Central Illinois Writers Group on Facebook

I just set up a group in Facebook. The name of the group is Central Illinois Writers Group.

Hopefully, this isn't just another one of my attempts to find the Holy Grail of Writing in something outside of myself. I have another post on this blog about my pursuit of the Holy Grail; in that post, the Holy Grail I referred to was the attempt to find the "right" book about writing that would release my muses from hiding and set free my innate writing talents. Consequently, I have a couple boxes full of books about writing and not a single book on my shelves that I have personally written.

Between the search for the perfect book and the Facebook group was my registration for an online creative writing course. Of course, the course came with a textbook (as if I needed one more book about writing.) Worse, the book is the only source of information for how to improve my craft unless you count the other online students who have the same textbook that I have.

On a more serious note, I do have a great deal of confidence in the power of a group. Magical things happen when people come together that couldn't have occurred otherwise. When I think of this group-magic, I'm inclined to have a visual picture of the members of the group and I can hear their tone of voice and read their body language and facial expressions.

I've contacted a few people about starting an offline (face-to-face) group and have had enthusiastic responses until we discuss the actual getting together. I think the problem may be that they are on their computers with their Facebook groups and don't have time to go eyeball to eyeball.

It was over fifty years ago when the psychologist, Rollo May, said, "Communication leads to community, that is, to understanding, intimacy, and mutual valuing." Today, May might have said, "Communication leads to Facebook." I don't know if he would have included the rest of his original statement.

It remains to be seen whether or not the community made up of social networks leads to understanding, intimacy, and mutual valuing. We should hope that they do because there is no shortage of them and the numbers will continue to grow.

Their growth may validate another quote from Rollo May. "It is an old and ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way.

(By the way, I took the above picture of the writing table in Lincoln's Home in Springfield, Illinois. It is the only home that Lincoln ever owned and the one that he anticipated returning to at the end of his presidential term. There are only a few items in the house that actually belonged to the Lincolns' and this writing desk is one of them. Most items in the house are from the Civil War era. It was well worth visiting and I will be visiting Springfield sites again soon.)

Dear Mr. Vidal

I'm currently reading Gore Vidal's memoir, Palimpsest, published in 1995. I can't imagine anyone having a more interesting life than his with his many personal, political, and literary connections. However, an interesting life must also include unhappiness different than that of an ordinary life. If there is no difference in the weight of unhappiness, there is a qualitative difference.

The thing about unhappiness in the context of an interesting life is that it has a sting that reminds a person that he or she is very much alive and that there is a discrepancy between where the person is and where the person wants to be.

The unhappiness in the context of the ordinary life is more like a case of having chiggers than having been stung. Chiggers have to be choked out, killed, suffocated, or covered by nail polish (the usual home remedy.) Then, the nail polish serves as a constant visual reminder of the ungoing assault. Of course there's the itching and the scratching, neither of which are particularly attractive for the scratcher or the observer.

Unhappiness in an interesting life resembles the sting of a bumblebee. A sting requires having the stinger removed and healing then can immediately begin.

One has to wonder about the accumulation of scar tissue at the site of the stinger, assuming that, as in real life, the person having an interesting life is stung more than once. Would that layer of scar tissue protect a person from future assaults or invert the pain at a deeper level rather than merely the surface level if the attack was by chiggers?

Perhaps, Mr. Vidal will provide the answer to that question before the last paragraph of his life.