A Dispatch From the Void.

Hello, you wonderful, wild creature.

I am writing to you from my favorite bar in Portland, the mighty Beulahland, sneaking some time away from my novel to send you a love note. In an effort to write more often - here and elsewhere - I have begun hosting a weekly writing group. It’s called “Shut Up and Write”, which is exactly what it sounds like, and in the month and a half I have been doing it, I’ve never seen the same person twice. It’s oddly anonymous, and also comforting. I’ll be happy when I have my first regular, but I’ll miss the revolving door of writers, too. Sometimes it’s easy to forget the universes that there are within all the people around us. I mean, if we were all thinking about it all the time, we’d lose our fucking minds, right? But it’s odd, my love, I come in every Thursday night, I sit placidly behind my laptop, usually sipping moderately priced whiskey and a can of something cheap, my expression open. One by one, nervous writers come in, wandering around the bar a bit before they find me (I try to remember to wear red lipstick like my profile picture so they can), and I ask them if they are here to write. They smile gratefully and sit down. They’re always looking for something. Here are the interesting people I’ve met so far (that I can remember):

• A young German journalist who moved to Portland from Berlin with her American husband so he can work at Adidas, looking to meet some Americans after less than a week in the country. She was writing in her journal.

• An old Sociology professor on sabbatical, who didn’t say what he was writing, but was deeply fascinated by what everyone else was writing.

• A dyed in the wool 30 something Tumblr girl who was working on a fan fiction with mythical themes

• A shy young woman who came to the group to work on her application to accounting school and offered me a slice of her quesadilla within mere seconds of meeting me, which endeared me to her immediately.

• A sheepish young man who moved here from Southern California and traveled 40+ minutes to the bar to scribble song lyrics in his notebook with us

• A heavily bearded man who drank a diet coke and ate slice of chocolate cream pie while world-building for his D&D campaign.

Once, I was alone. I still wrote for an hour. I had a good time. The bartender is handsome and a shameless flirt, which appeals. The drinks are good, and Beulahland . . . well, it’s Beulahland. The music is as unpredictable as the crowd, the bar is dark, and people are laughing. I love it here.

My favorite thing about hosting the group is being in the presence of vulnerability. It takes a lot of courage to drag something as solitary as writing into the light, to work in front of strangers, to meet new people, to write at all. I’m vulnerable as hell, sitting at a table in the same place at the same time every week, looking around for people I won’t recognize. But I try to be brave, I try to be warm. It’s not always easy.

I want to talk to you about things that aren’t always easy if that’s okay. Sometimes I sit down at the end of the day, and I don’t feel like I really did anything. Maybe I used a host of modern conveniences that day - ride-sharing, food delivery, the coffee shop, the laundry lady. I went to work, but “work” lately, for me, constitutes sitting in front of a computer and being stressed out for 9 hours or so. It’s amazing how easy it’s become to avoid things that are hard, isn’t it? Things that take real effort, that ask for focus, that are uncomfortable and annoying and boring. My muscles are softening from a lack of strain. I worry that my brain is, too. I worry that I have gotten too used to easy in every respect. So, I’m making a commitment to doing things that are hard. Like writing to you.

But, separation is even harder. I’ll keep writing.