Writer's Anonymous

Sometimes, on the days when my demons are licking at my heels, I'll wonder why I keep up with RWA--especially when I'm struggling just to work through the umpteenth block and questioning my sanity. But, then, on nights like last night, it hits me with the force of a hurricane: THIS is why.

Last night, as we were going around doing our usual goals and milestones, it seemed that nearly everyone had had a bad month(s). Suddenly my own complaints seemed trivial--and indeed, surmountable, especially in the company of women I admire so greatly, all struggling with the same thing. It felt so good to affirm our need to get back on track, to keep going.

Now, I've been to other support groups of the diet variety, and this sort of commiserating often leads to a group Cold Stone Creamery run. Or mass expulsion from the program as dreams of triple-chocolate-cake overtake the discussion. All kidding aside, programs work because of this ability to share, to acknowledge our human frailty, and to receive the bolstering of a squad of cheerleaders. This is why certain big-name weight loss programs have such a high success rate--no matter how good the book or program, we're limited by our own blinders. The reason why certain programs go on to have "lifetime members" is not because they have the magic bullet for skinniness, but because they understand that failure doesn't happen because of one bad week, or bad month--it happens when you stop coming.

Of course, they'd RATHER that you come and be the cheerleader, regaling everyone with tales of your restraint and shrinking wardrobe. It's better for their marketing. But, you can't be the cheerleader every time, and that's an important lesson. Many people, myself included, drop out when they feel that they've gone too long without a success, occupied the "problem child" role too long, and that they're bringing the group down.

What if everyone did that? We wouldn't have a meeting. There would have two, maybe three people. And you can be sure, that if Ms. One and Ms. Two shared their latest contracts and completed manuscripts, that poor Ms. Three isn't going to feel like talking about the dust collecting on her keyboard. Plus, Ms. One and Ms. Two would miss the opportunity to be bolstered by a crowd of envious sisters.

The milestones would loose some of their meaning. The raindrop ceremony in Feb. was so meaningful precisely because so many of us are in the trenches, struggling, and we were touched by the privilege of witnessing others who have wrestled their demons to the ground and met their goals. When you know how long someone struggled with a block, what personal tragedy they had to overcome, it makes your own success feel more tangible, more possible.

If this was the brag-and-share club, I would have stopped coming a long time ago. But, I come because this is the only place where I am with others who understand the angst of not writing and how hard it is to live the writing life. We all need that in our lives--in good times and bad. Especially the bad.

I am so grateful for everyone who showed up last night, who shared where they were on their journey, for being honest and real about their struggles. They made my own blank pages feel less daunting, and made me feel supported and uplifted. This is also why critique meetings are so important. Great speakers uplift us in other ways, energize us to go forth and tackle a particular problem. Critique gets us talking about writing, thinking about writing, occupying that head space where our characters live and stories are born.

This is vital. I found I got more out of what other's were sharing than out of my own selection--a potent message that the mere act of participating in critique can be therapeutic, even when one doesn't have a selection to share. This is why we come. Because for an hour or two, we get to be writers, to do the work of writers, to believe that we are writers. No magic bullet, no self-help book, no writing coach can do that work for us. It is through each other that our struggles get transformed from self-depreciation to a part of the writing life. We become writers, not just by tackling the blank page, but by sharing that process with others.