real dancer and writes such touching stories and very funny vignettes. Hilary, an artist, who writes with such compassion and thoughtfulness. Carol, not me, another one, sings in a chorus, and writes lovely stories about family. Michelle, the poet. The imagery of her written words draw vivid pictures to revisit time and again. Heather, last, but not least. A memoir filled with emotions and determination, poetic prose, truly a creative writer. And me, reading and exploring and finding joy in writing and connecting with wonderful people who make me want to write well.
We all started taking courses about four years ago. Dell, Richard, Heather and I have taken Creative Writing Level II about six or seven times, Hilary, Michelle and Tamsin; about four or five times. In between, others have come and gone, adding to our discussions. Why so many times? It’s for the joy, the “ah-ha” moments, the laughter, the sorrow, the heart tugging imagery and the critiques. Oh, the critiques…start with the positive “it works” to the “not so” positive. A few times I felt like I was pulled through a knot hole backwards. Other times, Lani Diane Rich‘s words, “I AM A GREAT WRITER” sits like a mantle around my shoulders. I feel like I am a great writer.
I’m writing, seriously writing. There is the short story for a writing contest. There is the coming of age, chapter book or YA, which is revealing itself. I love the boy, Jack. There is the series of poems. And, the story of my heart. Now if only work could take a back seat or the world would stop for a bit, I could write “the end.” Now… back to work.
Our little love turned five months last week. Grammy and S.B.G.