So I was just in the middle of lunch, preparing to leave the house to get some blood drawn, and I was thinking, aren’t I supposed to fast for something? And yes, you guessed it: That something was the blood draw. So I rescheduled the bloodletting and here I am instead. Hi. 

A couple of months ago I was like, I’m too lonely, I mean a little loneliness is romantic and good for the creative spirit (this is not at all true) but this much loneliness is paralyzing and making me weird. I spent most of my day talking to Leo, which is pretty much like talking to myself because he’s not taking in any of it. Scott’s work was particularly brutal this season, and I started calling myself a news widow, ha ha, except I said this to one of my friends who is an actual widow and I was like, maybe I should only talk to the dog. 

Which is all to say, I started a writer’s group. Look at me, with the initiative! 

First, I decided I didn’t want to do the kind of writer’s group where someone brings in their work and the other people critique it. There’s nothing wrong with this kind of group, except that it invariably begins to feel like homework and I start to resent it. No, I wanted to do the kind where everyone writes in their journals during the group and then shares whatever they feel like sharing. (Of their writing, that is. I mean they can share other things, too, I’m not the sharing police.) 

The only problem with this idea is that I knew but a handful of people in my area, and only a couple of them would have any interest in something like this. So where to find people?

Facebook, of course. It turns out it’s good for something, after all! I posted on the local community page and asked interested parties to email me. No one told me to go fuck myself, which, if you’ve been on the Internet, you know is not a given. More than 25 people reached out, which was thrilling—who knew there were so many writerly types in the area?—and frightening—I had to cap the group at 10; would I have to reject anyone? Would they then hate me forever?! (I might have agonized about this for a week or two.)

Luckily, several people dropped out when I started to provide more specifics (like time and place and yes it had to be in person). I was left with a squad of would-be writers who weren’t too sure what they were signing up for but had committed and (I told them) there was no going back now. They were as nervous as I was. Perfect. Maybe someone would even cry! 

I wish I had a hilarious story from our first meeting for you; if I had lucked out, someone named Cheryl would have started a small kitchen fire and a guy named Jace would have arrived with his pet iguana on a leash. But sadly, everyone was well-behaved and lovely and insightful? It was a great evening but not great content, team! 

The only wild card was Leo, who needs to get his act together. I put him in his crate in our bedroom upstairs, or rather, Scott put him in his crate and then left the crate door open while he went back into his office to Make the News, so while we were trying to focus, Leo was throwing his body at the bedroom door and keening to be let loose. “Aw,” one of my group members volunteered, glancing nervously up the stairs, but I know she was thinking, is that door hollow-core because if it is we’re all dead. 

Luckily Scott eventually replied to my frantic texts and got Leo locked in to his incredibly well-appointed crate that he happens to adore when he’s not desperate to gnaw on some strange ankles. 

Besides Leo the Problem Child, it’s turned out to be a top-tier group of people, and I couldn’t be more pleased. (Although if you’re out there, Jace, let me know. I could use something zippier to recount.)