"I get high with a little help from my friends..."

This post is dedicated to my writers' group and my blog-world friends who constantly amaze me with their support and encouragement. The awards above came recently to me, courtesy of Cheryl and Shadow. Thank you ladies, these symbols of friendship will support me for many months.

The Bandon group, pictured above in an unclassical pose, is the group that knows me best, knows my frustrations, my limitations, my ambitions. Each of us has gained immensely from participating in the group; and in turn, we have influenced others too.

My friend Lilly Mars presented a long essay to the group, in response to a prompt about what we learned from each other. Here is an excerpt from her essay, with her permission.

"What I learned in Monday School.

"In his book, The Courage to Write, Ralph Keyes claims: 'The esprit of good writers' group resembles that of neighbors battling a hurricane. Everyone is in equal jeopardy. Shared danger forges a bond...Writers' gatherings of all kinds are, or at least ought to be, settings where we learn not so much HOW to write but how to DARE to write. No single task is more important to the process of becoming a writer.'

"...I have arrived feeling doubtful and hopeful and anxious and proud. I have skipped aerobics class because I did not want to show up sweaty. I have been late because of the nocturnal pestilence of words, words, words. Emily Dickinson has shown up at 3 A.M. accusing me of plagiarism and demanding a credit line. I have laughed and cried along with members of the group. I have listened to many pieces of noteworthy writing, and also some gobbledygook. I have watched many lovely people come and go, three of whom have passed away. This is the only place I know where I can be with people who get passionate about semi-colons. These are the only folks who call me Lilly."

Lilly's words, (not her real name), reflect much of my sentiments. Every Monday I feel doubtful and hopeful and anxious and proud. Yet, after those two hours hearing others' words, sharing my thoughts, struggling to learn how to improve the output, struggling to keep my ego tucked safely away, I return home exhausted and elated. I have never felt more alive, more understood.

Thank you Lilly for capturing that feeling so well.

I wish for all of you who aspire to write, to have friends like these.

Friends

The Bandon Writers, two males, many women meet weekly to share their writing and receive feedback. From the left, sitting, Martha, Lilly, Ava and Oliver. In the back row, from the left, Ginney, Mary, Mike, who is bending to match Joyce, and I, the one standing, with the blue sweater. Holding his fingers up, is Oliver Lange; he and Joyce are my anchors in this journey. Both of them are octogenarian, old enough to be my parents. They are active with community projects, art, and writing.

I joined the group a couple of years ago, when I began writing my memoir. Oliver Lange, not his real name, is the group's titular head, the only published novelist in the group. If you google his name you'll discover he has written a dozen best sellers, some made into movies, too. If Oliver likes what I write, I glow and sputter and grow taller. If he doesn't, I retreat in the corner, and pray.

We all need friends and mentors, people who will show us the way, help us along the journey. I'm lucky, and grateful to many more people who respond to this blog, interpret my words, and leave thoughtful remarks. We are all pilgrims, sharing our stories on the way to Canterbury, understanding that what connects us is our human experience in this moment in history. Some of us will express our sentiments through poetry, or jokes, or dreams. Revealing pain and hope, we share our lives, we honor each other's voyages.

My best friend Joyce and I take long walks and have over a century of stories in three continents to share with each other and with the group.

Every one of us needs to be heard.

We don't know who'll be missing at tomorrow's meeting. At this time in our lives we don't want to postpone talking about the important things.

We are not young; our days are numbered, measured by the stories we tell, the connections we have made.