They say you have to write alone. But we discovered a few years ago that we express ourselves more clearly and get more words down when we write together. So we went away -- first on a big trip to Prague and next on a local trip to the North Fork of Long Island – to give ourselves time to work in each other’s company. Then we came up with a sure-fire way to join forces almost every day no matter where we were: the telephone.

Conversation is undeniably tantalizing when we’re all together on the line, but the true satisfaction comes from honing in on our work. That’s why we’ve dubbed ourselves the Writerlies.

We phone each other at a designated hour, usually in the morning, set the timer, stay connected by speakerphone, and write. If there’s time, we check in for a few minutes to get worldly distractions off our minds. Then we work for 15 or 20 minutes or, on weekends, up to an hour or two. Our projects include books, essays, poetry, even course plans. When the timer goes off, we take turns reading aloud then receive feedback. We find we spend much less time checking email or grabbing a snack and more time getting our words out when we write together this way.

JANET'S STORY:

I’d always been looking for the muse, the way to put brilliant words on the page, write through the beginning, middle, and end and arrive at a remarkable piece. One article in a writing magazine told me, “keep your buns on the chair.” In another, I gleaned that I could “set a timer for 20 minutes and write in intervals.” No matter what I read, I always thought I had to write alone. And if I wasn’t producing stellar work, the fault was mine. I wasn’t disciplined enough, talented enough. I wasn’t a real writer, just a dabbler with potential. Then I met Jennifer and Lisa, and my writing life changed. Nothing has helped me finish essays, poems, and over 100 pages of my memoir like my sister Writerlies. We met at Skidmore. Jennifer and I became friends first in 2006 and have been roommates there every year since. I met Lisa in Eunice Scarfe’s class where we shared a bit of our personal stories. Then I took Lisa’s amazing class, “’Break A Vase,’’ where we wrote about loss and transformation. Slowly, we all got friendly, seeing each other in the cafeteria or around campus. At the end of 2008, we took a trip to Prague in the Czech Republic, to share an adventure, deepen our friendship, and write together in a new café every day. When we got back, Jennifer and I tried to establish a morning phone check-in to chat about our writing. Ironically, we often spoke of everything but writing, even though we were desperate to make our creative work a priority amidst the demands of jobs, families, and full social calendars.

Then Jennifer mentioned a technique Lisa had developed with a friend: writing on the telephone together. I was skeptical, wondering if I would be ready to read something right after I wrote it. Jennifer said, “I know. It felt hard at first, but it’s incredible. You have to try it.” And I did.
Soon the three of us were meeting by telephone conference call a few times a week to write, read, listen and respond. By being part of the Writerlies, I have gained:

Knowledge—Jennifer always tells me not to pile up the adjectives, and Lisa picks up my slips in grammar. But even bigger than the little reminders are the things I’ve learned from their writing—Jennifer brings the past into the present seamlessly and offers exquisite phrasings for the lucky reader. Lisa’s writing has a deep sensuousness, a poetry, whether it’s about the ocean, a cottage, or a friend. Discipline—Knowing I have a Writerlies’ appointment keeps me working almost daily. If I didn’t have to get up early on a Saturday and make that phone call, I’d hit the snooze button. But I don’t because someone is waiting for my call.

Psychic and universal energy—The legitimacy lent to me by Jennifer and Lisa has taught me I am meant to be a writer. There’s no doubt because the universe is supporting me. In 2009, I published one personal essay on newsweek.com, http://www.newsweek.com/id/208851, and two in Newsday.
Intimacy— I’ve grown braver in my writing since the three of us formed our circle. Jennifer and Lisa already know and understand me, which allows me to take risks I used to avoid. This new-found courage led me to send out work and experience the thrill of seeing it in print. Sharing such success with my Writerlies made it all the sweeter.

LISA’S STORY:

Our group’s intimate and accepting ways have supported my writing life as well. With Janet and Jennifer’s encouragement I am working with an agent to develop a platform for launching my memoir.

The dynamics of reading, writing, and connecting have always drawn me to books. Hannelore made me laugh at Skidmore 2009 when she referred to the Guild as a group of non-joiners. That was certainly true of me as a kid. In the summer, while my friends played kickball in the streets, I would pull my big, blue rocking chair out onto the porch and read.
One day, with the sounds of shouts and running feet in the background, I read these words in Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: “[The purple silk dress] looked like magic, and when people saw me wearing it they were going to run up to me and say, ‘Marguerite (sometimes it was ‘dear Marguerite’), forgive us, please, we didn’t know who you were,’ and I would answer generously, ‘No, you couldn’t have known. Of course I forgive you.’”
I didn’t have a purple silk dress like Marguerite’s, but I had Angelou’s words. They showed me it was possible to take my quiet, inner voice and put it on the page. Then junior high came along, and fitting in grew more important than tuning in to that voice. I put my rocking chair away, read books as assigned, and wrote tidy reports about them. It wasn't until I was 26 that I remembered how Angelou’s words had electrified me. That’s when Hannelore found me sitting in my volunteer post as greeter at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C. The Guild was doing a conference there on “Women Writing the Environment.” Hannelore said I should attend, and suddenly I found myself in the buoyancy of hundreds of women writing. Now the bravery exuding from Angelou’s prose took shape in the shaky voices of women writing and saying out loud what was true for them. I could hear for myself that they also hesitated and felt scared when they wrote. I could tell, when their hands stopped trembling and they straightened their spines, that their words mattered and could feed us. After attending 20 Skidmores and many Big Apple conferences, I wanted more chances to write with other women because I found that the blank page held more surprises and intimidated me less when I didn’t face it alone. Connecting frequently with the Writerlies helps me know that I never have to say or hear, “Writer friend, forgive me. I didn’t know who you are.”

JENNIFER’S STORY:

My mother was a gardener and felt best when she dug her hands into the earth. I do best when I dig mine into writing. My mother got her power to thrive from the soil. I get mine from words. When I was young, I thought all that was needed to conquer the lonely struggle of writing was time and the perfect space. If only I had those, my inspired approach and constancy would come. After I graduated from college and moved to the big city of Toronto, I painted my desk a brilliant Kelly green--a good writing color. I decided that magically I would be a writer. My loft bedroom, with an angled wall, was full of light. Paris in the 20's. For a couple of months I wrote stories, battled the voice of my internal critic, and enjoyed the clatter of the typewriter. More and more though, I found myself wandering the streets and visiting friends. I told myself I was collecting material. I spent a lot of time trying to get myself in the mood. After a few months, savings dwindling, writing had become a lonely task, and I hadn’t made it big with my first few stories, which I had not gotten around to sending out. I had to postpone my dream of becoming a writer. Over the years, though I took classes, I knew that ultimately I had to write alone. That was until my third year at IWWG. In Lynn Barrett's class, I learned that famous writers tend to prevaricate about how things get done and downplay their behind-the-scenes support. That same year I gave Lisa Freedman a ride home to NYC, and she described how she and her friend wrote together over the phone. I scoffed at the idea to myself but decided, since nothing else had really 

worked, to try this. The result has been that now the annual Magic of IWWG week lives on. Each time Janet, Lisa, and I are together, in person or via the phone, and especially when we read, I am supported in a way I have never been. While I still grapple with what is good and what isn't, I have two writing friends who hold me as I dig down and find the heart of my stories. Together we create a group energy that focuses our attention and gives us more power than we could produce alone. Thanks to this circle of support, I have begun to send out work again for the first time in ten years and had a short piece 

published in MORE.com. I have learned that the perfect space involves the shared intention of writer friends I respect. My Writerlies get me in my chair, fingers to the keyboard and words on the page every time.

CONCLUSION:

Anybody, anywhere, with access to a phone and a reliable buddy, can experience the comfort and motivating energy of writing in community. You don't have to take a big trip to get started.
Here are five steps to starting your own group:

1. Identify your writing buddy or buddies.
2. Schedule a date and hour.
3. Make the call (conference call if you're more than two).
4. Agree upon a time frame. You may want to set aside three minutes per person to check in, especially as you’re getting to know each other. Then allow as much time as possible for writing. Add another ten or fifteen minutes per person to read and get feedback.
5. Then, start writing!

Visit us at writerscalling.com for more writing-together strategies that can help you heed your call.