Wild Women and Friendship

Some of the Wild Women at a writing retreat in Maine in 2009

A few Sundays ago, I got together with a phenomenal group of women known collectively as the wild women. For ten years, we wrote together weekly. Writing was the cornerstone of our little circle, but we were so much more than writers who wrote together.  Together, we were a creative force to be reckoned with, a grand and extraordinary orchestration of voices.

I was the group’s unlikely workshop leader, a woman who needed to spill words to the page and thought that maybe, just maybe, there would be joy in spilling out words with likeminded people. The group was formed and, oh, there was joy. There was joy and laughter and a tear or two. Out of joy and laughter and tears, friendships grew. I have been blessed beyond blessed to have these incredible, diverse and intelligent women in my life. Women who create. Women who are true to themselves.

I haven’t always been true to myself. For years, I tried to mold myself into an image of perfect women: the nice girl became the good wife and  mother. Of course, I was far from perfect.  I knew all along that perfection was a myth and yet I clung to it. I clung so hard that I forgot to listen to the cool, still voice inside of me. The voice that had always whispered a single word in my ear: create.  It wasn’t a word I trusted. I had no real life connections to those who called themselves artists. From afar, they seemed a strange and self-indulgent bunch.  And yet, as I kept trying on the titles- Artist, Writer,Poet- I found they fit me well. As I began to write, I grew to be more and more comfortable inside my skin.

In the company of wild women, I can just be. This is a great gift. There are no hard and fast expectations, there is no need to act a certain way or to impress. If I tell them I feel like lying down and crying on occasion, they will answer yes, we know that feeling. If I tell them what made me laugh aloud the other day, they will laugh and share their own funny stories. The joys, the sorrows that are mine are also theirs. Each of us knows what it is like to love and to lose and pick yourself up again. We know how difficult it can be to say to the world: “Here I am, take me or leave me, but please don’t try to change me.”

We no longer meet as a workshop, each having stepped forward into the next part of her life. But we still get together now and again. And so we were on that Sunday, women of a certain age now, each with our own stories to tell. If I were queen of the world, I’d bestow good life and happiness to everyone. Most of all, I would bestow friends like these, the wild women.

That Place at 64 South Street

                                         Picture by Info Usa at http://infousa.com/

When Lana Hechtman-Ayers and I started Wildwords, back in the pre-blogging pre-social networking nineties, we had little idea what it was we were getting into. It began as an idea, floated around over Thursday lunches. Lana and I had joined a workshop group run by Kate Gleason in Peterborough NH and both of us found the workshop's format so compelling that we thought we ought to spread the joy. A similar group closer to home in the Merrimack Valley would be just the thing. We had a lot of conversations about it, most of which went something like "do you think we can do this? I don't know." We discussed it with Kate;"Do you think we can do this? Of course you can."
Over months of wondering and obsessing and with Kate's kind assistance, we developed a workshop model. We had a plan. We needed a home. We set out investigating lots of places: libraries, churches, town halls, cafes, bookstores. And we finally lit upon the Center for Life Enrichment. The center, a group of people of various disciplines dedicated to helping folks lead more fulfilling lives, offered us space, extra chairs, an assortment of teas and a blurb in their newsletter.
As is the case with most new ventures, Lana and I were both excited and scared. "We're really going to do this, aren't we? Yup, we're really going to do this." We decided to test the waters by starting small. We would do a one-time, one day class on a Saturday. If it went well, we would offer  a regular class on Wednesday nights and if that went well, we'd expand to another class on Saturdays. We posted fliers everywhere we could think of: at bookstores, in coffee shops, at laundromats and libraries. We put a blurb in the local paper under 'happenings' . The response was overwhelming. Not only did we fill the room ( maximum capacity twelve people), we had a waiting list.What had started as an idea had become a reality.
 Lana and I thought we were beginning a writing workshop. But what was begun in the smallish room of an old colonial at 64 South Street on that April morning was so much more. Over the next dozen years, a writing community grew and multiple friendships were formed. We wrote  together on Wednesday nights and Saturdays- novels and poems and essays and stories. We shared, not only the stories in our imaginations but the stories of our lives, our hopes and dreams,our  joys and our sorrows. We shared, laughter and tears, and the friendships grew.
Time passed and some of the faces changed. Some of our writers moved to new places,one of our writers, Frank Bogan, died. Lana got an MFA and moved out to Seattle. I finished a few novels and my kids graduated from school.
They say that all good things must end. The Center for Life Enrichment will close the doors of 64 South Street at the end of the month. Wildwords has had its last class.
When Lana and I began this journey all those years ago, I had no idea what I would take away from the experience. It has given me more than I could have dreamed. I am deeply grateful to all of you who have
spent time writing in that little room with the wonky heat and funny- spring chair,  You have carried me along on my own writing journey. I will take a piece of those Wednesdays and Saturdays with me as I continue on my journey, through writing and through life.