Lately, I’m unsure what it is I want to share and what it is I want to keep to myself.
But I did a talk recently for the Nottingham Writer’s Studio about connection, and the way our writing keeps us connected in a variety of ways.
And so I find myself pondering connections in their various permutations, and given that I’m a writer (a title I’m coming to terms with as my eighth novel comes out), I should really write about the ponderings playing about in my mind.
The first is to do with family connections. I found out recently that my paternal grandmother passed away from Covid, and my aunt is in the ICU with it. I received this information via a FB post; along with anyone else on the said FB friends list.
And that strikes me as odd, and a most definite lack of connection on the familial front. In turn, it makes me think about what family connection is about, how important it is in the scheme of things. When connection fails, and you feel distinctly on the outside of situations, how do you respond? I chose to respond with nothing but empathy; loss sucks, and drama is unnecessary. But it doesn’t mean it hasn’t stuck with me.
The other connection that became even clearer today than it has been, is the connection between writers. I can’t explain how awesome it is to be part of a community who is creative, empathetic, sympathetic, funny, witty, and kind. I’ve been doing a lot of readings over the last month or so, and it’s such a privilege to be part of the writing community. I’ve developed connections with people I would never have otherwise met. I’ve laughed and pondered, and every session has helped me remember why I put my words out into the world.
I’ve also made connections with new readers, which is always wonderful, and yet another reminder of why it’s important to keep putting out stories that reflect who we are. Stories that remind us that we’re not alone out there.