I’d say I’m dusting off my keyboard, but that’s simply not true. My laptop’s had plenty of use lately, just not the writing sort. I’ve been busy working. I’ve also been busy reflecting, often questioning – that pesky existential kind - wondering whether I’m growing closer to my vision and intentions for this space - for my life! - or drifting ever farther from where I set out. Yikes. **I say this with a grain of salt; the last year and a half has gone anything other than according to plan, for all of us.
The seeds of this entry began on the weekend, when my colleague returned from a month in Australia. We were bundled up and strolling along the beach, flat whites in hand. We soaked in the soundtrack of waves and the chatter of a long overdue catch up. We made it to one end of the beach and turned around, the morning sun warming our faces.
“I’d really like to start a writing club.” We’d shared before how much we both love writing, how we both wanted to do it more. Of course I was keen! I’ve been carrying plenty of guilt around not prioritizing writing, not being disciplined about writing, and producing a shocking lack of writing during the last year, when it could be argued there’s been endless time for writing. Time for writing is different to space for writing.
I say yes immediately. It’s a dream come true to have this proposed by someone else, and I suddenly feel that if nothing else comes from my time in this town, this alone will make this chapter worth it. A regular time set aside for writing? Full permission to get the words out, to do more of what I love? It’s not a hard sell, yet somehow it’s felt as though there’s been a massive mental block preventing me from doing exactly this. The buy in is clearly mutual, as no less than four days later we find ourselves here, at the very first meeting of The Writers’ Club.
It’s midweek, after work, and we’ve walked over to a café near the office. “Dinner menus?” offers the waiter, looking hopeful. We’re just looking for a couple drinks, we reply, and he reluctantly agrees to let us share the end of a table already taken. It’s busy and bustling, clearly they’re hoping for a sizeable order. We won’t be deterred. We take our seats and get right down to it – not the writing, of course – but the proper catch up, the wind down from the day, the ins and outs of family, friends, life. Warmed up by the glorious comfort of our hot chocolates and aioli fries, we eventually turn the conversation towards “business” and begin to share our favourite writing styles, authors, and how we like to write. We identify a couple accountability measures, even touch on a next meeting time.
6:58pm. An hour in, we open our laptops. Writer’s Club is officially underway.
7:16pm. I pause a moment, revelling in how cathartic it was to get out all of the above. My fingers haven’t stopped moving since they started. If you ever wonder if something is worth pursuing, see if you can drop into it for 18 minutes without distraction. Watch this space.
