In praise of "See you next Wednesday!"

The title of this blog is something I have gotten to say almost every Wednesday ever since last December when my writing group started meeting every Wednesday evening. Our group of four began as a series of Nanowrimo write-ins. If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard of Nanowrimo. If you’re not, let me explain what it is. It’s a month of utter hell in which procrastination is not an option and you write utter garbage just to get 50,000 words of some type of incoherent plot written. Some people call it National Novel Writing Month.

Last year I participated. This novel, which shall never see the light of day, was pretty awesome in its awfulness. I think of it with cringing fondness as one might a visiting toddler nephew with chocolate smeared all over his face who sticks peanut butter on your cat, calls 911 by accident multiple times, and breaks your china yet hugs you and tells you he loves you. Yes you love your nephew, but you’re awfully glad when he leaves and you’re left to deal with the damage. That’s about how I feel about last year’s Nanowrimo project. To tell you the truth, I haven’t even opened that file since the end of November. I have a fuzzy recollection of Australia, saltwater crocodiles, cycads, modern day pirates, and deadly jelly fish (can you just GUESS the theme of that story, can you?).

So there were these write-ins at the public library, and I showed up in a rare state of, “yes, I WILL leave the house and attempt to meet other human beings.” Well, I met these notorious three others, and after Nanowrimo finished, we continued to meet. It’s been almost a year and we still meet. These people are so awesome. Why? First and foremost because writers are different. Let’s face it. We are quirky in wild and wonderful ways, and the normal world doesn’t always quite get us. I can say things that will just get me a strange look among normal people, but among other writers, not only do they get it, but they embellish it. As a silly example, we usually initially meet in the library’s café. Near the café is a mysterious room. Sometimes we watch people go in and out of it. We have developed an entire storyline about it, how there are cryogenic experiments going on there and how the librarians are all in on it. (This bears a striking resemblance to a thing I had going with a friend in high school about how all the German teachers were secret cannibals -- we had songs and everything! Ah, writers!)

But that’s not all. I can be myself, whether I am hyper and bouncy or in a glum hate-the-world mood. And perhaps even more importantly, I feel a part of a community. Like in the way that I might say to myself, “Yeah, I could move back to Florida where it doesn’t snow, but I have family here and my awesome writing group. I moved back to this area because of a traumatic experience, and I’m dealing with the fallout of that decision almost every day since my husband lives and works overseas nine months out of every year. The decision to truly settle here was not easy. And yet this group really helps make that decision not only tolerable, but downright pleasant on Wednesdays (even in the winter).

And by the way, we don’t actually often work on writing when we meet. In fact, I would say it’s rare. Most days we’re chatting about other things or just ideas for writing. They bring me baked goods. We hula hoop together in the park. They appreciate my hummus. They show me pretty beaded projects.

In fact, three of us (the fourth was out of town) went through a tornado together back in May. Okay, so the tornado didn’t tear through town or anything, but the warning sirens went off and we all had to go into the library’s mysterious basement for an hour.

In short, they are awesome (And also I have them to thank for not only a push to start this blog but the idea of the theme behind it).