Space to Breathe

By Kim

This is the photo I will remember most from my recent weekend in Granbury. It’s the first one I took, a rather dull snapshot overlooking a porch and a nondescript backyard. The sky is gray, the trees mostly stripped of their leaves; even the red cushions on the chair are muted to rust.

This image perfectly symbolizes my mood since returning home after the enchantment of the UnConference a month ago. There are hints of color in the grass, as there are in my life, but my mind is heavy with rain I can’t quite release. Salem changed me irrevocably, yet I have not yet learned to fully reconcile the woman I've become with the woman those at home have come to expect me to be.

It was no accident that I immediately chose this spot in the retreat house as my writing cave, that this view, such as it was on that gloomy December day, spoke to me. From this spot I watched the clouds drift away, saw Joan and Pamela cross the lawn and Julie sit on the swing partly visible in the lower right corner.

I think everyone sensed I craved solitude and they left me alone in my little nook, laptop open on my lap, earplugs stuffed into my ears, my gaze drifting to the trees in the distance in the rare moments the words did not flow.

Sometimes they came so fast my fingers struggled to keep up, and at the end of three days I discovered I had written an astounding (for me) 7200 words.

I’m not a slow writer, I realized. I simply needed space to breathe.  

What abut you? Do you have a writing cave? Do you find you need to escape your regular life in order to be your most productive?

What Women Write

by Joan

I’m a loner. My office is a cocoon, outfitted in a wrap-around desk, favorite paintings and prints, and plantation shutters closed off to the elements. I often have no idea whether it’s a sparkly, sunny day or a dreary rainfest. The only way I know a storm is coming is when my mother-in-law calls to tell me to batten down the plants and patio chairs. I don’t like talking on the phone, the result of three years as a headhunter in the ’80s when I had to make phone calls at night and attend networking gigs. If I’m on the phone too long, the person on the other end will often sense my unease and let me go. I like the solitude of a writer’s life, taking a phrase or sentence, working it into something that not only I love, but also has some meaning to someone else. Which is odd, when you think about it, but a common trait writers share.

But as any writer knows, it’s nice to connect with other writers, to share ideas, work through mistakes, celebrate achievements and, yes, rejection. I joined the Writers’ Guild of Texas, a young organization that has grown to almost 80 members in three years, and became its treasurer. There I met my first critique partner, Kim, and subsequently Pamela. I met Elizabeth at the Lesser North Texas Writers’ Critique group, Pamela and Julie connected online, then we met Susan at a conference. And here we are, our own little writing village.

Today we celebrate our fiftieth post. When we started What Women Write, we knew our styles were all quite different but wanted to find a way to connect with the writing community and share a bit about our writing journeys. We set up a schedule and committed to following it, making small adjustments for when life interfered (flu, day jobs, family emergencies, travel). I’m constantly amazed at the posts my partners have written, the authors we’ve been lucky enough to interview, the response and support from our readers.

Like many writers, when I look back at my manuscripts from a few years ago, I cringe. Reading them makes me want to send apology notes to all those agents I queried with what I thought was the best book I could write. I should also apologize to unsuspecting friends and family members who also read my early drafts and offered unworthy praise. Since then, I have studied writing how-tos and written daily, but my partners have pushed me to become even better. Yes, our styles are different, but each one in her own way has helped me gain perspective of my work, stretched me, provided me with honest feedback, and kept me laughing when I wanted to cry. (Some diligently reading revisions of the same manuscript numerous times!) Next month, the six of us will go on the first of hopefully many writing sojourns together, to a remote cabin far away. Maybe I’m not a loner after all.