I've spoken before about the benefits-- and far too often, otherwise-- of writing groups. But in Write Club, a loose conglomeration of practicing and aspiring authors who meet fortnightly to have lunch before invading the State Library or the Edith Cowan University library (on a rotating basis) with the sole aim of bashing out words, I think I may have found my intervention.
Due to Real Life (TM), Luscious and I only manage to attend on a monthly basis, when the group meets at the State Library. However, the opportunity to sit in silence-- well, relative silence, given that my entire music library sits on a hard drive smaller than my palm and I've just purchased some bitching, high-end Sennheiser cans that I need to use at every opportunity-- ignore the world, and simply focus on a page with no external distractions is proving valuable beyond words. or, to put it another way, valuable exactly in words.
Last month, it enabled me to crash out the first draft of a new short entitled General Janvier-- my first short of the year, would you believe-- which I've been able to redraft and get out into the world since. And yesterday, I was able to throw 2200 words at a 300 word stub called Plague Rat, finish the story and re-title it, so that the now-2500 word story Gun is ready to edit and send out. Those 300 useless words have been staring at the inside of my Incomplete folder for the better part of 6 years. This is valuable time indeed. It's nice to be back.
Between me and the outside world lie a wooden table, a breakfast bar, the kitchen sink, and the far wall of the kitchen.
He walks through them all.