I just returned from my writing group meeting, one of my favorite times of each month. We are just a group of about eight women who like to write. We are mostly staying home with small children, so to motivate ourselves to write we impose deadlines on ourselves and provide eachother an audience and some feedback. There are no rules - you just write what strikes your fancy that month, and it is such a pleasure to see what people come up with. I like all the women so much to start with, but you learn a lot about people from what they create. Tonight there were just four of us that had submissions, but we had the beginnings of a short story about a mentally unstable woman, detailed step-by-step sewing instructions to make a children's puppet theater, a poem about new pet cats and a Thus Spoke Zarathustra-style prophetic condemnation of our society, and my piece, a review of Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. Oh, that book, it is wonderful. Perhaps I'll give it it's own post some day soon, but right now I'm off to bed. G'night.
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