I hear stories everywhere. When we were camping in Canada, I visited a tiny campground museum and saw a short film about the voyageurs. A young female voyageur spoke to me, telling of her adventures dressed as a man, canoeing the Canadian wilderness. Over the next few days, while I was hiking and swimming and daydreaming, the story developed and grew. Then, when we got to Montreal, I met a different story, and again in Vermont. When I was in Europe a couple of years ago, stories conversed with me everywhere we went. European history screams stories.

The problem for me, as a writer, is to focus on listening to just one of the stories calling to me. If I can focus on one, I learn about the characters, the complications of the plot, the details of the setting. When I finally put pen to paper, I have spent countless hours inside my story, talking with the characters, walking through their gardens, considering their problems. This is the magical, wonderful, dreamy part of being a writer. The torture is in the writing: choosing words, typing sentences, inking on paper. Sometimes I feel like I vomit up my story and then spend months cleaning it up.

Some people, when they learn that I’m a writer, will say, “Oh! You know, you should write about….” and give me some random idea. I smile and try to be polite. These are often people I like a lot, and I don’t want to offend them. But, golly jeepers! I don’t have any trouble with ideas. I don’t have the time or discipline to write all of my own ideas. I would like to devote my full attention to each and every one of the characters who call out to me, but there are too many and their numbers are forever increasing. Why would I want to waste my time with a story I don’t know? whose characters I’ve never met and who aren’t talking to me?

These are not words that are often said to me.  I’m a slow thinker.  The electric pulses don’t snap in my skull, rather they ooze like thick lava on a barely inclined plane.  This is why I became a writer.  A writer can take a long time.  Write, read, re-write, read, edit, read, re-write.  It can take me twenty minutes to send a short email.  This blog has taken more than a week.

I think most blogs are the work of clever, quick-thinking people.  Not this blog.  If you notice I haven’t posted anything for several weeks, it’s because the lava hasn’t descended far enough.  Pumice is worth the wait.  Isn’t it?

Writing groups.  Not everybody agrees in the efficacy of writing groups, but my group has done a lot for me.  It keeps me writing, revising, cleaning up what I write.  Plus, I enjoy sharing what I’m working on and talking about the writing process with other writers.  My group is an open-minded, thoughtful, kind and supportive group.  I’ve heard horror stories of groups with members who decimate other members’ writings.  If you find yourself in that sort of group, get out immediately.  If the group does not support you, improving your writing through kind and supportive suggestions, then pay its members no heed and find a group that will.

For a brief time, I was a member in an online writing group, and that worked well for me at that time in my life.  In these environments, you can meet up with people from far away, and revise and comment and talk when the time is convenient to you.  I worry(ied) a little about sending electronic copies of my material into the ether, but a writer can only worry about that for so long.  Afterall, I’m having such a difficult time getting my own stuff published, why would someone else have an easier time of it? 

So, my recommendation is to find a writer’s group that fits your needs and is supportive.  Then, write, write and write!