I’m in a rush this morning. I have a group of writers (I think the collective noun is a “worship of writers”. How cool is that?) … Where was I? Oh yeah, some of my writer buddies are meeting in my house in about half an hour’s time. Now, I love chatting with fellow writers, drinking coffee, eating the goodies the better cooks among us bring along, laughing, sparking ideas etc. However, this is the first time we’ve met in my place and I have to say, I’ll never take someone else’s hospitality for granted again! You have to move furniture around to fit people in. You have to clean stuff. (arrrgghh!) Then there’s things to remember: teaspoons, plates, cups, clean bench tops, toilet paper…MILK! I’m much better at the writing and editing, than I am the hosting lark. I’d suggest we meet in a cafe somewhere but then I’d have to do some research and find one that’s handy for most and if there’s a room big enough and hire fees and … Too much like hard work. Nope, there’s only one thing to do: make sure someone else volunteers for next time. Organisation and being a hostess are not listed in my resume as personal strengths.

Most of the time I’m very happy to hide away in my writing corner, in the furthest room from the front door. I like to be left alone to think. When I’m caught up in the river of creativity – the words pouring forth like a verbal river – you could bring a horde of tap-dancing ferrets into the room and not only would I not care, I’d not even notice. When I’m editing, I need to focus. I can’t bear to miss anything. I like to do my very best for my clients, so it’s head down, bum down and thinking cap on. This writing business can be a focussed, quiet, solitary thing.

But when you get a group (a worship) of us together, we’re like a flock of budgerigars: chatter, chatter, giggle, snort, derisive groan, cheers, chatter… I suppose all that solitude and thinking, thinking, thinking finally explodes into a joyous cacophany when we gather together with those of like minds. We share our projects; we encourage each other not to be discouraged by recalcitrant agents/publishers/editors; we cheer for those who’ve had recent successes; we discuss issues pertinent to literature, the writing craft, our families, our health…our lives. And we talk…talk…talk.

The Old Boy has cleared out for the day. I had hoped he’d man the coffee machine, but he heard the grand-daughter had a voucher for the hamburger joint and he’s grabbed the opportunity to scarper. (Coward!) Rex the Wonder Dog will be in his element greeting everyone with a plastic bottle in his mouth, or a daggy piece of chewed rawhide. He will be delirious: which feet to sprawl across next; which lap to leap on just as the person is lifting a hot coffee cup to their mouth? I’ve already taken some painkillers (all that furniture moving and unexpected cleaning has taken its toll) and I’m already fighting the sleep fairy…and they’re not here yet! Thank the good Lord for coffee.

There’s something wonderful about meeting with those of like mind. There’s an energy generated by good fellowship and camaraderie. There should be more of it…just not in my house.