The Usual Suspects: Denizens of the Writers Group

snowflake_imageRemember opening your bedroom curtain in the morning to find the first heavy snowfall of the season blanketing the ground with a foot of pure, unspoiled, pristine  snow? You couldn’t wait to get out there and roll around in it. Snow, glorious SNOW! Then after about four hours, the magic wore thin; you had to pee, you couldn’t feel your fingers and your face hurt because some jerk nailed you in the head with an ice-ball. Jerky jerk-off.

So it is with writers groups. Consider the following: Continue reading

Naked-Person-Of-The-Month-Club, a.k.a. A Writer’s Group

If you’ve never been a part of a writers group, let me explain to you what it’s like. It’s like belonging to a Naked-Person-Of-The-Month Club in which, when it’s your month, you email nude pictures of yourself to each member of the group. Then everyone shows up at Panera Bread on a predetermined Saturday afternoon, the group leader sets your picture down in the middle of the table next to your bread bowl, and the entire group proceeds to tell you exactly what’s wrong with your body. In excruciating detail. Every lump. Every bump. Every dimple of your expansive backside. Continue reading

The Universe Is An A**Hole That Can Hear You

Year-2012-in-Space-30+-Outstanding-Photographs_06-@-GenCept  Anyone who has secretly yearned for something in life is probably familiar with the feeling I’m about to describe. It’s a feeling that is particularly common among frustrated artists who slave away at work that is Other Than. It’s the feeling–no, I take that back, it’s the FEAR–that the universe might eavesdrop on your private whisperings and actually DO SOMETHING about it.

And nobody wants that. Not me, that’s for damn sure! Not unless I get to decide the What, When, Where, How–and ONLY IF it comes with a generous plan for health and dental. I want easy change. Pleasant change. Change that doesn’t frighten me and make my bowels transform lunch into liquid lava. Continue reading