Kinship

Yesterday, I had to opportunity to be with like-minded women not once, but twice, in the same day.

To say our little town is conservative, is an understatement. Elizabeth Dole grew up here, and a few years ago, there was a billboard beside the interstate highway with a picture of her and her husband. The caption read: "(Small Town)'s Favorite Daughter and Son."

Um, 

Ick?

So after a while you learn to go underground with your thoughts and ideals. Embrace them as you are accustomed to doing, and people just ....   ....    ....    look at you. 

Fortunately our neighborhood is quite eclectic, and has its share of progressives. But the town at large? Puh-leeze.

So I was glad a couple of months ago when a sweet friend who was very active in recruiting workers for Obama mentioned to me she was in a liberals' book club. "We rarely read any more," she said, "but it's great to get together and feel like we are not such a minority."

"It's a shame you're a working gal," she said. "We'd love to have you."

Hmm. What did that mean? It was like two opposing messages in the same sentence. 

So I called her on it. 

"I free lance so I can have a life, too," I declared. "I'd love to come."

Then I kicked myself around the block in my own head for a week. Why was I so rude?

Well, rude or not, she added me to her group email and I have enjoyed being privy to the electronically-transmitted insights shared in this group.

Yesterday I got to meet them all in person. 

The same friend hosted everyone at her home. She had gone to the Inauguration and was ready to share. Her story of The Purple Tickets was a riot. I may email her and ask permission to post it on the blog. 

I was, I believe, the only person, or perhaps one of two or three, who does not belong to the Country Club. Undaunted, I strolled in as if I were an Old Timer. 

Everyone was just as cordial as could be, and treated me like an old friend. We talked and gabbed and regaled every detail we could think of in the inaugural process. After an hour or so, we picked up our pocketbooks and went home. 

It was great. 

Last night, on the very same day, I had kinship of a different sort. 

To understand why it was meaningful, you have to realize how very isolating writing is. 

Teachers teach a group. They work with other teachers. Social workers are intimate in others' lives. Factory workers, office workers, have people they love, or loathe, but they have people. 

Writers? It's me and the screen. And the cat. And the bunny slippers. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a vacuum. I LOVE IT, would not trade it for the WORLD, but, yes, it is a solitary pursuit. 

Last Sunday at church, I ran into a fellow parishioner whom I don't know very well, but have always liked. Both of us have girls in the local theater's children's play. I remarked how LO has  enjoyed seeing her little girl, who is talented and articulate, and just a delight. We chatted for a minute and somehow, I don't even remember how, it came out that both she and I are writing a children's novel. 

We were both shocked. 

Then in walked our friend, the wife of one of our pastors. She is a pastor herself, although not of our own church. She has been quite busy of late, pursuing her own doctorate. Her Sweet Husband already has one. 

She picked up on the conversation and confessed that, yes, she is writing a children's novel, herself. 

Of all people, she, the pastor, said, "Isn't it a coincidence that the three of us came into this place and we're all writing a book?"

So we decided to email each other our Ch.1 and meet for feedback. 

The meeting was last night. The three of us gathered at a local coffeehouse and remarked on each other's work. We used the sandwich method: say something nice, then a critical remark, then something nice. 

I hope I was as nice to them as they were to me. I did not feel attacked at all. The book, of course, is my baby. But they made very helpful comments to me and I dreamed of my story all night long. You see it's 5:15am now and I have already been up an HOUR. I just could not lie in the bed any longer. 

It was so affirming to meet with other women who know the solitude and ownership and satisfaction of writing. 

At this point, we don't know if we will meet long-term, or regularly, or what. We're getting together again next week, to go over Ch. 2. 

And I can't wait.