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These photos were all taken within a 30 meter radius of each other.

The top one was taken yesterday morning or perhaps the morning before. I arrived at work with a few minutes to spare, and parked facing the lake. The cold morning was warming up, and there was mist rising off the lake. I don't know if you can really see it here or not, but it was there. It was cold - I've already said that, but that's OK. The sun was rising just behind the island, across the little harbour from the marina. The sky and the light in it was clear. I stood and watched it, taking pictures, just watching the mists slowly moving across the surface of the water. So often I just rush right into work - it was nice to just stand and watch.

The middle one I took just a few minutes ago. I'm sitting in the library, looking out at the same harbour, which is now grey and has snow softly falling into it. I really liked the pattern that the tire tracks made in the snow in the parking lot down below. They make parts of circles, intersecting. Lines. It looks like someone with a big piece of paper just playing with form - making wide arcs with charcoal, or something. A looseness about them.

I'm taking the day to sit in the library, and catch up on stuff. I'm rather excited about it. It feels good to catch up - catch up with your own life. "OK you, slow down, let me catch you, let me do some maintenance. Then you can go running off again." I'm hidden behind some stacks, I can hear when people come in the library and chat with the librarian, and I can hear their voices and try and guess who they are. But I'm sitting alone by the window, looking out at the snow.

(That's the third photo - inside the library. The old wooden tables and chairs. Haphazard comfort.)

There was a little boy here earlier, whose mother I know. They came down back to look around the children's area and take some books home. He's three years old. He ran over to me and picked up the jar of raisins, dried cranberries and sunflower seeds that I took with me for a snack.

"What's THIS?" He asked.

"Oh, that's my snack." I said. "Do you have snacks sometimes?"

"Yeah. But not now."

Later he came back down. "I think I'm going to have some," he said. "Of the snack."

His mother, at the front of the library, could hear him. "David, it's not nice to ask people for things. Wait until you're offered."

"You can have some," I said, after checking with her. I handed him a raisin, and a cranberry. He handed the cranberry back, "I don't like cranberries." But his eyes grew wide at the raisin.

"David, where's your manners?" His mother called.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, dear," I said, calling him "dear" automatically. The Maritimes make me call people dear, hon, buddy. He was twenty feet away already - kids move so fast. He turned around.

"What did you call me?"

"Dear!"

He giggled and ran away. I could hear him say to his mother, "Do you know what that girl said to me?"

"What did she say?"

"You're welcome, dear!" and he laughed.

"You ARE a dear," his mother said.

I think trading a raisin for that is a good bargain.

enough.

When is enough, enough?

When do you decide, "OK, that's it. I have to change something"?

Last night I got home from work. I'd worked from 8 am to 5 pm at the marina, then from 6 pm to 8 pm at the library. I was tired. Beat out. I didn't feel quite IN my body, if that makes sense. I felt like my brain was both buzzing and revved, and at the same time aching for sleep.

I tried to do some relaxation. I had to make my lunch for the next day. I tried not to snap at my family. Knowing I had to get up the next day at 6 am and do it all over again was stressing me out. WHEN am I going to have time that's just mine, all mine? Do I really have to specifically take time off from work in order to have a break? That's foolish!

It was 10 pm. Suddenly it was 10 pm. The day had rushed by and now I was trying to relax enough to get some sleep. Actually, it was more like I knew I had to FIT IN sleep so I could be rested and wake up the next day and do more work. And the longer I stayed up thinking about it all, the less time I was actually sleeping. And the more tired I would be the next day - and in anticipation, my blood pressure rose a little more, a little more. AI AI AI!!

Out of curiosity I looked back in my dayplanner to find the day I resigned from the library job. August 24th. I counted forward, one - two - three - four - FIVE weeks ago. OK, that's enough.

I'm so done. Tomorrow, I'm letting them know. I don't care if I feel bad, that I'm leaving them in the lurch. I just can't do this anymore. Working two jobs is crazy, and I've definitely helped them out while they look for someone new. Five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. If the remaining staff has to take on extra shifts to cover it - oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but - THAT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.

I ended up getting to sleep. I woke up today, I made the necessary calls. I'm done, I'm done. Tonight is my last night at the library. It's coming two or three weeks earlier than I thought - so that's a bit odd. But, entirely OK.

As I shelve the books, as I chat with patrons using the computers, as I do the procedures I've been trained to do and can now do so quickly - I'm thinking, it's the last time, it's the last time.

Maybe I'll be sad later.

Right now, though, I'm just RELIEVED.

***

I took pictures of a dinner party I attended on Saturday, and that was my intended post for this week, so perhaps I'll get them done sometime this weekend. I think I've mentioned these feasts on here before - these are done by a local chef, there are six courses and it's all (mostly) local foods. And, each month is a different theme. You pay what you can (I usually pay $40, that seems to be the average). You can bring your own wine. You sit around a table with 14-18 other people, some of whom you know. It's a great time.

***

Isn't it odd, this practice of sharing one's personal life on the Internet? How do you decide what to put in, and what to leave out? What's the truth? What draws us to reading personal blogs, to learning all about people we may not ever meet?

I think about this, sometimes.

There are certain blogs that really inspire me, that are like reading a book, only every day or every few days you get a new chapter. Like a "serial" in a newspaper from long ago. These blogs - and the women who write them - have come to mean a lot to me. Their ideas and colors and creativity make me feel like my own day-to-day life means something too, like I can also be this creative and colorful and bold. I suppose that if this blog, and I, do that for at least a handful of people, then there's a reason for it existing.

Sometimes the thought of posting is stressful. ("What will I write about? But what if it's not perfect?") But I'm also still drawn to this form, to this blog. Very much so. This year, in December, will be the eighth year I've been writing this blog. Save for a month or so in 2007 when I was ill, I've posted pretty much every week, sometimes more often.

OK. This is where my steam is running out, for now.

That's ... enough.

twenty-six.

I was going to do a list of "twenty six awesome things about this week," but realized that not only would it get difficult to think up that many awesome things, but it might not be a realistic picture of life. I mean, things ARE pretty good, but life has lots of sides to it. So here goes: Twenty-six Things About This Week, Awesome and Otherwise.

1. It started with a rainy Sunday. One of the best bits of that day: watching this part of the "David Bowie" episode of Flight of the Conchords, on YouTube of course. "What are you doing in my room?" "It's all part of your freaky dream. Am I freaking you out?"

2. I started my new job at a marine supply and yacht maintenance facility, here in my village. My feet were sore on Monday night from walking around on a concrete floor looking for marine parts and standing behind the corner. But, I was proud of myself for going into something brand new, and facing all that newness. It felt like when you're in a foreign place with people you've just met, who all know each other. And they're having a conversation about stuff they all know really well, and you have to just listen, not having a clue really who they're talking about - only in this case, it's "fuel connectors" and "retainer rings".

3. I'm house-sitting and dog-caring for some people I've house-sat for before.

4. The house is comfortable, sensually-pleasing (art, books, nice furniture, lots of windows with beautiful views of the lake and Kidston Island) and for two weeks, my temporary home.

5. It has a big queen-size bed decked out with a pile of down-filled pillows.

6. The dog, Nell the border collie, is a sweet, loving, frisky, excitable, entertaining and smart companion. She tries to chew at water in the bathtub.

7. The last time I was house-sitting here, I was with my then-boyfriend. He is now my ex-boyfriend, and I miss him fiercely. Everything here reminds me of him - the same way that everything reminded me of him just after we broke up, which has now waned to nearly everything.

8. There is a fireplace (which - of course - reminds me of how he took care of it for me when we were here), and I love to come home from work and build up the embers back into a hot, rustling fire. On Sunday, when it was raining, and on Monday, when it was gloomy, the fire was especially comforting.

9. Because I've been swimming in a pool (at a resort here in town - a month's pass is $56), I've had towels drying by the fireplace, draped over some of the dining room table chairs. They are summer's beach towels, and colored brightly, with stripes.

10. Although it's been a busy week, I've been able to get in some swim time. I get on my bathing suit (or "swimming costume" - which makes me feel British to say) and my swim cap (which makes me feel like a "real" swimmer) and shower quickly. Then I get into the pool, walking down the steps until the water is waist-high. I push off into the water. My stresses float away behind me.

11. The pool water is an artificial yet pretty, icy-glacier blue. However, it is not cold like a glacier, which is probably good. Its temperature is mild. Depending on the day, it can border on too warm, but mostly it's refreshing.

12. Words I've learned and/or used a lot, so far this week: anode, bilge pump, work orders, Mercury Marine, Stright-MacKay, rigging, teak, deck, anti-fouling, draft, charts, wharfage, mooring, spark plug, purchase orders, boom truck, accounts receivable, bolt, pitch... the list goes on, and on.

13. I drive around in my car, to get to work, to do groceries, to take the dog for a walk in the country. I've had my car now for two months. My dirty little secret - I really, really like driving. (I feel a lot of guilt about it, though. But I do really, really like driving. I'm thinking of doing a whole post on this at some point.)

14. I have a tentative plan to get some body work done on my car, by a guy who's known as one of the best body-workers in our area. I'll be getting some rusty spots sanded down, and the whole thing buffed to a nice sheen that might just restore her to her 1997 glory. Dealing with men in garages and talking about car things on my own car, and talking prices that I will pay, make me feel like I have truly become an adult. (Whether or not this is right, and/or is a symptom of our North American addiction to cars, is a whole other matter.)

15. For a similar reason, I am really liking this new job. I get to explore the masculine side of me - or at least, the part of me that likes to learn how things work, and work with actual physical things like machinery. I am feeling my brain expand, feeling it build new neurological connections as it takes in all this new knowledge.

16. Elise Blaha, of enJOY it, a blog I read pretty frequently, is getting married this coming weekend. She's documenting it on her blog - and she's a neat, crafty and designy gal, so it's an indulgent and pretty read.

17. It also happens to be Earth Week, and today is Earth Day.

18. My friend Bill Conall will be heading to Orillia pretty soon for the award ceremony. However, tomorrow night (Friday, April 23) he'll be here at the Baddeck Library, doing an event.

19. A man came into the library and said, "Do you have a humour section?" I said (without realizing I was making a pun), "Funny you should say that!" (I was in the middle of creating a display for books that had previously won the Stephen Leacock award.)

20. Burning papers in the fireplace instead of recycling them - makes you feel like you're REALLY getting rid of them. The to-do lists no longer exist. Or at least, they've become ash, which is impossible to read.

21. I have far more library books out than I can actually read. Thankfully, unlike agreeing to real-life events or actual responsibilities, with library books you can just return the ones you don't want anymore.

22. As impulse grabs go, library books are a good one. You see one on the shelf that strikes your fancy and you can just TAKE IT. No matter how much or how little money you make, you can go into a library and just take out books that make you go, "ooh!" And I don't pay fines any more because I'm library staff - but even if you did pay fines, they would be pretty minimal considering what you get from a library!

23. The week is not even over yet! On the weekend, I plan to go to a "feast" - a local chef who likes to branch out and try new things has these events where people he knows go to his house and sit down together for a meal. A six-course tasting menu all based on a theme, and using as many locally-sourced, organic ingredients as possible. Last month it was Alice in Wonderland. This month it is based on the 1922 novel, Enchanted April. It will be my first time attending one of these "feasts." No doubt I'll report back to you.

24. Today is a beautiful, sunny, sunny day. I have made a poster on the stand-up easel by the front of the library that says, "Happy Earth Day!" and have put a container of markers next to it, inviting patrons to add to it. So far we have gotten: a flower, "Happy Mirth Day," and "Happy Bearthday."

25. Making a list of things is fun, but can run out of steam too. Good thing this list is almost over.

26. Today is my twenty-sixth birthday! That's the reason this list has twenty-six items. My friend Mel left me a message with her singing "Happy Birthday," and my Mum and brother met me at the door at work, also in song. (And bearing a gift certificate to my new favorite restaurant, the Black Spoon. Hurray!)

Twenty-six. I feel both not-that-old-yet, and exactly-that-old. Funny how ages work - they're important to us, but we can definitely take them too seriously. How old did you feel when you were twenty-six? Or, if you're not that old yet, where you do see yourself when you're there?

...

april fool's day

Today at work, a little girl came in with her mother. I was shelving nearby and overheard the mum say to the little one, "OK, now show Kate your card." This happens a lot - kids like to be the one who presents the librarian with their library card.

Then I heard Kate burst out laughing. "You got me!" She said. "I nearly made it through the day without being April Fool-ed!"

I came over, curious. "Look at this!" She said, showing me what at first looked like a scrap of blue construction paper. Then I realized that the little girl had made a fake "library card," even printing the library's logo from a computer, and cutting it out and gluing it to the paper. She'd written out "library card" and her name. Brilliant!

"Can I still get the book?" The girl asked, and we said, "Of course!"

"And, can I keep the card?" She asked, and again we said, "Of course!"

Were you April Fool-ed today? Or did you fool anyone?

***

PS: No foolin, my friend and fellow writer Bill Conall scored a big one today! His novel, "The Rock In The Water" was shortlisted for the Stephen Leacock Memorial Award for Humour! He is up there with some big names, including Will Ferguson and William Deverell.

I was talking to Bill earlier - he called to tell us here at the library about being on cloud nine - and he said, "I said that if I were to make the shortlist, it would fulfill all my literary aspirations, so I guess everything from here on is anticlimactic." I'm thinking he's got bigger things ahead of him still.

Ask your local bookseller to bring in this book - it's a little-known gem.

Also - Bill started a blog last year, and has yet to do anything much with it. Leave a comment there and show him you're interested!

from the goodness of their hearts

Simone is a woman in my village who takes pictures of all kinds of things. She's also a fantastic baker.

She frequents the library and will sometimes bring us treats. The other day she stopped in to photograph the Grade 2 class that was visiting, and she brought us a brown paper bag with four fresh-from-the-oven rolls. I stuck my nose in the bag and the scent of that bread seriously intoxicated me. Drunk on bread. I brought it to the front desk - "Smell this," I said to my colleagues. "SMELL this," as I held it up to their noses. "It smells like LOVE."

"I love Simone's buns," said Kate.

Saying laughing and crying
You know it's the same release
-"People's Parties" by Joni Mitchell

There's been a reason to cry lately; a loss in my life. And I'm so moved by the sweetness other folks have been showing me. Friends just being there - being on the other end of the phone, or there physically with tubs of Haagen-Dazs, or there in email from the other side of the country. Being themselves, being caring, and just plain BEING - the totality of that word.

On the drive to Eskasoni last weekend - I stopped the car in an area called Benacadie and got out and stretched. Steeee - retch. OH yeah, that feels good. Stretch physically after one hour of driving. Stretch mentally - get out of the front seat, out from behind the wheel and the windshield. Look up and see the sky. A new valley - I've never been here before. Brand new place, to me. No one around. Bright sun, dry bare pavement. A bridge across a river, some snow still in the bushes and in the shade. A blackened, just-burnt field.

A car drives by and slows, stops. Several faces, all Mi'kmaq. The driver is wearing a uniform - "Eskasoni" on the arm badge. "Are you all right?" He asks. "Oh yeah, I'm fine," I say, smiling. They drive on.

The goodness of their hearts.

***

I wish my camera was working! (The door that holds in the batteries and the memory chip is broken. I've been to the camera shop and they're ordering me in a new one. In the meantime, I wait.) There are so many things I want to take pictures of, and share here. For example: oranges. I broke down and bought some oranges. As you may or may not know, I try and buy local produce. However, as you may also know, oranges are in no way local to Cape Breton.

Here's why I broke my local produce rule: as I said above, this past week I've been in poor spirits, to the point where food wasn't exciting me at all. I'd think of making food and just feel weary, tired, and sad.

But when my brain went, "Ooh! Oranges!" during a conversation with someone who is going to Florida in a motor-home, I thought I should follow that urge. Like when characters in a movie get into a taxi and say "Follow that car!" I knew this urge would lead me somewhere good.

Later that same day, I found myself sitting outside, on our deck. Peeling the first orange out of the bag like it was going to save my life. And while things are not that dire, in a way that orange did save my spirit. I was seeing things in black and white and grey, and along came something bright orange. With a thick peel that I took off with my fingernails, revealing the juicy segments underneath. And it was delicious.

nuts to this!

So things are a little nuts right now.

Nuts, but good. Like, almonds or hazelnuts. Those kinds of nuts.

I had another three days of my self-created retreat, and while the whole time was really good, and I'm really glad I did it, it was actually harder than I had thought. You know how meditation retreats are notorious for being really hard, because you have total silence and nothing but your own mind? Well, it turns out that even though I wasn't on a meditation retreat, my time away had some things in common with one. For one thing, for a lot of the time I was by myself. For another, I was in a small cabin away from home. So, you face yourself pretty darn quickly, despite not keeping a vow of silence. (Hey, I have to be able to talk to myself!)

And, I realized - the hard way, the way involving emotions and all that stuff - that wherever I go, there I am.

It's the kind of insight that is so obvious as to be simplistic when you first hear it. But then it becomes real, like in-your-face, painfully-aware-of-your-own-neuroses real, and each word in that simple, small little sentence slows down and gets full of meaning.

Wherever I went last week, whether down to Mabou or up to Cheticamp, there. I. freaking. was. Going hiking and eating in a pub and driving around in my own (rented) car didn't actually make me a different person. I was still me - still me with my anxieties and fears and doubts.

It made me think a little differently about the idea of self-acceptance. Specifically, that if one is serious about loving oneself and changing the negative voices in one's mind, it is damn tough. And, part of the process is accepting that you are probably not going to change very much from the person you are right now, in your lifetime. Going to Italy, going to Asia, going to the moon - wherever you go, there you are. Yes, those experiences will become part of you, and you'll learn new things, and maybe change your behavior somewhat. But it's not like you walk through a magic doorway when you go somewhere new, and become a whole different (cooler, hotter, thinner, more forgiving, more sociable, more introverted, more muscular - whatever it is you're yearning to be) person.

So yeah. So I came back from my week away. I hugged my kitties and did some laundry. I slept and took a walk. I packed more stuff. I hosted a Writers' Group meeting. I slept some more. Then I got up at 5:30 am on Tuesday morning, got ready, and got into my neighbour's car at 7:00 am. We drove to Sydney, part of a daily commute for my neighbour and many others in my area, who live with their families in the Baddeck area, but for one reason or another - usually economic - have to work in Sydney.

Then the fun began - training at the library in Sydney. After these two weeks I'll be back in Baddeck, but they're giving me two full-time weeks at the busiest and biggest branch in the region, to get me fully prepared. So far, so good - although I feel a little like a waitress! Although, the difference is that books don't get cold, and people aren't as cranky when they have to wait for service. It is, after all, free.

But, I'm constantly on my feet, going to the circulation desk, and around to other parts of the library, and I'm really in full-on learning mode at this point. The computer system that's used, the way things are run - I'm saying, "I don't know," or, "Show me?" a lot.

It's really good, though. I'm loving being around all the books, I'm loving helping people, and most of all, I really get a thrill being the one to check people's books out, and wield the almighty date stamp. "These books are due back on October 9th, and you can always call us to renew." Magic words!

yes, we can

Every work morning I get a ride into the village with my neighbour and her two teenage sons. Sometimes her twenty-something daughter comes in too and then it's a squished ride, with three tall people in the backseat. I usually put my things in the trunk, having learned after a week or so that riding with all my things piled on top of my lap isn't very comfortable.

We drive into town along the Bay road, which runs alongside part of the Bras D'Or lake. It's always beautiful. Sometimes it's a cloudy day, and sometimes it is sunny and the white clouds are like moving paintings in the sky, all shadow and texture. I enjoy my rides with this family, as we talk idly about different things going on in our lives, all of us slowly waking up for the day.

(The above photo shows the view, except that this photo was taken in the evening in November, so it's not exactly representational. But it's close enough.)

Then, they drop me off at the library, where I'm about a half hour early for work. I let myself in, and check my emails. I read a few blogs that I'm into these days. Then I go up the street to Bean There cafe and get a hot drink of some kind. Some mornings it is a decaf latte, other mornings it is a peppermint herb tea. There are usually some people there that I know, sitting at tables and chatting, reading the paper or eating bagel breakfasts. I nod to them and exchange a few words, all nice ones.

I return to the library, and my supervisor and friend Kate has come in by then. We chat a bit and get to work on our individual computers. The computer I work on is next to a big window, and I can look out onto the main street, or out over the same lake we drove beside that morning. Sometimes the fog is so thick I can only see the wharf, no water. Other times the view is clear to the other side.

Kate and I often talk about community issues and how to get things changing. We both agree that strengthening your local area is the best way to prepare for any sort of crisis, be it a global recession, a flu pandemic, or the fall-out from peak oil, not to mention smaller difficulties facing people today, and we often get each other riled up because we rant about the frustrations that face any local organizer: political bureaucracy, citizens afraid to change their ways, plain old bad timing.

For the most part, though, we're positive, knowing that like water slowly working away at the shore, in time and with steady persistence, changes do come. The hallway of the library, which used to be a dull brown, is now a bright yellow and blue, thanks to Kate's efforts. It also boasts a chalkboard and a magnetic poetry board that together fill up a whole wall. This hallway invites young and old to come further into this fun place, and to leave their mark on the way in. And you know what? They do, in droves. Each day when I come in to work there are new messages and drawings on the chalkboard, new poems on the magnetic board.

Last post I talked about the "Hey, it's OK..." list that gave us all the permission to say, "hey, it's OK to be who I am, say NO to things, to have these quirks that I have," but this week I want to say YES. As in, "yes, we can." Yes, we can do small things that make a larger impact than we would have thought. Yes, we can take on new things that frighten us at first but turn out to be amazing. And yes, we can live beside this beautiful lake and work to make meaningful change in our community.

how to start a writers' group

If you've ever written anything at all, and thought to yourself that you like it, this act of using words to create images and stories, or represent facts and ideas, you would benefit from being part of a writers' group.

I wasn't sure about that, six years ago, but I thought that it might be neat to try it. I was living in Whistler, British Columbia, which is a major ski resort, and I was eighteen. I didn't ski or snowboard, but I did like to write; I had notebooks full of poems starting from about age fifteen, and I had been journalling since I was twelve. I forget exactly how I heard about the writers' group; it could have been a newspaper ad in The Pique, it could have been my boss Laurie, also a writer, who told me about it. I emailed the group coordinator, Stella, and asked if I could come for a meeting. She said, "Of course!"

The group met in her home, and I remember that she had tiles that were warmed from underneath. I took off my shoes and went, "Oooh!" Maybe this is why I kept coming back. But more likely it was because I felt like I'd stumbled into a hidden cave that held something wonderful: eight to ten writers meeting once a month, gathering somewhere comfortable, sharing pieces of writing and talking about them for two to three hours!

I'd had a few friends who liked to write, when I was growing up, but this was something new for me. After three meetings I screwed up my courage and submitted a poem. The next time I submitted a short story. It was scary to do it, not knowing what responses would come back to me, and knowing that I was making myself vulnerable. But each time, it was worth it. We would discuss my work for about a half hour, then I would get back the printed copies of my work from all the other group members, covered with their written comments. I would take the little stack home, and pore over them at my kitchen table, reading comments and taking notes.

I left Whistler, and went on to other things, other travels. I continued to write, but kept it mostly to myself (the exception being this blog). I went to university, and writing essays took most of my creative skills, and then I got pretty tired of it. When I came home last year, I knew one thing I had to do was clean out the gunk that had clogged up my creative river, and provide new notebooks for collecting what might come flowing. I wanted to start a writers' group, but I was pretty scared of it, too. I was scared that I would get it started, and then not have the energy to follow through. I was scared that no-one would join it. I was scared of all those things that someone prone to anxiety gets scared of, things which usually don't come to pass, but are incredibly real beforehand.

By last summer I thought, "I think I have the energy for this. I'm not sure. But I might." I went to my librarian friend Kate, and said, "I have an idea." Kate said, "I like ideas!"

By September, I had posters that I had put up all over town. They began, "Are you a writer? Do you like to write, even if you don't think of yourself as a writer?"

And by late October, and our first meeting, I had somewhere between fifteen and twenty interested people. I was gobsmacked! And now, we've had three meetings, and we're going strong. Our meetings are great, we all talk easily and strike the balance between being supportive of each others' work, and being critical of the pieces. And sometimes we eat rum balls and chocolate squares, and stay late talking about writing. I still deal with my anxiety, before each meeting, but as time goes by I worry less and less about how the meetings will go.



So here are my tips for starting a writers' group.

1. Make a poster and put it up. Write a piece for your local newspaper. Put ads in local writers' publications, in book stores. Get the word out!

2. Find a place to meet that's private, and comfortable. We meet in the library on a night when it's closed, and sit in comfortable chairs. You could also meet in someone's home. Privacy is important for helping people feel at ease.

3. Spend the first meeting deciding how you want to run things, as a group. However, begin with how YOU want it to work, the structure already laid out. I based our group on the Whistler group format, but other groups like to write together, and then share their work at the meetings.

4. Even if you're feeling worried about how things are going to go, put on a happy front when you're talking to your group members. I don't always agree with "Fake it til you make it," but sometimes it works. Eventually you won't be faking it.

5. Work on having faith. Faith in - people coming out of the woodwork, people being courageous enough to submit their work, people enjoying themselves.




Two more things to remember:

a. If you don't think you're up to starting a whole group, or even joining a pre-existing group, I still encourage you to support your creative impulses somehow. Find a writing buddy, or take a writing workshop. Buy a blank notebook and write down random sentences when they strike you. Soon enough those sentences will build up into a collection of sentences, of ideas, and you will realize you do have an active, creative life.

b. No matter what you decide to do, let me assure you, it will be more than worth it! The energy and support you receive for your writing and your creative life will be above and beyond what you expected. I'm pretty sure of it.

PS: The Whistler group is still meeting, and they have a snazzy website with good information on starting a writers' group. Check it out!

Hooked on Phonics; or, My Five a Day Habit

Sometimes I fear that
What is balance impeding
Is not beer or wine
But my addiction to reading!

I'll lie down to read
And instead of relaxing,
I'm speeding ahead --
It's really quite taxing!

And it's not just word count
But book count as well,
Is five a day normal?
By now, I can't tell

For when I can't sleep,
It's not hot milk; instead,
I open the dictionary
I keep by my bed

Definitions soothe me,
But I am not snobby
I'll even read the biography
Of a retired English bobby

Not to mention Harlequins,
Westerns, and Crime stories
Cookbooks, phone books,
And "The History of Quarries"

Academic papers,
Though boring, will do
I said, I'm addicted!
Does a bear in woods poo?

And now there are tremors
Withdrawal, I admit
But nothing scared me more
Than my first hissy fit!

It came out of nowhere
The day I gave back
My favorite new volume
To the library rack

I freaked out the patrons
With my ranting and raving,
But it comes on so strong,
This printed word craving!

The smell of the bindings,
The inks and the pages,
And being so close
To the works of the sages

It just gets me going!
What more can I say?
Plus, it's still legal
So it must be OK

That's what my shrink says
When I come to her crying
Because of these dreams --
I swear I'm not lying!

I'm trapped in a library by
Old Bosch (Heironymous)
I guess it's high time
I joined Readers Anonymous?



(Thanks to www.artchive.com for their information and the above image, which is the "Garden of Earthly Delights" Right wing, "Hell", c. 1504.

Also, thanks to my local librarians for fostering my habit from a very early age.

And of course, to my readers, for enduring my rampant silliness yet again!)