Guest Blogger Ele Pawelski on the Value of the Ubiquitous Writing Group

Ele Pawelski’s novella, The Finest Supermarket in Kabul, was published by Quattro Books in December 2017. Her short stories have appeared in the Nashwaak Review and Flash Fiction Magazine. A ten-year Toronto resident, this avid adventurer has also lived and managed human rights projects in Afghanistan, South Sudan, Bosnia, Kenya, Uzbekistan, and Kosovo. Ele teaches International Development Law and is writing her next book, a novel featuring parallel stories about a German mother and son trying to find each other after becoming separated during World War II.

Please welcome Ele Pawelski.

I found Moosemeat Writing Group long before I became a fiction author. Thankfully. Otherwise I’d probably still be a struggling memoirist.

In 2010, when I joined Moosemeat, I sought to expand my circle of friends and find a group of like-minded artists willing to help shape my ideas into something readable. The year before, I’d moved to Toronto after working overseas on development projects for twelve years and was still trying to find my footing back at “home.” I liked writing and a few friends suggested I put my experiences of life in post-conflict environments like Afghanistan and Bosnia into a book. I knew how to write academically, but creative writing was a different beast.

So I did what everyone with a problem does: searched online. Moosemeat’s website called out for writers of any ilk. I was in!

Moosemeat’s history goes back to circa 1995, when a group of committed writers wanted to continue meeting up after having taken a writing course together. The name was provoked by an animated debate over a story in which the main character has 10 pounds of moosemeat in a freezer. At least that’s what I’ve heard; Moosemeat membership has completely turned and the originators are long gone. Certainly the moniker gets a laugh, especially when we call ourselves meese or the herd

Eventually, Moosemeat would become the foundation of my writing accomplishments. But first, I had to get up the confidence to submit a story! I remember that meeting very well. I’d submitted a satirical narrative entitled, “Where Taxis Go To Die,” which poked fun at the poor quality of taxis in war-ravaged countries.

Moosemeat’s format is straightforward: in advance of every meeting, two writers submit pieces of less than 6,000 words, either a stand-alone short story or part of something longer. Generally, attendance is between four and fifteen individuals who provide feedback one by one. The writer also has a chance to speak at the end. In addition to regular meetings, once a year, the group collaborates on a chapbook of flash fiction stories and hosts a public reading for contributors. 

I could feel sweat gathering under my armpits. The critiques came fast and furious – it was overly funny, not enough of a story line, too little information about my work colleagues, not enough depth…I got sweatier. When it was my turn to talk, I barely said anything, crushed that my story didn’t seem to work for most members. Upon reflection, the earnestness of the reviewers was obvious; they wanted to help. And a lot of their comments were useful, if only to point me in new directions.

It got easier. Two more similar stories later, I was far less sweaty, and had determined that writing a funny memoir in the style of Bill Bryson was not going to work as I had envisioned. In the process, I read and critiqued a lot of short stories, and listened to the critiques of others. I started to see what worked and what didn’t work on the page. Notably, there isn’t always agreement amongst the meese, which confirms the absolute subjectivity as to how much and why a reader enjoys a certain story.

For example, during a recent critique, half of us thought a short story that ended with no character development was fine as it indicated the protagonist stuck to his guns, while the other half wanted to see some learnings. This kind of diversity signals it is crucial to write to a target audience. But more importantly, it hooked me on the value of other people’s opinions and how those could enrich my own writing.

About a year after being in Moosemeat, I sent out the first chapter of The Finest Supermarket in Kabul. I received an immediate, and very encouraging response via email: “Let me just say “wow!” The verbal feedback at the meeting was also quite positive, but in addition, the previous twelve months had prepped me to take all comments constructively. Over the following three years, I presented the middle and last chapters. Again, the critiques were affirming and helpful, and motivated me to dig deep in terms of a generous re-write when I put the story all together. While I could have submitted the rewritten chapters for further critique – no problems in doing this if a writer chooses – at this point, I felt the story was ready for more directed suggestions.

In exchange for wine, two meese agreed to look over the entire draft novella before I submitted to my publisher and give structural and big picture comments. After I signed on with Quattro Books and incorporated my editor’s suggestions, I convinced one more moose to give me line edits, and check for typos and verb agreement as the story had changed from past tense to present. Without this roster of beta readers, I would have been severely limited as to who I felt comfortable and confident in asking for this kind of help.

Moosemeat has no fees, and membership is fluid, ranging from authors with more than one book under their belt to aspiring novelists to writers who enjoy putting pen to paper but are not looking to publish. The only criteria are the willingness to give honest feedback and periodically submit a story.

Being part of a writing group has spurred my writing to evolve in ways I could not have imagined eight years ago: I’m confident writing in the third person and have tried out the second; I can fashion a decent story arc; I get that a twist at the end doesn’t always make for good reading; and finally, I treat writing more like a job than a hobby. The fact that meese are also excellent cheerleaders means I’m unlikely to drop out anytime soon. We each email the group with any good writing news, attend each other’s writing events, and go out for beers from time to time. What’s more to want from a bunch of random creatives!

Connect with Ele via her website, Twitter, or Facebook. Find Moosemeat here.

Home from Hippocamp with a Bunch of Thoughts about Writers Conferences

I’ve begun, and put aside, several drafts of a wrap-up post about my time at Hippocamp: A Conference for Creative Nonfiction Writers, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, this past weekend. (I was both a speaker and attendee.)

Partly I hesitated because it’s getting more difficult to distill every good thing I want to say about my personal experience and history with this conference (which, since it began in 2015, has come to feel like a kind of home base). But also because I wanted my post-conference report to be something useful to any writer who happens upon it, regardless of genre, location, finances, or personal conference experiences, etc. 

During several periods in my writing life I attended no conferences, and other times I could get to just a few, dictated by a confluence of budget, geography, logistics, day-job demands, family logistics. When I could attend, I had to be picky. 

I came to understand that a conference will not make me a better writer or a more published writer by itself. But the right conference can helping make one into a writer who better knows how to identify, create, pursue, participate in, and evaluate the writing life, career, projects, and submission/publication plan that will work best for me, and make me happy.

So, I thought I’d offer this list, and hope it has some value for others. All these things line up for me with the Hippocamp conference, and by extension might help you pick conferences.

What makes a writing conference right:

. It directly, seriously, fully, and openly addresses, embraces, and celebrates the genre or category of writing most important to you. If you can find it, specialization rocks! One big reason I love Hippocamp is that it’s focused on CNF writing. Yes, I learn a lot at conferences that aren’t so specialized, but a hyper-focused event means you are with your tribe. Everything that happens, each break-out session, panel, reading, or other element is for folks who write what you write.

. Enough of what’s on offer is for writers at your skill and/or experience level. Yes, it’s good when some sessions push you to extend your reach; that’s good for learning what to aspire to. But do you want to spend all day, or most of many days, feeling either completely overwhelmed because you have no idea what the speakers are talking about, or bored and antsy because you already know and have mastered what’s being covered.

. The mix, intent, and focus of material jives with what you want and need now. Only craft-related sessions? Hands-on (“generative”) sessions? Lecture style only? Workshops (with feedback)? Presentations with opportunities for Q-and-A? Marketing/submission/querying skills?

. The size fits. I love a mid-sized conference best so I can make personal connections. Small to mid-sized events usually also foster casual, follow-up interactions with speakers and presenters at meals, breaks, and just wandering about the venue—another thing I like. (I do occasionally like a huge conference, but for very different reasons.)

. The conference organizers respect every attendee, and don’t play favorites. This is one of those intangibles that, for me, can make or break a conference experience. At Hippocamp for example, I’ve heard attendees describe the organizers in ways you might reserve for your favorite teacher, coach, or BFF: they listen, help, and care. Every person on the grounds is IN THE CLUB. (I’ve attended way too many conferences where some writers are made to feel inadequate and lesser-than because they don’t “have a book,” are not sufficiently well-connected, and find themselves feeling left out in an us-and-them kind of way.) At Hippocamp, the club is everyone in the room. Look for that.

. The fees make sense. Who wants to be someplace where you feel the conference is mostly interested in your wallet? I happen to like conference fees that also include meals, coffee, snacks and parking; offer hotel room discounts; and small goodies that make me feel welcome. If I can get that, and it also lines up with reasonable travel costs, I’m in. (Don’t go broke attending conferences.)

. Everything’s included, but there’s also an a-la-carte add-on menu. One year at Hippocamp, I paid for agent pitch sessions, other years not. Twice I took a pre-conference workshop. Choices like that can add value to your time away from home, and (for someone like me who likes to cram every hour with something useful), make the conference a more robust writerly experience.

. There’s a little bit of fun built right in. Door prizes? A casual open mic? Fun snacks? Optional, casual meal meet-ups for when it seems everyone else has made dining plans? We’re writers, not robots, and only some find it easy to organize themselves socially.

My door prize from Hippocamp!

. The conference encourages, and facilitates, continued learning beyond the time limit of each program element. I like to leave a session with something that I’ll consult later (besides my own notes) -- handouts, recommended links, the speaker’s email address or resource website, maybe something I’ve been urged to generate during the session. Even better if (as is the case with Hippocamp), I can find some speakers’ entire slide presentations on the conference website later. 

. There's a balance between too much and just enough. One day? Four days? Five break-out sessions running concurrently? Or 25 to choose from simultaneously? A crammed daily schedule or one with breaks and free (writing?) time built in? Each is likable for different reasons, by different writers. What do you like at a conference?

. The organizers want your feedback. Whether it’s a matter of listening sincerely to an in-person complaint or suggestion during the conference, or providing and urging attendees to fill out post-event surveys, I like it when speaking up about what didn’t go quite right, what was stellar, and what might be a good future addition (or deletion), feels welcomed.

I’m sure I’ve left something out. What do you love about, and look for in the conferences you attend? 


Images: Crowd illustration - Flickr/Creative Commons-openDemocracy; others, mine.

Friends Don't Let (their writing) Friends Go It Alone

Recently I've had several occasions to mentally review a rather longish list of people who have been helpful to me in my writing life over the past ten years. 

In either some rather large way, and/or in many smaller ways, folks have lent encouragement, provided helpful introductions to others, listened, read pages and offered feedback, and given me sound and thoughtful advice--including some of the hard-to-take kind of counsel that I almost certainly ignored for a while until, finally, I was truly ready to hear. 

Lately, I'm simply feeling thankful. Lucky. And a lot more aware and comprehending of the genuine need and significant benefits of a true literary community, one that operates on mutual respect and reciprocity. I may not be able to "pay back" each kindness or bit of assistance in equal measure, and there are certainly some professional leg-ups and/or personal favors that aren't even in the category of possibly paying back anyway. 

But I've come to accept that this is okay. 

Because I realize that every time I try to help a writer in any small way I can, it acknowledges and honors those who've have helped me--sometimes in ways or at a time when I have wondered, why? Why is this eternally busy, extremely successful, definitely stretched-to-the-limit person--who surely has more important or inviting writing-world requests/tasks to attend to--inexplicably helping little old me?

As my father once explained long ago when I asked why he helped so many people--in business, in the neighborhood, in the extended family: you help because you can. Because you have been blessed with something you can share. Because you remember what it's like to need help. Because when you help someone, they'll help someone else. And so it goes. 

Dad also taught me not to be afraid to ask for help. You may have to swallow hard and psych yourself up first, but ask. I've been asking a bunch lately, and trying not to feel guilty about it. Trying to remember that most people actually want to help others. 

Sure, some folks will disappoint (I've heard a few No's recently). That's okay, too. That's why--as Mom once said--you need more than one friend, so that when you want to go to the pool and your bestie isn't around (or is temporarily mad at you), you won't have to sit in the hot backyard alone.

Some days you grumble about the stuff you don't have on your writing resume yet, the things may never get to publish or do, the writing world goals you are sure you can't possibly accomplish. 

Other days--like today, for me--you look around and see nothing but blue sky. Because you're being held up.

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons-EmsiProductions

MFA Graduation Reading: Eight Years Later, Standing in Very Different Shoes

Some (not all) faculty, and all graduating students, Bay Path MFA 2016

Early this month, the seven writers who make up the first graduating class of the Bay Path University MFA program in which I teach, gathered on campus in Longmeadow, Massachusetts for a reading and celebration. 

When I got the email two months earlier, inviting faculty, it took me less than a minute to reply yes. What's a three hour drive compared to an in-real-life event of that importance? Yes. Yes. And, yes!

For an all-online MFA program, still in its toddlerhood, having those newly minted MFA students—as well as a handful of other students whose programs are still in progress—plus seven faculty members (who could make the trip), the program director, tech and program support staff, dean, and college president, all in the same room (the university's library, of course), was wildly wonderful. 

For me, the day brought memories of completing my own MFA eight years ago. Standing in different shoes this time—watching and listening to writers whose MFA journey I helped mentor—was an especially fulfilling and humbling experience. It helped me understand better why my own MFA graduating class's mentors were once shedding tears.

As I listened to the students read, I kept thinking what a privilege it is to have witnessed, and helped nurture, their transformation from excited new MFA students whose work held so much promise, to far more skilled, more confident, more interesting writers, who are delivering on that promise many times over.

It was my lucky good fortune to introduce two of the student readers. As I delivered the introductions, I was far more nervous than I ever am reading my own work in public. The occasion felt weighty, as if I had been entrusted with a job of great import, and would have only one chance to do it right. It was also very clear to me that it was not at all about me. 

I realized that hardly anything equates to the feeling of telling a roomful of eagerly waiting people just how lucky they are—because they are about to hear something special, created and so carefully polished, by someone they care about.

While I was writing those brief introductions, I found myself constantly in mind of something Richard Hoffman, a faculty member of the Stonecoast MFA program, once said to me, on the eve of my own graduation: that it was time for me to cease being his student and be welcomed into the literary world as his colleague.

I have new colleagues now. Lucky me.

Onward….

Prepping for a Conference, Me and My Inner Italian American

Today is a conference prep day. I've had a bunch of these in 2015, after a long drought. Some of the conference appearances have come about by way of my own initial effort, while others are group affairs: another writer with energy, an original idea, and me in her contact list, graciously invites me to join a panel proposal. (And yes, some proposals were rejected, but enough were accepted.)

Each time, during the brainstorming/application/panel proposal submission process—typically many months, sometimes a full year before the conference—it all seems like such a great idea. An interesting topic! Fabulous co-panelists! Inviting location! Promising meet-ups with far-flung colleagues! A break in the routine, sometimes a night or two away from home, restaurant meals! Occasionally, a fee! And yes, to be completely honest, a new CV line.

What I'm prepping for now is a reading and panel this Friday titled, "Death: Italian American Style," at the Italian American Studies Association national conference in Washington, D.C. I'll be reading excerpts from my memoir manuscript, which swirls around my father's death and includes some of the rituals associated with my Italian American family.

This time around, the credit for the unusual, terrific panel idea goes to writer Rita Ciresi, who is one of my fellow faculty members in the Bay Path University online MFA program. Joining Rita and I are writers JosephBathanti and Marisa Labozzetta.  

I was so energized when the proposal was accepted.

Then, here's what very often happens to me a few weeks before the event. Potential problems arise: sticky logistics (family and work), scheduling conflicts, travel inconveniences, budget considerations. I begin to question the whole enterprise—time, mental energy, cost, work that will pile up. I worry that whatever I need to do—make a presentation, give a talk, read my work, or participate in or lead a discussion—I will be just awful at it.

Whose great idea was it anyway?

Then, slowly, things begin to fall into place. Challenging logistics get solved, schedules tamed, costs brought into line with available budgets. Travel arrangements solidify, work gets done ahead or (artfully?) postponed. Next, I start the preparations, and that's often the best part of the experience, because I begin to realize: Hey, this IS a good idea after all.

I decide there's no going back, so why not have some fun with it?

Prep time. Today, I'm choosing the excerpt reading selections, practicing to be sure I'll stay within my allotted 15 minutes (of reading time, not fame!), and making a few notes that could help me answer anticipated questions. And doing one of the things I love best about any conference: going over the program slowly to find the other events I want to be sure to attend.

I must admit, the IASA conference would not normally be on my radar, but now that I'm headed that way, I'm so glad that Rita reached out to me for this. In addition to our panel, I'm eager to see the one titled, "Creative Writers on Italian-American Fathers" (Fred Misurella, Vittoria Repetto, Joey Nicoletti, Edvige Giunta, Joseph Ricapito) as well as "Italian-American Daughters and Dads: Love and Loss" (Karen DeLuca, Laura Mangione, B Amore).

Given that I've written about my father for more than eight years now, that I've been fortunate to see many of those nonfiction narratives and essays published, and that I'm just wrapping up a revision of the memoir manuscript (moving it from an essay collection to a more linear narrative)—these sessions seem custom planned just for me.

I'm now in the pre-honeymoon phase of conference-going: excited, curious, and ready (almost). I just need to pay a few bills, answer a dozen student emails...

  

(p.s. It may be a long shot, but if any blog readers will be there, please be sure to say hello!)

Top image: Flickr/Creative Commons - Julie Garcia

One for me, Two for You: Writing Community and Paying it Forward (and Sideways, and ...)

What does it mean to be part of a literary or writing "community"? At every level: it means the world. To have writer friends and acquaintances who have your best interest at heart? Alliances built on the idea of mutually assisting one another as we blunder, write, and make and break our way through this life. My own literary community delivers gifts to me every day. Two very recent examples:

1. The play's the thing: Deborah Lerner Duane and I have been friends for 22 years. She's had a successful corporate, then solo PR career (during which we often collaborated when I too was running a small PR agency), then went on to complete a master's program in a totally unrelated field. Now, she will soon also be a produced playwright,( not once but twice!). Deborah and I have met for breakfast once a month, every month, for many years, a kind of two-person board of directors; we're there to encourage (often push!) one another, cook up strategies, check in on goals, set deadlines, vet plans; keeping each other honest when we say we're going to do something. Over the years, she's helped me get over many self-imposed hurdles, urged me to seek bigger opportunities, agree to do something challenging, and achieve goals. 

Last fall I challenged her to begin entering play festival script contests. We set deadlines. She wrote, entered, won. I am so proud of her, and reminded again of the power of two friends seriously committed to each another's goals. 

Did I mention that I only knew of the existence of 10-minute play competitions because a student of mine in a workshop at The Writers Circle last year was a fledgling playwright who had entered and won a particular competition, and that's how I could recommend it to Deborah – with a link at the ready – that first time we talked about her moving from writing to submitting?

2. From her to me to you, etc.: Last month, Alyssa Martino, a writer completing an MFA at University of New Hampshire, mentioned she was moving to Brooklyn, and maybe we could have a cup of coffee in Manhattan? I asked if she'd be at the ASJA conference (American Society of Journalists and Authors), and sent her the link to the ASJA Education Foundation's annual conference scholarship. You know the rest. She won, and we'll be having that coffee at ASJA next month where I'm on a panel because Candy Schulman, who I met on Facebook through our mutual writing friend Liane Kupferberg Carter, invited me. 

Did I mention I won the first ASJA conference scholarship in 2011, and only because my writing friend Erika Dreifus clued me in?  That I attended my first ASJA-sponsored event 30-odd years ago, because Bill Glavin, my college magazine professor, took the time to recommend it? And at that panel, a freelance writer named Arky Gonzalez, gave me his card and when I moved to Southern California two years later, met me for lunch and shared editorial contacts? Did I mention Alyssa was once a private student of mine? That I was so pleased to write her a letter of recommendation for UNH, where she would study with Meredith Hall, who once lectured at my Stonecoast MFA program? And who took the time to let me interview her the next year?

I have dozens of other such stories. This may sound like I'm tooting my own horn – look at me, I'm such a good literary citizen; but in each case, I was only able to do what I did because another writer had done what he or she did.

Many other people have similarly helped me in small and large ways. When I tweeted about Alyssa, she noted "writers pay it forward."

My goal is to always be paying, and not as often looking to see who pays me. Because sometimes, though only occasionally, that reciprocal payment is withheld. And it stings.

Sometimes, though happily only very occasionally, people I've assumed are part of what I'd thought of as a mutually supportive literary community have let me down. Behaved badly. Just a couple of weeks ago, in fact. When it happened, I briefly considered (hell, I wrote), a rant of a post about it. 

Then, semi-smart 50-plus-year-old human and writer I am, I put that messy, needy draft aside for a while. Yes, it hurt like hell. Then, the moment passed (okay, it took two weeks), and I deleted the draft of that whiny rant. Decided the better approach was to write this post – the one about how much I love helping other writers, and how much I appreciate when another writer helps me.

Onward.

Images: Stage: Flickr/Creative Commons-Justin S. Campbell; Hand: Flickr/Creative Commons-GrowWear; ASJA Conference: ASJA.

Listen In: Storytellers Summit Presents 20+ Creative Conversations (including little ole me)

Update: Though the window for listening to all the  interviews has closed, here's a link to my interview,  about "The Writing Life," which focused primarily on creating a workable, satisfying writing life amid conflicting demands and time constraints. 

Original Post:

As writers, we love getting information via the printed word. But there's something wonderful about not reading and instead listening, just listening, to other writers and creative professionals talk about their work. That's why I tune in to radio discussions about books and writing, bookmark podcasts, and click those "hear from the author" buttons. 

That's also why I am so pleased to be participating in the first StorytellersSummit, taking place right now, online, at no cost. At the site, you can choose to listen to any of the 22 creative folks in conversation with Decoding Creativity founder Julia Roberts.

Roberts recorded the 30-minute conversations, then set up a schedule which, over four days (Jan. 21 – 24 – yes, we're in the middle of it right now!), delivers a thoughtful mix of people, specialties, genres, professions, and entry points. Her core question is about creativity and the creative life. Each day, five or so conversations go live at different times (mine is scheduled for Friday, Jan. 23 at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time) – and then all will remain available, at no cost, through Saturday, January 31.

Some of the pros whose interviews I enjoyed listening to already  (and can now be heard in any order you like) include Marion Roach Smith on memoir and writing with intention; agent Liza Dawson on nurturing a long writing career; and Beverly Belling on aligning with your creative intuition.

Today's line-up includes talks on storytelling, overcoming writing resistance, graphic novels, and gaining clarity before writing. On Friday, besides my conversation, titled "The Writer's Life," you can hear from others about creative branding, self-publishing, the power of fairy tales, and time management. Saturday brings talks on writing community, crowdfunding for creatives, and lots more.

I chatted with Julia yesterday about her experience organizing and presenting Storytellers Summit:

LR: After talking with all the experts, what did you notice about their creative impulses and creativity practices? What sets them apart?

JR: What sets them apart is that they are very clear about their creative choices. Not only have they made craft choices – various degrees, jobs etc – but they have made life choices to promote their work to others. Many of them also know that if you want a life of creating/writing, you have to do that. No one will do it for you.

LR: How did you decide whom to feature in the Summit?

JR: I set up my learning tracks  – Tell a Story, Sell a Story, The Story in Your Head, Picture Story, and HerStory -  just to suit my own interests. Then I reached out to over 100 experts; some said yes (yay). I pre-interviewed everyone to make sure they had energy and ideas to contribute.

LR:  What are a few things you learned yourself?

JR: I learned so much. Debbie Reber’s pre-writing process will influence me. David Doodleslice Cohen's and Veta Bates' talks on branding got me thinking. My talk with agent Liza Dawson changed my perspective on how “they” think about “us.” I loved talking with Scott McCloud about his creative work over a lifetime and his upcoming book, The Sculptor. And to be honest, I loved the simplicity of your point of view: if you’re going to write, you're going to NOT do something else. Like yoga. Everyone taught me something.

LR:  As a creativity coach, do you find there's a difference in the way people take in and process information via audio interviews than via the printed word?  What can we get from listening?

JR: I like audio, because it’s spontaneous and has energy and humor. You can write with those same qualities, but you can hardly have a live conversation without them. Strange things sometimes happen.

LR: Most people won't be able to listen to all of the conversations they want to at the time they first air. How and when can they access the interviews later on?

JR: The interviews go live at 10:00 a.m. on their day of the schedule. If you listen live, then there’s tweeting from me @heyJuliaRoberts and Facebook discussions immediately following facebook.com/decodingcreativity. Also the conversations will remain active until January 31.

Check out the Storytellers Summit website for the full schedule and roster of interviewees; and follow #StorySumit on Twitter. If you happen to listen to my conversation with Julia, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Image (Listen) - Flickr/Creative Commons, Striatic. 

A Circle of Writing Mentors and Students and More

I love a circle. 

During my time in the Stonecoast MFA program, I was lucky to meet Meredith Hall, whose essays I had read in Creative Nonfiction. She gave a rousing guest lecture that stirred up strong feelings for many of us, about thinking bigger, about being generous with our stories, and bringing everything to the page, not holding back.  

Mostly what I remember is this advice:  Be audacious in what you go after -- and go after a lot. Age doesn't matter! Apply for grants! Seek residencies! Enter contests! Be bold! Why not you?

I went home, bought her memoir, Without A Map, read it in one afternoon. We exchanged friendly emails. I reread her book again slowly, and realized she'd grown up in the same New Hampshire town as my husband's cousin. A few quick emails confirmed that they were once good friends, and Meredith also remembered my sister-in-law, a frequent New Hampshire visitor during their childhoods. I was able to put them all back in touch, and that felt wonderful. 

It would be enough if the circle ended there.  But there's more.

After hearing Meredith at Stonecoast, I began submitting my work more often, and entered my first contest with an essay about visiting my father in the hospital in Las Vegas. It placed second in the Charles Simic Graduate Student Writing Contest, and with the honor came a bit of cash and publication in Barnstorm, the journal edited by the MFA program at University of New Hampshire.

Though energies and enthusiasm sometimes flag, I've kept entering, submitting, applying, and often while doing so, I think of Meredith. I interviewed her for my research thesis, and for an anthology of craft and publishing advice. 

The circle widens.

After I began teaching and coaching writers, I got an email from someone I would get to know as a lovely writer and delightful person. I remember Alyssa Martino's first email because at the moment it arrived, I was waiting for another flight in the Las Vegas airport, where I'd been visiting my ill mother. I was glad for a distraction from my sadness.

Alyssa signed up for an online classes, then to continue working on essays and memoir pieces, and finally to shape and polish her portfolio to accompany applications to MFA programs.

Where does she land but at University of New Hampshire, and in whose class does she find herself? Meredith Hall's. I've had such fun hearing from Alyssa periodically, about how much she's learned from Meredith, and the deep satisfaction she's experiencing developing her writing craft. Tell Meredith hello! I've often written back. Meredith says hi! she's replied.

When I send a newsletter about something I've accomplished, a reply invariably arrives from Meredith:  thinking of you...congratulations...delighted and not surprised...such lovely news. When I look back at craft notes taken during the MFA, she's there too.

Now, Alyssa is working toward graduation, building her own teaching skills, and working on the editorial staff of...Barnstorm. One of her responsibilities is to interview writers for a section called The Writer's Hot Seat. A few months ago, she asked to interview me. 

I'm so pleased the interview is now up at Barnstorm.

I'm tempted to say the circle now feels complete.  

But I know better.

Writers, Photos, Fear, and Me: Getting Back in the Picture

Perhaps you already know that about 7 weeks ago, after avoiding it for seven years, I finally had a new photo taken for professional use (there it is, at left!). I told the story about how I got over my photo fear in my Thanksgiving newsletter, and mentioned it on Facebook. 

What happened next surprised, intrigued, and in some ways saddened me: within hours, more than 50 individual emails, and dozens of Facebook comments from other (mostly female) writers, all described feeling the same dread of posing for a new photo. Clearly, we all needed a reality check.

Then in December, SheWrites, the wonderful web community, invited me to share the story, which includes this excerpt: 

...Recently, when asked for photos to accompany essays from my memoir manuscript, about the relationship I formed with my father after he died, I persuaded each editor that something else would be more interesting--me and Dad on my wedding day; him holding me as a toddler; an image of Las Vegas (where he'd retired).   

But I was delaying the inevitable. A month ago, an editor of a print magazine insisted. She suggested I stand in front of a leafy tree and snap a selfie, and while that appealed to my budget (one son in college, another heading that way), I knew I needed help to get camera-ready, a village, and that costs. Photography sitting fee. Make-up artist. A decent  haircut, coloring, style. Then, paying for the actual images.  

Then there were the emotional costs: Age, more weight gain, a neglected appearance, and a bitterness that a writer's physical appearance mattered. That my story might be judged, maybe before the words are even read, based on the size of my chins, my age, the fleshy contour of my cheeks, the width of my nose, the wrinkles around and the bags under my eyes. What did any of that have to do with the words, story, with writing?   

But pictures do tell stories. And the one I joked I'd use until I was 90, suddenly struck me as telling the wrong story. That woman no longer exists, in ways that please and pain me... 

You can read the full post over at SheWrites. I'd love it if you would chime in, either here in comments, or over there, with your own thoughts on the subject. Are you getting in the picture?

About Writers and Help and Back-Scratching

Another writer helped me with something this morning, which reminded me that a couple of months ago, I offered to do something for a fellow writer (friend of a Facebook friend). It was something she was finding complicated, confusing, and time-consuming to do herself, but would have taken me very little in the way of time or resources. I offered because I remember being in her exact situation once.

I never heard back from this writer, and then we ran into one another (in person). I asked if she'd gotten that task done and she sheepishly said no. When I asked why she hadn't followed up with my offer, she said, "I figured you were only being polite."

I'm not that polite. I am not polite to the point that I will offer my time, resources, mental energy unless I mean it. 

But I know what she means. We sometimes assume that other writers who offer to help us are too busy, or were not really sincere (and maybe even count on us not following up), or only offered because they felt cornered or owed a mutual friend a favor. I once thought this too, and while it may be so sometimes, mostly I discovered I was wrong.

I've discovered that most writers (maybe most people, for that matter), no matter how busy, will only promise away time, resources, and/or energy when they mean it. Most of the time, offers of help are extended because that writer wants to help.

The other thing I've learned is that people in general are looking for ways to make a contribution to others' well-being, to do something nice, something another will value. 

Not to get too touchy-feely about it, but when we accept an offer of help, we are actually also helping -- giving someone an opportunity to give, to offer a hand up. When we let people help us, we build stronger, more reciprocal relationships, and acknowledge everyone's need for occasional assistance, reinforcing our humanity all around. 

Maybe especially among writers, whose budgets are usually very tight, the desire to help in ways that don't cost money exerts a strong pull. Every time a natural disaster occurs, I see, usually within two days or so, an auction site go up, hosted by writers, filled with offers from other writers to perform a service (editing, consultation, manuscript evaluation, etc.), in return for a donation to disaster relief. 

Even when the need is small though, in my experience, writers come through for other writers. It's one way we build a writing community.

Need help? Ask. Received an offer of help? Take it. Then, when it's your turn and you want to help? Offer.

Thanks, Gratitude, and Other Stuff Related to Writing, Thanksgiving, and Holidays

Before we all slide into a post-meal coma, I would like to extend a warm and heartfelt Thank You to all who have been part of my writing life in 2013...editors, students, clients, readers, publishers, journal staffers, colleagues, critique partners, mentors, program directors, other coaches, and bloggers. And of course you, my fabulous blog readers, for visiting, reading, commenting, emailing, linking, liking, subscribing, recommending, and sharing!  Oh, and my family too (who don't complain when I write about them!).

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with goodness.
Here are a few previous posts from this blog, on the intersection of writing, gratitude, Thanksgiving, and holidays. Have a wonderful day!

+ When others offer to help, do you let them? Let them. You'll be the one saying Thanks, but the person who does you a favor also gets to feel good, and will likely be grateful to have made a contribution to someone else's goals, dreams, project, hopes.

+  A full house, a table load of relatives and friends? An especially fertile time to capture kindling for personal essays or memoir. While your observation antennae are primed, find a way to take notes.

+ If you write seasonal essays, think about investing some time now on rough drafts that you can stash, then revise, in time for submission next year. 

+ Take a minute now and make plans to do something soon that another writer will appreciate. A little bit of your time, energy, social media savvy, bookstore dollars, and network rustling helps support the authors you know.

+ And don't forget to express thanks to those who makes your writing life continue to go round!

This post is shared at the SMART Living 365 Gratitude Blog Hop, where you'll find links to more gratitude-related posts (not necessarily all about writing).