We were three writers regularly sharing our lunchtime, talking about our works in progress. One was writing a book about aging, one a science fiction story, and one a contemporary novel. I was the youngest.
It was 1970s Houston. Think skyrocketing oil prices, inflation, disco music. Environmentalists were worried about the partial meltdown at Three Mile Island; I was worried about a mattress my wife and I had ordered, stuck on a boat on the frozen Ohio River. We were reading books like Ordinary People by Judith Guest, Woodward and Bernstein’s The Final Days, Lancelot by Walker Percy, and Roots by Alex Haley.
The three of us—Catherine, John, and I—worked for an oil company. In those days in Houston, everyone worked for an oil company or a big Houston law firm. Catherine and I were in the speechwriting group; John, the science fiction writer, edited an employee magazine.
I know how our conversations about writing started. Catherine had recently joined the company, and I passed her in the hallway. I smiled and said something perfunctory like, “How are you doing?” The conventional answer, even then, was “Fine” or “Just fine.” Catherine was not conventional. Her response was, “Do you really want to know?”
Taken aback, I said the only thing I could say: “Yes, I do.” Catherine dragged me into her office and proceeded to tell me the story of the aunt she was caring for who had dementia; the cousin with the lobotomy who had been stalking her, jumping out from behind bushes to frighten her; and how she was trying to decide whether she could survive working for our employer after only three days.
She came from a famous Houston family. I was wide-eyed and completely fascinated.
We began to talk at lunchtimes, and soon John joined us. The three of us were as different as you could imagine. Catherine read only a little fiction; John read almost exclusively science fiction; I read everything. I was starting to work on a novel, inspired by the stories of Catherine’s family but disguised enough that even she didn’t recognize the characters. All three of us were writing outside of work, and we’d read from our works in progress. We discovered a mutual admiration for the stories of Flannery O’Connor. We’d also talk about our job-related works in progress—speeches, articles, and essays.
We didn’t think what we were doing was odd or strange; the floor was filled with writers, and everybody always seemed to be talking about what job-related project they were working on. But we were different. No one else talked about their extracurricular writing. We would talk, listen, read each other’s pages, comment, and critique. We could share things about our jobs and know what we shared would stay within our small circle.
Of the three us, Catherine was by far the most serious writer. For some time, she had been working on a manuscript about aging being a process of “becoming more so,” meaning that the behaviors of youth and middle age only get more pronounced as we grow older. (This was not dissimilar from Passages by Gail Sheehy, a popular book at the time.)
John was the most earnest. He could wax eloquent about some of the most esoteric subjects related to science and science fiction, like rocket thrusters, time warps, and black holes, which had only been discovered in 1971.
And me, well, I was the “least formed,” but I was also the most sponge-like, soaking up everything I heard. My novel in progress was tentatively entitled Sisters, about two aging, unmarried sisters living together, one of whom had long been suffering from a mental illness unrecognized by the other. I even went so far as to submit it to a writer’s conference for editorial critique, and the editor of a big-name publisher in New York read it and said some nice things about it (and also some discouraging things). But the most important thing the editor told me was, “You know how to write.”
What I remember most was our threesome’s seriousness. We considered ourselves serious writers, and we were determined to continue to be serious writers. And what we had created with each other was a small, tight-knit, mutual encouragement society.
I was the first to leave, headhunted to St. Louis. Catherine was next, remaining in Houston and developing her own freelance business. John left, too, and moved to California. We stayed in touch for a while, and then our letters and notes dwindled away (this was pre-email).
But I never forgot those discussions, nor my gratitude for them. They taught me the importance of encouragement in a writer’s life, and how a little can provide sustenance for a long time.
Writing Prompt
Imagine a friendly “lunchtime literary society” of your own. Feel free to make this a completely fictional society. Who is in it? Where do you meet (someplace surreal, exotic, forbidden, ordinary)? What writing are you sharing together? What draws you together? Apart? Writer anything from a simple vignette to a full-out short story. Come back and share and excerpt with us if you like.
Friendship Prompt
Consider the kind of writer you are. Casual, career-minded, relational? Accordingly, consider what it is that provides you the most sustenance for the kind of writer you are. Then simply turn that outward and encourage a writer or artist friend who is casual, career-minded, or relational, by saying, doing, or giving them something to support their journey.
Or, the next time you are with a writer friend or even a set of family members who might find it fun, do the “lunchtime literary society” prompt above. You can do this simply in conversation, as a kind of storytelling game. Or you can write first, then share.
Photo by Tim Samoff, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Glynn Young, author of Poetry at Work and three novels: Dancing Priest, A Light Shining, and the newly published Dancing King.
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L.L. Barkat says
I love that you met over lunchtime for this. Were you on-site in a private setting? Or, could others see and hear (and maybe listen in)? (And, if so, what did they think?)
Also, I’m curious if you’ve ever been in a writing group since?
Since I had a preview of this post, I tried the prompt with my girls as a dinner time conversation starter. We actually took it over two evenings. What marvelous fun. Sonia regaled us with tales of her writing group with Sebastian (from Black Butler) and Batman (Batman is also in two other writing groups, including one with The Joker and Ivy, and it’s called “The Arkham Poets.” The Joker writes very rhyme-y poetry with a lot of onomatopoeia, and Ivy writes about plants). But, back to Sonia’s group…
Sebastian apparently writes critical essays and loves cats, and Batman writes poetry. Sonia, fiction. They meet under a tree on the property of the rich boy that Sebastian serves, and they sometimes have to fend off assassins and forest fires. Once, the three of them started to collaborate on an epic poem, but it was interrupted and they never got back to it…
‘Twas in the dead of night
that fateful day,
when the boat came in to shore.
The moon was high,
the tide was low
the land a grassy floor.
Through the dim
came cats and bats
and muskrats, in the sand,
watching, as
onto the dock, came warriors,
swords in hand…
Sara and I realized we are not exactly writer’s group people. Though I had an enjoyable time describing the places where I’d meet with said group, should it ever exist, and we all decided that what I really want is just to go to cool, inspirational places, with other writers, and not write at all (the ocean played large in my dreams about this).
The next night, we pursued Sara’s admission that her writer’s group only engages via dead drops. When plied for information, she would only say that the dead drop is in Spain, at the Eiffel Tower. Right, not France. Spain. To return comments to whoever leaves the poems at the Tower, she sends the comments back via dolphins. The dolphins are quite versatile and will deliver anywhere in the world.
So. 🙂 Thanks, Glynn, for a week of inspiration!
Glynn says
We would bring our lunches or buy take-out, and meet in one of our offices (those were days when everyone had closed-door offices).
And I have not been in a writing group since. I have been at writing conferences where a group would meet for a couple of days, but nothing like those discussions in Houston.
And I think I still have the manuscript for the “Sisters” story I was working on.
L.L. Barkat says
It sounds like that was extra special and even formative. Some things never repeat. 🙂
Would love to hear the opener for the Sisters story! 🙂
Glynn says
I have to find it. I think it’s in a file under the stairs to our basement. 🙂
Megan Willome says
I have found that friendships formed with writer friends are the deepest–we not only get to know each other as people but how each of us tend to write. It’s like we get to see inside our souls.
I was part of a writing group for a long time and still pop in from time to time. The participants have changed over the last decade, as often happens, and sadly, much of the chit-chat beforehand has turned political. But there is one person in particular I still trust enough to send work to and say, “Hey, what do you think?”
Bethany R. says
Loved reading this post and the comments.
I agree, Megan. Sharing our writing process with others opens the door for a deeper understanding of each other. Why you add or delete a line, or even word, can communicate a great deal about your perspective. Such a gift when you can find folks you feel comfortable handing a draft over to for honest critique.
Laura Lynn Brown says
You didn’t know what you were in for when you asked that common question and got an uncommon answer. Oh, that people would give that “real” answer more often.
Katie says
We’ll meet up
at the Tea Cup
Quarter till nine
should work fine
Bring a tablet
pen or pencil
Any who care
to take a dare
Be you earnest
or serious, or
least formed –
be fore warned
this will not
be forgot
when the scoop
on writer’s groups
leaks out in
the press
just novices
they will say
what do they
know anyway
but we will
rock them
on our blogs
We will
shock them
with our logs: Journals, memoirs. . .
We will sock them
with our short stories, poems. . .
So what if
they mock us
we’ll have each
other’s backs.
Laughter or ridicule
will seem so minuscule
‘Cause we’ll cheer
each other on
every week
when we meet.
(Okay, I know this doesn’t actually align with the prompt per say – it’s just my way of getting myself pepped up for the challenge;)
Hopefully more to follow by or over the weekend:)
Bethany says
Fun way to get pepped up, Katie. 😉
Laura Lynn Brown says
Great way to make the prompt your own, Katie.
Katie says
Thank you, Bethany and Laura:)
I had fun with this.
Wrote a short piece I titled The Tea Cup Trio.