A Grift of Authors

What is the right collective noun for a group of authors?

A quill, a salon, a panel, a cloud, a grid, a bind, a host, a panel, a gathering, an anthology, or a riot! I’ve decided on a grift.

And why does it matter?

The book I’m currently writing is called The Aphorism Club and it involves a group of writers who come together to create art, stories, essays and in the process change the world. Or at the very least they change their own. And creatives who come together to support the process of ‘making’ deserve a collective noun. Writing is a lonely business. Finding your people makes it much less so.

I have been most fortunate to be a member of two writing groups in my creative journey. The first was in fact, The Aphorism Club. A group of friends, all creators of one sort or another, gathered monthly to talk about writing, share our efforts and give supportive critiques of each other’s work. We had poets, cartoonists, artists, short story writers and budding novelists in the group. It was very social, at times hilarious and on the odd occasion a little riotous. There were fights and walk outs, once an upending of a chair (quite a dramatic lot), hurt feelings, too much drinking, too much honesty and occasionally a jewel was unleashed from the burbling fountain of creativity. Our unofficial motto was ‘just shout amongst yourselves’.

There was a lot of shouting but there was also a lot of work. I assume that somewhere each one of us has kept something of those years tucked away in a diary or cardboard box stowed under the dusty stairs. I found my journal from those years not so long ago. It seemed to be a collection of unfinished thoughts, scraps of stories, unrealised ideas and one or two little gems. I loved those days. I miss the people, the camaraderie, the fights, the work, the wins.

I wrote a play (screen play) about a writers’ collective many years ago. It was based on the premise that the group would attempt a collective writing project. The first problem encountered by the ‘fictional’ group was what to write. The poets wanted an epic poem, the novelist…a novella, the short fiction writers thought an anthology would be good, the playwrights thought something for the stage. One individual wanted a political manifesto which wasn’t terrifying at all. Funnily enough the real Aphorism Club didn’t recognise anything about themselves or our meetings in the characters or the script. Either bad writing or really good disguises!

The second ‘grift’ to which I’ve been fortunate enough to join, is the Eurobodalla Writers. I’m a newbie and I’m finding my way in the group, who are polite, mature and very talented. I highlight the first two adjectives as they are do reflect the difference between The Aphorism Club and themselves. I’ve not seen one chair thrown in the whole year I’ve attended. Not one huffy walk out, no histrionics and no catastrophic friendship ending critiques. This is a like-minded, idea pitching, thought provoking engine room of creativity. Our small part of the world is a creative incubator…perhaps it’s the sea air…or perhaps we have all just found the time to prioritise the work we have been born to do. Maybe we just can’t keep the lid on the ideas anymore.

To bring your writing to a group is courageous. It is a moment where one could feel vulnerable, surprisingly uncomfortable or just as nervous as hell. Our writing after all reflects something of ourselves and our hearts are on the line when we lay our offerings on the table. 

We write as an imperative. It is not just our mind’s work; it is our soul’s labour. And if you are called upon to write, to bring your stories forth, create worlds and characters it is hardly a summons you can ignore. And a writers’ collective is a great place to make that start. Even if you find just one person to share your work with, one kindred soul to whom you can say I’m a writer and this is what I’ve created, you will find the spirit, the nerve and the strength to bring it all to life. You will find your riot, gathering, convocation, assemblage, pow-wow, or indeed your grift!

I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.

Anne Frank