Writing Group Hunting

It’s difficult difficult lemon difficult to branch out. To try to be your own advocate, to articulate what you’re working on. As such, in an attempt to level up my quality of life and art, I’ve been searching PDX for writing groups.

Writing Group #1

The first try resulted in the worst anxiety attack that I’ve had in a year; it was a packed room full of loud, confident, semi-drunk writers — a real “loudest in the room gets to talk about their story” scenerio. I was not feeling particularly loud, confident, or semi-drunk, and I truly felt like everyone got to share about their WIP (That’s work in progress) except me. I barely got the title out of my quivering lips before some guy cut me off to tell me that I wasn’t special for using Scrivener. And, damn, if there is one way to make me spiral more than anything else, just one-shot my ego like that. Go straight for my heart with your “you’re not special” Master Sword and leave me for dead like that guy did. Woof.

A sense of foreboding buzzed in my fingertips and the swirling of a storm began in my chest. This preceded what I knew was going to be unprecedented waterworks. and if there was one thing I was not going to do infront of these people who I felt did not respect me, it was cry about it.

I was the first to leave. And reader? What do you know, like true hosts, they made it weird that I was leaving early.

“You’re leaving? Uhhh,,,, okay? Haha…”

Some fuckin guy who took thirty minutes to tell us his book was about a teen boy with special powers

The anxiety attack lasted for hours and I felt stupid every second of it. I felt stupid as I hyperventilated the entire way home, I felt stupid for thinking I’m a writer and I felt stupid for thinking that I was making art, and I felt stupid for not knowing how to stand up for this thing I’ve been working on all year.

“I’m QUITTING! I’m NEVER writing AGAIN!”

Me, dramatic, to my roommate, confused, nodding so slowly

I Remember You

Two hours into my anxiety attack, I remembered why it was important for one of my main characters to share this trait I hated. Gentle, inhaling deep into my diaphram, I settled on the back deck, sun setting over the apartments next door, willow tree tendrils crinkling in the wind. And I revised.

I revised how it felt, to know how to breathe and yet not be able to. To want to disappear from a friend’s kindness in that moment of escalation. To convince your body, your heart, your throbbing synapses, that you are not in danger. To sip tea as if it were a special elixir. To not know how to ask for help. To only be able to rasp,

“I just really need you to pretend like I’m not here.”

It felt rather nice to write again. You know, from my *checks watch* four hour hiatus. So I decided rather bravely, rather astutely, that instead of giving up I would try to find something a little more my speed.

Writing Group #2

I went to a much smaller group a few Wednesdays ago. One that I could walk to. I immediately made two acquaintances who were willing to tell me all about their WIPS, and actually seemed interested in listening to me talk about mine. They had a structure: fifteen minutes of catching up was allowed, and then a timer was set for an hour. During this hour, no one talked. You put your headphones in, and you write. After the time was up, you could stay to talk more, or you could just dip out like a mysterious introvert. I, loved it.

I got covid last week so I couldn’t go baaaack, which was aaasssss, but my return this week was greeted with folks not only remembering my name, but asking if I had learned any new salt facts to bring into my worldbuilding. Which, if you tune in NEXT WEEK, I’ll tell you all about (I’ve watched four documentaries, fifteen youtube videos and read one 400 page book about salt and lemme tell you– boring? sometimes. Exhilierating?? sometimes as well).

I like this group; I’ll keep going back for now.

Why I’m Doing This Now

To write deeply, to write true, to write with love as the objective, is a hard and tedious task that I realize not all writers prioritize. And neither should they — we’re all here for different reasons. It’s time for me to not only branch out to learn what others are up to, but to see how my POV can shift with knowledge, and strengthen as I learn how to be open about my craft.

Rick Rueben said it best, really. If the universe wants something out in the world, and it’s on your heart, you just need to do the thing. If you don’t, someone else will. We are creatives adding to the waves of creation. For me to be drafitng this book is to partake in my tiny corner of divinity, and dare I say, in the midst of the self doubt, I am having a wonderful time.

DISCUSSION

How do you go about finding a writing community?