Our
local Sisters in Crime group—we call it Mystery by the Sea because we live in
coastal Virginia—met for lunch at Carrabba’s for a pre-holiday party.
What,
you ask, do writers talk about when they are just having fun? I made mental
notes as I ate my lasagna. We talked about new babies, new contracts, and fresh
writing opportunities. Who wants a roommate for Malice Domestic, who did
NaNoWriMo this year, who is letting their hair go natural? Do you have a
picture of your new dog/cat? We spent a long time on the crucial topic of Best
First Sentence. Believe
it or not, there was some support for “It was a dark and stormy night.” We came
to no consensus of course but had a lot of laughs.
One
thing we did NOT talk about was money. We all know we’re in the wrong
profession for getting rich and that’s okay. I’m convinced that the few writers
who do get rich, do so almost by accident. It’s occasionally a side benefit but
not a goal. We write because we are writers.
This
group has been together for about twenty years, and a few original members are
still with us. Most, however, are new blood. We celebrate as each newbie gets
that first story published. There is no jealousy among us because we are not
competing. We may all become wildly successful. Or not.
We
exchanged ideas and recommendations for online resources that offer the kinds
of help we need. One of our members is venturing into the world of script
writing and she recommended an online program that I may check out myself. A
few new books are generating talk in the mystery genre, and we mentioned some
without, of course, giving away any endings.
We
all agreed that the pandemic has had a bad effect on each of us even though
most of us work best alone. Other people are where ideas come from. Without
human contact we are like tailors without cloth. We need that human contact. As
I listened to my fellow writers, I felt like l was rejoining the human race.
We
were a bit loud at times. Fortunately, we met at 11:30 before the lunch crowd
hit so we had the place pretty much to ourselves for a while. The manager came
over and talked to us, but he didn’t mention the noise. He was just being
friendly. I have no idea how our server made sense of our orders. We asked her
irrelevant questions, changed our minds (I’ll have what she’s having), and
ordered more than we could eat, prompting us to call for a veritable snowstorm
of white Styrofoam boxes.
If
you are looking to join the writing community yourself, I suggest you shop
around in your own community. You’ll probably be surprised that there are
people like you close by. And check out online groups, too. You are not alone.