In my attempts to be a better member of my writing group, I attended the informal meeting last evening. After Dad died, I ducked group meetings and activities for a while because I found it hard to concentrate on my own writing, forget about anyone else’s and I was tired and often didn’t feel like making the drive in. But I am a board member, and I made a commitment that I need to honor. And it’s somewhat social and I miss that a little.
But I didn’t get a blog post done for this morning as I got home late. We had several members read longer pieces and there was the usual backseat writing afterwards. I read, but it was something I’d already let Rob see and comment on. The story has focus and I just smile and nod. I am not spun around by others’ suggestions or criticisms unless I am reading something that is still embryonic. A writer should never do that. I have learned.
Couple of things:
Facebook will assimilate us all. They are google-like in their Borg-ish determination to own us and every inch of our lives that we foolishly upload or link. Don’t expect them to give up too meekly either. They are in desperate financial straits.
Don’t forget to check me out at 50 something. Almost no one reads me there and the whole thing is feeling less shiny that it did in the past, but I will soldier on. In as manly a manner as is possible for a woman.
Off to yoga myself and then an afternoon of mutant dogs.