Good morning happy readers! I’m in a bit of heaven today. You see, I had my first writer’s group last night. I can’t believe it myself that I’ve never been a part of one. I have wanted to of course, just never had the opportunity. And because I had these 3 women come to my home, I actually did some writing. Just like that.

My good buddy and all around celestial creature, Maggie put us all together and we met at my house over snacks and the back of my curious cat for the purpose of becoming better writers.

These ladies were creative and lovely and funny and sweet and fuckaduck, they were writers! We talked about our goals.  We did timed writing exercises and read them out loud. One of the gals brought a couple short stories and she read those too. I felt so much pride in the work I did last night, and so connected to the process. What a wonderful use of time I thought to myself.

And I so rarely think that.

I’m liking this feeling of pride and accomplishment. It was well worth letting people see my dirty house.

It’s easy to get hung up on the words “writer” and “artist” when you are unpublished and not making a living at your “art.” It was enlightening to be able to call myself a writer OUT LOUD and not succumb to that hateful inner snickering, but rather to give and receive support.

Truth be told, I’ve always known I was a writer and here’s the big reason:

“I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”Flannery O’Connor

I like to learn about myself. I’m a bit obsessed with my life and the inner workings of my mind and other lives and life in general and the search for meaning and I find it easiest to start to parse that out when I put fingers to keyboard.

I encourage you to write a  bit today. Or do whatever that thing is that makes you feel artistic: cooking, gardening, drawing, rearranging your bedroom…and hear what you have to say.