Occasional Story

So one day I was walking home from work. The road I live on, as some of you know, cuts through forest, with no shoulders and trees right to the edge. When I was about three hundred feet or so from our driveway, I saw our Boxer, Luke (officially named Skywalker von Stowe), standing in the middle of the road. He’d never done that before, and supposedly knew better. I wasn’t too happy. In fact I yelled at him.

“What are you doing in the road! You get home right now!’

No response. He just stared at me. Well, he had bad eyesight. He’d been born with a heart condition and his medication gave him blurry vision. I continued yelling, afraid a car would come flying down the road. I added stomping toward him to the shouting.

“Go on you idiot! Get off the road!”

He continued to stare. Luke never was very intelligent. But after a moment, he turned so that instead of facing me, he was perpendicular. And instead of that short stubby Boxer tail, I saw this long, graceful tail. A long, graceful, cougar tail.

All I had seen was that faun coloring, the body shape and size. I assumed it was Luke.

If I remember, at this point, I froze. I mean, think about it. What do cats like to play with? Moving toys. And here I was stomping toward a cougar, waving my arms and yelling. I may have thought a swear word or two.

The cougar continued to stand and stare for what seemed much longer than it actually was. And then it casually strolled off into the woods. No panic on its part that a human was approaching.

I ran the rest of the way home and told my husband what I’d just done. We figured the cougar had come to investigate our chickens. I told him how I’d thought it was Luke, how I thought he didn’t recognize me.

His comment was ‘and who has the bad eye sight?’

Luke, by the way, was curled up on his favorite chair, snoozing the day away.

In memory of Luke, who never went out on the road when he wasn’t supposed to, who lived a good long life of many years, and was a very sweet boy.

In the picture below he was a bit worried as all our dogs were terrified of that scary Fat Cat lying behind him.

What If…There Was a Postscript?

There have been some amazing comments that have come in regarding my last post. Those comments, from one person in particular, have left me very humbled.

Pat  is the soul of our group and has been interviewed here before about her poetry (www.poetrypause.wordpress.com). She said something that not just made me pause, but made me stumble to a frozen halt, feeling like I’d just created a blog post that was nothing more than self-centered complaining.

Pat said (and I hope she doesn’t mind me quoting): “I will always stand for the comfort zone we all need as writers.  I could never agree that any writers are too comfortable or boring or repetitive.  The process itself is just too darn hard.  If we’re writing at all, let alone finishing stuff, that is miracle enough for most of us I think!!  We want and need support in all that.”

Did you catch that? I mentioned I worried that members of the group were too safe. Pat points out that just the act of writing means we aren’t in a safe place. While I have been worrying that people are too comfortable, too willing to sacrifice writing time for visiting time, I haven’t been giving them credit for simply showing up.

Pat then very gently said my dissatisfaction may not be from feeling like facilitating the group is as hard as pushing jello uphill, but more from me not getting what I myself need out of the group. Of course, being Pat, she said it a very kind way: “You need to think of what YOU need, because I can’t imagine with your level of imagination, as WELL as social finesse, you are limited in what you can do.”

In other words, if I’m not getting what I need out of the group, then it’s up to me to change that. Another friend, author Susan Schreyer, said basically the same thing, and gave me some wonderful ideas.

I think the lesson is starting to sink in.

Pat finished the email with this: “I can’t imagine I’m alone in knowing what I owe you in support and ingenious questioning drawing out.  I’m less than two years out in finalizing (as opposed to 13 years back at the start of this year) and my blog site is entirely at your evocation!  You have much power.   GO for that in your life!  I want to hear about it as I do the grungy detail work of finishing stuff, day by day, due to your own exemplary work. I am blessed to know you and to have been a part of the group.  I can’t imagine anything you have done is “over” – but I do hope you find what you want and need – so that you can HEAR all our gratitude.”

Okay, I hear you Pat. And I hope you hear the apology in these words. And I’ll see you the end of the month at the writer’s group.

What If…

What if you threw a writer’s group and no one came? Is it still a writer’s group if nothing happens between the writers?

Last night was the regular meeting of a writer’s group I have facilitated for several years. I really didn’t want to go. It had been a long day, I was tired, and to be brutally honest, the meetings lately seem stagnant. Don’t get me wrong; I really like the people who come, and have grown to think of them as friends. But here’s the thing. I think they (well, we) have become too safe.

The group was started after an upsetting event at a huge writer’s conference. I decided writers needed a place to meet that was safe and non-threatening, more like a support group than a critique group. Many of the people who attend, and have attended, have gone on to be published. We have poets, screen writers, non-fiction writers, fiction…and yet it manages to stay a small, safe place to be.

Over the years I have tried to stir members up. We’ve tried exercises, guest speakers, contests, adding time for critiques, etc. I even tried to get members to rotate facilitating. These things appear as a brief candle flame flare and then burn out. We end up back where it’s safe, with members talking about writing.

When I bring up that I worry no one is getting anything out of the group anymore, that we are all talking about the same things we talked about last year, and the year before, everyone jumps right in to tell me I’m wrong. They insist they leave the group wanting to write, that they get support and they learn.

Well then, maybe it’s just me. Which brings me back to last night. I went strictly out of obligation and responsibility.  They’d manage without me, and have, and I could have skipped it but didn’t. And only one other member showed up. So there we sat, me drained emotionally, listening to familiar words, feeling like I had nothing new to add either. And then in comes a stranger. A young man who’d heard about the group, who is making documentaries and writing screenplays.

We had good discussions but it was hard for many reasons. I kept thinking, he’s not going to get anything out of this group. We’re all asleep. I don’t know that he’ll come back. I’m not sure I feel he should. I don’t think we’ll be any help to him.

So tell me. How do you wake people up, shake them up, move them out of ruts, challenge their thinking, make them quit speaking the same words, make them write? I include myself in those questions. How do I challenge myself as a writer? I no longer want to sit in the group and speak variations of the same themes over and over and over throughout the years.

I want my friends to soar as writers, but I don’t know how to help them, or me, find the needed wings.