Co-Writing Works — Brevity
By Morgan Baker
When I went to the florist to get some holiday cheer for my house—white hydrangeas and some greenery—I was on the clock. I had a standing appointment at 12:30 I couldn’t miss. Several times a week, I log on to Zoom in Boston and write with friends I’ve made: from Dubai and Amsterdam, British Columbia and Seattle.
I’ve always been envious of those writers who belong to supportive writers’ groups or write in coffee shops with earbuds in, listening to their music while people chat, drink and make noise around them.
Neither of those two scenarios work for me. First, how do you find like-minded people who have the same ideas about how a writing group should work? And second, how can anyone work among so many distractions in a public place?
I have tried a couple of in-person groups, but they’ve disintegrated after a few months. The writers were on different trajectories, or their needs didn’t mesh. I’ve never been a coffee shop writer, although it sounds romantic.
I do have a few people with whom I can share my work. Although writers are generally warned not to show family members work-in-progress, I rely on my husband, a former journalist turned communications guy, and one friend to read my words and tell me the straight-up honest truth. I’m not always thrilled to hear what they have to say, but I always appreciate their wisdom.
For the most part, however, I’ve always written alone.
But when the pandemic hit, virtual became our normal. When the world was shutting down, my writing world opened up. I took part in a fair number of courses and retreats, met writers from all over, and became part of a wider writing community.
We don’t share our work per se on these co-writing Zooms, but we share our time together and support one another in our goals. We are accountable to one another—thus my rush home with an armful of hydrangeas. At the beginning of each session, we announce where we’re coming in from and what we plan to do for the next hour or hour and half. At the end of each session we regroup and share what we’ve accomplished. Through our muted windows, we give thumbs up or clap silently when we hear how others are progressing. This support is invaluable. I am spurred on to write more, to push myself to work harder.
Co-writing Zooms occur almost every day. Three times a week, I sign on with a group at 7am. The facilitator Zooms in from Toronto and the writers are all on East Coast time. For other sessions, later in the day, facilitators Zoom in from Dubai, Vancouver, and the Bay Area. While some writers are starting their day, some are finishing lunch and some will soon go to bed.
As we continue to work together, I learn little bits about their lives—their work, their families. Sometimes dogs even appear on screen while writers work on essays, school assignments, novels or memoirs. We celebrate each other’s accomplishments, and commiserate about the challenges.
I have written more since starting with the co-writing community, than when I wrote alone. Knowing someone is there waiting for me, helps. Knowing other people are working on similar projects helps. It reminds me of my experience working out. Hand me a workout regime, I will nod my head, agree I should do it, and then delete the plan from my phone. But when I have to be on Zoom with my personal trainer and other work-out buddies, I show up at 6AM.
Writing can be a lonely activity. It’s often hard to sit still for long periods of time as I ruminate on my life. I get up frequently for more coffee or shortbread cookies. Co-writing keeps my butt in my chair, and I am reassured knowing there are friends out there rooting for me as I cheer for them.
I sign on as often as I can, even when I don’t know what I want to work on. When I’m in session at the college where I teach, I’m curtailed by the hours I’m in the classroom, so during any breaks I have, I gorge myself on co-writing meetings.
I miss the sessions—and the friends—when life takes me away, but for now, we are all here to write. Together.