Patience, Time, and Tribes

Every day I look out my window or walk along the path leading to our front door, and find myself anxious for the spectacular unveiling of color from our enormous hydrangea bushes. They are full of dark green leaves and then I’ll notice some light green buds arrive and I get excited. Then,  just a suggestion of blue blossoms appear with a few purples. I look around my neighborhood and see BIG blue hydrangeas in full bloom, bright and vibrant with color. I notice the others get more direct sun and wonder if this nurtures them in a way that mine don’t experience.  Mine have to muddle through with only a glimpse of direct sunlight in the afternoon. But I know they’ll find their way.

Last year we must have done something wrong because we never saw so much as one blossom. In previous years they were just fine. Perhaps they were resting and we realized we had done something wrong in trimming them when we did, and didn’t repeat it. It takes patience for sure, but each day I look out and assess the situation waiting for just a bit more color, knowing what’s inside. And each day the blues are more blue and the purple, more purple although still just a whisper. I’m excited by their evolution. (Neighbor's hydrangea below)

As I noticed this process I thought it might be similar to the writing life, the ways we nurture it ..or don’t. Celebrate it …or don’t. Lately, I have enjoyed time in Noank across town, where I sit by the water, watching boats go by and writing poetry. The place never fails to be a place of inspiration for me. I continue working on my novel but there is something so satisfying about a short poem or even Haiku. There’s inspiration, you write about it, and you’re done.  A bit of Mary Oliver there…”Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” So I do. Often a little tweaking follows but the baseline is there. A friend suggested I like the process of writing (my novel) so much so that I don’t want to finish. It may be the size of War and Peace when I’m done, but I just keep on writing. My friend might be right.

But I have other friends in my writing group who are writing machines. So disciplined, so skilled, so committed to both the process AND whatever might come next. And their process is filled with inspiration. Writing has to have both I think. A balance between inspiration and discipline, whatever that means for each of us. While two of us continued meandering along at our own pace, the third of our tiny group just published her first novel and I couldn’t be happier for her if I tried. We all walked through its creation together in our group and I got to witness it coming to life. It was truly magical.  

There is something powerful when a group of the right writers come together to encourage each other, to offer helpful but not destructive critique, and to help wherever help is wanted. Writing groups ought to be a venue for sharing work, ideas, expertise, challenges, and curiosities. They should not be a venue for writers to dump on others or to be discouraging. We need to lift each other up, not tear them down, in writing and in life. Writing is such a vulnerable act.  After facilitating writing groups for over a decade, I honestly believe that groups can be very valuable but you have to find your tribe. The wrong group can destroy a passion for writing.

I have Meniere’s Disease which among other things, makes my hearing check out for extended periods. During one of those times, our little group still met in person. But we all sat with our computers in front of us, and though we were together, we also connected through Google Meet with captions turned on so that I could read their words, even though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Those women are treasured forever friends. They are part of my tribe. Find your tribe and celebrate every minute you have together.

My friend’s debut book titled, It’s About Time, gives me hope that one day soon, like my hydrangeas, my latest writing will find its way into full bloom whatever that looks like. It will let me know. I’ll continue nurturing it along like the sunshine does to my shy blue and purple blossoms.  I will sit by the water and wait for the salt air to inspire another poem. I’ll send out an occasional blog post or freelance article, and keep pecking away at my great American novel.

Check out It’s About Time by Hillary Gauvreau Oat. “ Romance and retribution collide in this love story between Bess and James, two wounded people in their fifties, who discover that

love always finds a way.”  It’s fun and hopeful,  set in a small seaside New England village. Challenges from an old girlfriend will make you gasp and the ending will touch your heart most surprisingly.  The perfect beach read.  Available on Amazon of course, or learn more about Hillary on her website at www.HillaryOat.com.