Writing Group-Like a Book Club but for Premature Books

Last summer I was at a stalemate with my writing. I was blocked. I hated every word I had ever put down. Just looking at a Word document made me want to throw up or throw my computer across the room.

I didn't want to give up on writing. Yeah, I might suck, but it was something I loved doing. My family and friends were encouraging, but they didn't quite know how to help me. I knew I had to do something so I worked on finding a local writing group to join.

I had attempted to make a writing/book club a few years ago with a couple of friends who wrote poetry and enjoyed reading. It worked for a few meetings but we kind of fell apart when we couldn't figure out a regular day to meet (plus, holidays in retail happened).

Well, I went to the local Facebook exchange group and was trying to come up with The perfect way of saying:

"WRITER DESPERATELY SEEKING WRITER FRIENDS TO HELP GET HER OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR AND MAYBE HAVE A BEVERAGE WITH WHILE TALKING ABOUT WRITING AND BOOKS AND STUFF"

Without sounding too pathetic.

I might not have the hang of this yet.

Then I stumbled on a post for a writer's group advertising for people to join.

Like manna from heaven.

I immediately joined the Facebook group and messaged that I had been looking for such a group. They welcomed me with open arms.

It was a couple of months before I could make it to a meeting (all while avoiding my writing like it had a plague-syphilis combo that hasn't been cool since the Dark Ages) but once I was finally able to attend, the heavens opened up and celestial trumpets were playing Aretha Franklin on surround sound... that might be a little dramatic, but it was pretty awesome.

I got to spend 2+ hours with local writers of varying experience levels. Some people in the group were pleasure writers who did not necessarily have plans to seek publication, but simply wrote for the love of it, some were actively trying to get published, and some were already published. A few people wrote real world/crime fiction, some wrote historical fiction, some were working on memoirs or nonfiction, and a couple wrote in many different genres.

But they all were like me, looking for people who knew the highs and lows of being a writer and who could offer support and advice.

We spent the first half hour or so "networking," which meant we were chatting, getting to know each other, and gossiping. Then, we went around the table, told a little about ourselves to the group, and read something that we had written, if we were so inclined.

I had absolutely no idea what to share. I was still in the mindset that everything that I wrote sucked and that I was a failure as a writer but, as panic set in, I dug though my computer just in case they decided the new guy needed to read something.

They did.

I settled on reading something from my first novella. It was the first thing I self-published and I had had good feedback on it. I figured I wouldn't embarrass myself too badly by reading from it. The group actually enjoyed it. They laughed where they were supposed to and a few people even asked me questions about the series.

I learned how much I didn't know about the writing and publishing industry and how much even my compatriots didn't know, but everybody was more than happy to share what knowledge they had.

We were a group of non-professional writers working together to make everybody better.

The encouragement was overwhelming. Nothing else could have been as effective breaking down my block and self-doubt as that meeting.

I walked out of that first meeting like I was floating on air.

Excerpt: Love Drunk and Dragon Tears

25 year old Lydia Forrester is at a wedding and head-over-heels in love with the groom. Too bad she's not the bride. When the object of her unrequited affection asks her to keep his brother entertained, she reluctantly agrees, and then she catches sight of him. Tall, sexy, and newly single, Burke Callaway, is set to be moody during his brother's wedding, but Lydia's unconventional personality quickly has him laughing and dancing the night away. Throw in a Roman Senator bartender who invents the perfect drink and it is the right mix for sparks to fly.

Available for download on Amazon.

He was a friend of a friend. I only met him once but I fell in love… like I usually do when I meet funny, intelligent, attractive, slightly nerdy guys who are so far out of my league we aren’t even in the same solar system.

And now I’m at his wedding.

Alone.

Life sure is a bitch sometimes.

“I’ll be at the bar,” I muttered to no one in particular as I climbed out of my beribboned chair, trying not to take the entire tablecloth with me, and wound my way through the tables to the one friendly face I was looking for. “You guys take cards, right?”

I held up my “emergencies-only” credit card for the bartender’s inspection.

“Of course.” He smiled. Probably not a day under 80 and in suspenders. My heart melted a little.

“Good. Cut me off at $100.” I slammed the card down on the counter and climbed onto a stool, struggling to keep the uncomfortable dress from strangling me, which would have been impressive since it was a one-shoulder number. My first and only ‘little black dress’ and I only bought it because it was on sale and my best friend, Nina, threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t get something new for this wedding. “You been a bartender long?”

He grinned at me with an evil gleam in his eye. “Started in ’58. That long enough for you?” His well-trimmed beard shook with mirth.

I studied him for a minute, then nodded. “We’ll find out.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“Well, I just finished a terrible vodka tonic that that guy managed to screw up.” I pointed at the bro at the end of the bar who was probably still suffering from the hangover he got on his 21^st birthday. “Let me ask you, sir, how does one mess up a vodka tonic?”

The old man solemnly shook his head. “It’s a shame.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Do you mind if I call you Corilinus?”

“Normally yes, seeing as my name is Dave.” He leaned an elbow on the bar in front of me.

I shook my head. “You, sir, are no Dave. Now, Corilinus, as for my drink, I want something old school that’s not beer. Oh, and whiskey and tequila are not allowed. What can you do for me?”

Corilinus chewed his moustache in thought. “Old fashioned.”

I shook my head and tisked. “Old fashioneds have whiskey in them.”

Corilinus conceded with a nod. “This may be tough. I’ll make you a good vodka tonic to enjoy while I consult the bible.” He pulled an old hardcover book out of a drawer and dropped it on the counter in front of me.

“Corilinus,” I said as I stood on the rungs of my stool and held out a hand to shake, “you have a deal.”

He shook my hand with a laugh. “What’s your name?”

I dramatically tossed my hair back. “People call me Vira… no.” I shook my head. “No, they don’t. I can’t lie to you, Corilinus. Do I look like a Vira?”

Corilinus shook his head but his eyes sparkled.

My shoulders slumped. “Knew it. My name is Lydia.”

“Ah, that is a beautiful name.”

“Thanks! It was a birthday present.”

Corilinus stared at me for a long moment, then laughed. “I’ll get you that drink now.”

“Lydia! I thought that was you!”

He leaned against the bar next to me and I bit back a sigh of longing.

The friend of a friend.

Any hope that my love was a figment of my imagination went out the window at the sight of him… or maybe that was the loneliness and vodka. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

I felt my knees go weak as I took in his trimmed beard and gorgeous smile, and I was still sitting down. “Hey, Frank. Congrats again.” I raised my freshly filled glass in his direction before sipping.

He laughed. “Why do you insist on calling me Frank?”

“Because Fabio was taken and Josh is too common for you.”

“Well, thanks… I think.” He caught the bro bartender’s attention and I loudly gestured for him to stay as far away from my side of the bar as possible.

Frank looked at me with question marks all over his face. Not literally, of course. That would be ridiculous.

“You do not want him! He messed up my vodka tonic. Corilinus!”

“How do you mess up a vodka tonic?” Frank was baffled.

“No idea, but he managed it.”

Corilinus smiled at me, finished pouring wine into two glasses for his customers, and headed my way.

“What can I get for you, Vira?”

“Aww!” I gushed. “You just earned a bigger tip, sir!”

He winked at me and turned a pointed look at Frank.

“Whatever he wants, put it on my tab,” I ordered.

Frank laughed. “I’m the groom, Lydia. I drink free.”

I nodded. “Like I said, put it on my tab.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head.

People were always doing that around me. I haven’t quite figured out why, yet. I suppose someday…

“Two beers and another bottle of champagne.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Corilinus!” I called as he walked away.

Frank leaned down to whisper in my ear. I got a whiff of his cologne and nearly swooned. “His nametag says ‘Dave.’”

I leaned closer, on the surface playing along with his secrecy, but really just trying to catch more of his cologne. I have no idea what it was, but I always swoon when I smell it. I can never get enough of it. I love it.

Especially on a good-looking man. It’s almost as good as chocolate on a good-looking man.

Or nothing on a good-looking man.