Writers at the Table: The Anthology

It’s always a thrill (and a relief) to see a writing project come to completion. For the last year and a half, I’ve led a creative writing class once a month with a group of Senior Citizens. They bring wonderful stories to the table, two of which you can read here: Old Hat by Toshio Ninomiya and My Mother by Ted Johnson.

IMG_1081We talked of publishing a small anthology of their work, so, after several months of compiling and editing essays and stories written by hand or on typewriters, their words are now in print in a lovely little book.

During this process, I learned that 1) their stories do not grow old, no matter how many times I read them, and 2) the absence of technology makes pushing this kind of a project forward a bit more challenging.

The majority of my contact with the writers, including edits and reminders of due dates, happened through snail mail, as only one contributor dabbles in email. I love sending and receiving hand-written letters, always, but I’ve grown accustomed to working with other writers and editors online. In quick exchange. Incorporating the extra time to relay information via mail trucks and foot traffic made me appreciate how publishing worked back in the early days, and made the end result all the more sweet.

This Saturday, November 16th, at 2pm, the writers will give an official reading at Harwood Place in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. If you come, you’ll hear essays and short fiction–tales of community and relationship and even fashion–by Richard Borchers, Ted Johnson, Valerie Reynolds, Clyde Rusk, and Betty Sydow. There’ll be coffee and cookies and smiling faces. And, beautiful blue books.

image

Writing in the Bahamas

imageThis time last week, I was wearing flip flops and my swimsuit and sitting at a picnic table with professionals from the publishing world. Folks who know their business inside and out. People like big-wig editors and well-known agents and best-selling authors.

I’m not bragging.

What I mean to say is that normally if a person were lucky enough to find herself in the presence of this audience, she might put on something more than sunscreen.

Okay, there was a swimsuit cover-up. But in the Bahamas, one can’t worry about her wardrobe (or her hair for that matter).

So, I left my heels behind and lugged notebooks and manuscripts around instead. I whittled down the lead in my pencil filling pages with notes from the Salt Cay Writers Retreat: tips on the craft heard from speakers on the panels, words of advice from my one-on-one, and ideas and insights gathered during workshop, even when it wasn’t my piece in the spotlight.

We took breaks, mind you, because it was impossible to ignore blue ocean waters just yards away. But even when I walked the beach or rocked back and forth in the waves, I was thinking through story, considering character and strategy, imagining the setting of the cold, north woods while basking under the burning, tropical sun.

It is possible.

And that was one of the biggest gifts from this retreat: the possibility of this novel that I’ve dreamed of and pushed aside and worried about and picked up again.

My notes are linear but disorganized, but I can’t wait to share more with you. And I will, bit by bit.

Where did you find possibility this week?

Soaking it all in.
Soaking it all in.