Who's got your back?

By Pamela

Last week, the six of us spent the evening at the Richardson Reads One Book event, hearing Jamie Ford discuss his bestseller: Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. As we were standing in line to talk to Jamie, the six of us began discussing our upcoming retreat. We really weren't all that quiet while we talked about what we loved about last year's place, where we might want to go this year, who was willing to room with whom, and so forth.

Eventually, we realized, since we were almost the last in line, we might as well let the few behind us go before us. Just like having a few more than 15 items in the express lane, we figured it was only fair not to make the others wait. (We knew we'd want to chat with Jamie and maybe talk him into a photo op.)

As we let the others go ahead of us, a lady who graciously moved up in the queue leaned in and asked me, "Are y'all related?" I wondered if she thought we might be planning a family reunion--a gathering of sisters or cousins who really don't resemble each other that much.

"No," I said. "We're writers."

But maybe I answered too quickly because we are a family. We're bonded in a way that makes me know I have five women who have my back. And while we've never lived under one roof (except for during our annual retreats, which last three days and nights), we do reach out to each other--either over lunch, phone calls or emails.

Not a day goes by that I don't hear from at least one of the other five. And even though, due to work and family commitments and the distance between our homes, we don't get together as often as we'd like, we might meet two or three at a time.

When Susan transitioned from full-time, work-at-the-office employee to work-from-home consultant, she and I met for lunch and talked for hours about her new role. When Julie's book deal went to auction, Susan grabbed lunch and half a dozen cupcakes and went over to Julie's house to hold vigil, while we all eagerly waited to hear the news. This week, Elizabeth and I have a lunch date planned to discuss her new manuscript and figure out some details about where mine is heading. And next month, Joan and I are driving to Austin for a Writers' League of Texas workshop we both thought would serve us well.

Last week I paid the deposit on our new retreat location at a lake house that usually hosts scrap-bookers. (A couple of emails went around to explain to Susan what the heck a 'crop table' was; we'll use them for critique sessions.) When I told the home's owner that we were a group of writers, she said, "Oh, we've never had writers before."

"Well, we're a lot of fun," I told her. "We're like sisters."

If you write and don't have the support of like-minded souls, I urge you to get out there. Write in public, don't hesitate to tell others that you're a writer, attend author events, seek out writing groups, go to conferences, check out online groups like Backspace. I know my life has been made all the more richer because I got out from behind my computer and met My Fabulous Five.

Social WHAT? redux and Google+

By Julie

Several months ago, I posted about social media and how we were doing with it in our What Women Write group. Our improvements have been embarrassingly small, but maybe we've at least made some short strides. But I still like the photo Joan's husband caught of my look over my shoulder as I discussed Twitter.

Today, I'm thinking about Google+. I accepted an invitation and joined the masses wondering what on earth we might find different enough from Facebook to pull us over there.

I'm still scratching my head.

Here are some thoughts and rebuttals.

I went and saw. A lot of ... white space. It was honestly quite boring, but maybe that changes as you add stuff. I like the busy-ness of my Facebook pages--after all, if I'm on Facebook, I'm probably bored or trying to waste time while waiting for my dream agent to call and tell me she's in love and wants to sign me tout de suite!

I keep hearing about how the "circles" are so great--you can target who you want with your posts, photos, etc. Guess what? You can do that on Facebook with the lists you create from your friends.

A relative said she is happier about supporting the Google people than the Facebook people for personal and ethical reasons. I guess I don't really have the same beefs. I don't have faith that Google+ will handle my privacy and personal information any better or differently than Facebook. As my husband says, it's always about the bottom line. "It's the economy, stupid."

It was kind of nifty to find all my Picasa photos I hadn't seen in a while as they pull up automatically. But also a little creepy.

However ... comma ... I'm willing to be open to the marvels of something new, even if I'm a bit weary of jumping on a new social media bandwagon. At this point I think Google+ will have to create some really exciting bells and whistles that can't be duplicated quickly or easily in Facebook to get a lot of people to truly invest in another venue. If they build it, we will come--but we may not stay.

I will get my little page going for the purposes of having it at the ready, but for now, I'm leaving my heart in Facebook. (San Francisco would be a lot more exciting.)

Anyone have any input about this? Good links to share that might get my heart pumping with a little more enthusiasm? Or ... deep thoughts about anything else in the world because you aren't into the hype yet either?

Please, jump in!

Photo credit: bhermans' Flickr photostream by Creative Commons License

Comfort

By Susan

I first met Pamela Hammonds, Elizabeth Lynd and Joan Mora (three of the fabulous writers here on What Women Write) at the DFW Writer’s Conference in February, 2009. Here is an archived post from that first weekend with my impression of my new friends and my terror at entering the world of "real writers." I’ve come a long way, and still have a long way to go. Just goes to show how important--and long lasting--a community of writers can be. Enjoy!


I had the opportunity to attend my first writer’s conference this weekend. Saturday night, after a full day of pitch practice, seminars, and trying-not-to-look-like-the-new-girl, I was in a near panic about my upcoming 10-minute session on Sunday morning with an agent to discuss my novel-in-progress.

Practicing your pitch feels like the sales training I endure in my real life: What is your elevator pitch? How can you summarize your product (book) in 25 words or less? Can you do it in 250 words? Can you sell it to an agent?

I decided, after writing it--tearing it up, writing, scribbling it out--that I WAS NOT READY. So I decided to forego my agent pitch. I decided to opt out.

And then, Sunday morning, I met Pamela. She writes for a living. She was pitching her completed novel, and it’s her second novel. She pitched it to the agent, and he asked for the first two chapters. First steps toward success!

Now I must digress, because I have never met a full blown Pamela, just Pams. Secondly, my childhood imaginary friend was named Pamela: Pamela Allen, to be exact. Pamela Allen cleaned my room, minded my mother, washed behind my ears, and was the author of my short stories, many done in crayon. Pamela Allen was the perfect me, while I was the normal me. Not perfect.

The real Pamela I met Sunday introduced me to her friends, calmed my nerves, and gave me pointers on my pitch. I decided to talk to the agent after all. Pamela, much like my old childhood imaginary friend, gave me comfort.

My children do not have imaginary friends. My oldest daughter Parker is too literal for such nonsense, and always has been. Instead of an imaginary friend for comfort, she has her favorite pair of toe-socks, which she named her ”woobeesah.” I asked Pey, my little one, if, by chance, she had an imaginary friend. She looked puzzled. “No, Mommy, but I do have Lion!” Lion, a gift from my father to her three years ago, goes everywhere with Pey, including her sleepover Saturday night with our best friends across the street. A sleepover, I must add, that Pey was not so sure about. What if she missed her Mommy? What if it stormed? Could she come home, she asked, if she had a bad dream in the middle of the night?

No, I had answered her. But she could come home before they went to sleep if she thought it was a better idea.

So, of course, at 10:40 p.m., my husband and I heard a soft tap on the front door. Standing there, in a yellow nightie with Lion under one arm and her suitcase under the other, was Pey. My neighbor Kimberly stood at the end of the drive, smiling and waving to me in the dark. My little Pey, my tough, independent Pey. She looked up at me with her big green eyes. “Well, I missed you, Mommy,” she said matter-of-factly, and then climbed into our bed and promptly fell asleep, Lion in the crook of her arm, her hand tucked sweetly into mine. Comfort.

Sometimes, when we are not ready, it’s good to find the comfort of the familiar.


And it all made me think about comfort, and how much we crave and need it--especially when life is uncertain or we are out of our element. Parker has socks. Pey has Lion. I had Pamela Allen. And Sunday, I had the comfortable support from a new network of writers. I did meet with the agent, and I stumbled through a rambling description of my work in progress. I did make new friends. I did learn about where I need to go with my novel (the agent wants to see it, by the way). And in the end, it was all quite comfortable.

Whether it’s socks, an imaginary friend, a Lion, or a real friend, comfort is one thing I suppose we never get too old for. And I, for one, am thankful for it.