The whole concept of a “writing community” is kind of an oxymoron. Not all writers are the same - and I absolutely do not speak for all writers. But I am a writer and I am an introvert. It took me over a decade of practice and courage-mustering to be able to introduce myself to strangers without sweating or mumbling or staring at my shoes. In other jobs that I’ve had in my career, community was built into the role. I had co-workers and we had lunch at the same time and talked about the weather or sports or plans for the weekend.
Andrew always says, “change happens slowly, then all at once.” In October 2019, I attended a writers’ conference in Pittsburgh. The conference was run by a literary organization that I followed on Twitter. I attended readings and workshops. I don’t remember where I had lunch, if I had lunch, but I’m sure I didn’t speak to anybody. The entire day led up to a boxed wine happy hour, and I forced myself to stay for one drink. For five minutes, I spoke with a writer whose essays I’d read on the internet, before getting interrupted by some reunion, a big hug, and I was boxed out. I scanned the room, dropped my plastic cup in the bin and walked outside.
When I got home, I found this on the counter. The sweetest note, enclosed in a cookbook from my favorite chef. This picture makes me cry. I left the conference excited to write, but still weary of my identity as a writer. I feel like Andrew sensed my hesitation and offered this gentle encouragement. Or maybe he had no idea, and that ignorance allowed me to keep trying.
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This newsletter, more specifically, this community of readers, has pushed me to share my art each week. I have changed immensely in the last three years. I trace all of these opportunities back to here. My publications, my City Books Residency, my literal work in progress, all comes back to my LR community.
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In June, I drove out to the middle of Pennsylvania for my first Writer Camp. Four days of writing in nature, with other actual writers. Writer Camp is run by that same organization whose conference I attended years ago. But nobody at camp recognized me, and I chided an editor who politely assured me that he remembered meeting in 2019. I swear I didn’t talk to you, because I didn’t talk to anyone. I pulled up contemporaneous photos of me, with cropped bleached hair. We laughed at how different I look. I swear I don’t even know her, I admitted, surrounded by new friends.
Right there, that snapshot: my “all at once” moment from the Andrewism.
Thank you to my Writer Camp friends and my pals at Barrelhouse. Thank you to anyone who has ever told me that they love my newsletter. Thank you to Arlan and my City Books Writers Residency alums, especially Dade. Thank you to my mentors, Chloe Caldwell, Courtney Cook and Mike Ingram. Thank you to my family for supporting me. Thank you to my friends for putting up with me, for inspiring me, for workshopping with me and for asking questions with me. Thank you to Andrew, for everything. Thank you, reader, for being here.
This is a heartwarming & very exciting LR entry!
Sandy Seckel
See you next year at camp?