I'm one of them.

One of those friends.

She sends me ideas, we hash them out...if she's having a little problem and wants an opinion...although I do not know how much I influence story line, I am proud to say I gave her a character name that she needed once, so I know I helped just a little.

But in the interview, it became very clear that she's got her act together and knows what she wants to write and how to write it.

She's arrived.

But she needed help when she was starting out, and that's what I want to address here.

Yes. She and many others started writing when very young. For her it was fifth grade, for me, the impetus came in sixth grade when Miss Clancy (I've written about her before, the ex-nun) told me I would be a writer when I grew up. I never let that idea leave me because it was always what I wanted for myself. When you first start out, you keep your stuff hidden. You write anything and everything. I had a round hassock with a removable lid that was meant for storage. I put all my writing in there...the journals, the school papers, the poetry (it was AWFUL) and miscellaneous things I thought I might need later. I do believe it is still at my mother's house...not the hassock, but the contents.

I'll never look at it, at least not with anyone looking over my shoulder. I'm sure it would make me blush in every part of my body. Angst. Back then, I thought writing was supposed to be filled with angst...Coleridge, Poe, Austen, Dickinson...all very angst-y people. Me.

But when I got to college, things changed. I wanted people to read my stuff. I wrote plays and poetry and short stories. I wrote skits for my sorority (yeah, somehow I got into one of those) and more awful poetry about love and desperation. My plays and skits got performed. People applauded and the sorority won contests with my stuff! Heady feeling that.

What I really enjoyed was writing song lyrics. Not the music, although I probably could have done tunes a bit. I wrote different lyrics to music the girls could sing...I don't know whether there's a word for that, but I wrote them and they were sung. Very pithy, as I recall. Haven't a clue what they were now, and I doubt I saved any of the lyrics. They wouldn't mean anything anyway.

But I got feedback.

Sometimes I worked with other women, sometimes alone. Hashing things about, coming up with ideas and working on them. It was nice. It was comforting, knowing what was produced was approved and meaningful.

Then...years of writing on my own. Sending stuff to Sandy who read it and even though she didn't like the type story I was writing (fantasy) she read it because she is my friend. She offered little advice...she just read for the story. My mom read it also. She and Sandy were on the same level...reading it only because they loved me.

But what I found when I finally got around to writing what I write now was that I needed more. I needed people who wrote what I wrote, who knew the ins and outs of writing, who could tell me I had too many words or was way off on something (like how long a leg would be in a cast for example) or if something just didn't sound right.

I had a wonderful critique group that met at least once a month. We exchanged chapters, went through each others' pages, laughed and cried and ate pizza.

I needed that.

I needed the encouragement and the critiquing. It kept me going.

But, as all things have a tendency to do, it sort of fell apart. Everybody got busy. People had to get jobs, one lady died, the writing may have gone on for most of them, but we just couldn't seem to get together. I joined another group. They are lovely ladies and they're on the verge of breaking out, of finally getting there, but it isn't the same and once I sold my first ms., I had too much to do to meet regularly.

What I did do was maintain associations with other writers and pass things around for cirtiquing via email. I get and send stuff all the time.

Hell, I could have critique partners in Alaska (I do) and I'd get feedback on my stuff, but it wouldn't be the same as face to face laughing and reading.

No pizza.

It is too difficult to write alone. Oh, yeah, you sit in your room or office or on the train and you write, but it isn't done until somebody else has looked at it.

Getting that initial approval, having somebody say...yeah, this works, or no, this part isn't clear...that's so important.

Finding names for characters...a question that leads to clearer writing or storytelling...punctuation...wrong words (I'm a bugger for using just the right word in the right place) these are things you need other eyes and opinions for.

So. If you are just starting out as a writer...find people to read your stuff before you dream of sending it to an editor. If you are working on your story, join a critique group with people at the same level or higher. You'll need their expertise.

You have to give back, too. You have to offer them something, join in the idea of the critique. You can't be there just to take and not give back. Do not confuse critiquing with criticizing. They are not the same. Nobody in a critique should tear you down. They should aim to bring you up.

When you're ready to be published, you will still need critiquing. You will still need readers...maybe that's a better name. When you are published, you will need editors and agents and friends to read your stuff. You can't write all alone. It is a joint effort.

No one has to see every word, every paragraph and comment on them. But it helps. The best thing about critique groups or readers is that they offer encouragement. And that, we solitary individuals, we writers, is what we really need.