Cowboy Confessional

Writer’s groups serve a purpose … I am told.

I’ve been lucky in my lone-wolf mentality, having never been unsure about my ability to craft prose. Early on a kind but likely deranged editor paid me cold, hard cash for several hundred words, which assured me that I had enough skill to make a buck or two writing. Aside from occasional sanity checks, I have never leaned heavily on other writers (with the exception of a former lady friend whose PhD in lit gave me a source of quality editorial in between mad, fevered love making — kinda surprise I got any writing done during that period).

So at a recent literati conclave (the first I’ve ever bothered to attend), I visited a panel on the subject of writer’s groups. The moderator asked those in the audience — who barely outnumbered the panelists — why we came, as if we were being held in suspicion. I wanted to know the benefits and value of such groups, having heard wildly different conclusions.

In one extreme there are those who believe writer’s groups are useful sounding boards for serious word mechanics, who want professional outside perspectives to assure their final product is readable, entertaining, and marketable. At the other end of the literary rainbow, writer’s circles are poorly masked psychological support groups, whereby failed writers and writer wannabes abuse one another with their bruised verse.

One of the panelists was somewhat taken aback by my derogatory tone tied to the assertion of the latter type of group, indicating she knew me not for acerbic statements are entertaining to my ear. She and another gal then proceeded to waste the better part of the hour and my patience by waxing philosophic about the lonely nature of the writing craft, and how communing with kindred spirits (i.e., under-published wordsmiths) helped to bolster their resolve and give them the motivation to write.

Frankly, I don’t understand either part of their belief system. Writers don’t write because they want to, they write because they have to. Take away a real writer’s word processor and their skulls will explored, spewing blood, gore, pithy quotes, and unfinished manuscripts across the room.

The other factor — motivation — is what separates real writers from sober society. The panel before this writer group grope was composed of working writers, who had regular columns and assigned pieces from national periodicals. A recurring theme among this caste was that deadlines are wonderful motivators. They maintained that real writers can summon prose on demand, and all it takes is desire or a little pressure, such as an editor who can utter that magic phrase “you’re fired.”

If you ever quit taking your meds and seek a writer’s group, the best two tactics you can adopt are to know what you want to achieve by being a member of a group, and then shop around (writer’s groups are like kudzu - there’s a new thatch sprouting up every few seconds). Even if you are greenhorn writer, find a group with people who have paychecks to prove their chops, because getting advice from fellow amateurs becomes a self reinforcing cycle of disappointment.

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