Group Things

October 12

I ordered a novel by a woman in the writing group I’m sort-of attending, but it hasn’t arrived yet. She’s a really nice, interesting person, so I hope I like her book. She’s also a poet—I think that’s what she considers herself, primarily-- but I’m finding it a little more difficult to find books of her verse. I’ll let you guys know what I think of it when I read it…

I went to the group last week (did I mention that in an earlier entry?) and gave them a story. It’s not a flawless piece of work by any means, but it’s a good story, I think… and, frankly, it’s a way of calibrating the group. I have a pretty clear idea of where the strengths and weaknesses of this story lie (it’s an old one, that I’m quite objective about, and that I’ve received other feedback on). If they think it’s total crap, I’m in trouble; they’re not the group for me. I’ve never bothered with such “calibration” in the past, but this is an odd case. This is a group of strangers. I don’t know anyone in this group, the group wasn’t recommended to me, there’s no one in the group whose work I know and respect beforehand. The writers are serious, advanced, published folks, and that’s encouraging, but I’m still a bit wary. I don’t have much spare time, you know? If the group is helpful and valuable, I’ll embrace it and give as much as I take, but if it won’t help me I should be spending that hour every week writing.

So anyway.

I’ve gotten really used to having Meg around, and it’s only been a week. It’s going to kill me when she leaves. We fell back into our old, beloved patterns so naturally, with no tension or awkwardness despite the fact that I haven’t seen her in two months. We cuddle, we talk, we read to each other… it’s really lovely. Things are so peaceful and easy and warm with her. I’ve had dramatic relationships, fraught with drama and trauma… and there’s a place for those, I must admit—they certainly led to some good poetry. But what I have with Meg is so good, so natural and pleasant. And yet not tepid, it’s exciting, I’ve dated her over a year and it’s still a thrill to see her, it still delights me to make her laugh, to pick her up and swing her around the kitchen, to get on her nerves by singing (badly. I sing badly. But enthusiastically) first thing in the morning. I like her social awareness, her opinions, her taste in poetry, her taste in cooking… she’s great, and she loves me, and she lives 3,000 miles away. And yet even that’s not as difficult as I’d feared… I think of her daily, of course I miss her, but we have a thriving correspondence, I find letters from her in my mailbox weekly. It’s okay. We’re getting by. And talking seriously about not living so far apart after she graduates—it’s obvious that we can’t sustain this long-distance thing indefinitely, even with the limited demands we place on each other. We’re figuring this stuff out. The decisions are hard ones, but we’re making them together.

In other news… I got my galleys from Asimov’s yesterday… so I suppose my poems are going to be appearing there sometime soon. Hooray! I’ve dreamed of being in Asimov’s since I was twelve years old, and now it’s going to happen. I wish it was a story… but god willing and the creek don’t rise, that’ll happen someday, too.

I did an idle net-search the other day and found a member of my old writer’s group (The Midnight Writers, I think we sometimes called ourselves when the outside world asked; among ourselves, we were always just the Group). Anna was great. She had a lovely house in Blowing Rock, and she provided our meeting locale for quite a while. We drank red wine, we ate cheese, we practiced readings, we chatted, and we shredded each other’s stories. That was a great group. I sent Anna an email, and she replied, and it’s nice to be in touch, again.

Nice nice nice nice nice.

Don’t you guys ever wish I’d write a bitter, bile-spewing, hate-filled, raging entry? Just for kind of a contrast?

Don’t worry. One of these days I’ll get off on a rant about fakelore and advertising and stuff, and then you’ll see the bile drip. Really. I promise.