women who write

We found each other last summer through Facebook groups and online writing classes: an American mother living in Japan with small children, a humor writer in Texas whose kids were off at college, an essayist in Arizona with an eye for detail and a 10-year-old daughter, an English mother living in Israel with her family and a woman living in California with her husband and three daughters. And me, the mother of a then two-year-old living in the suburbs of NYC.

This was what I had been waiting for: my very own writers group, a collection of women able to offer feedback on my essays before I submit them to various sites for publication.

I organized the group and drafted a rough set of guidelines. The other women added their thoughts, everyone contributing something useful to the group rules. All writers are required to provide feedback each month regardless of whether we submit a piece to be reviewed. Every month, I am lucky enough to read the essays of these incredible writers. When I have an essay that I want eyes on, I can submit it for feedback from the group.

As a writer, I am always working on something. My desktop is littered with various files filled with my work. Some are half-written essays, stories that I am still trying to tell. Others are essays that I can’t seem to finish, despite hours of reworking the piece. Sometimes, I don’t know how to wrap up an essay about motherhood because I so often feel lost in it. Some of the pieces have been rejected by my top choice sites, and I must decide whether to edit them again, or resubmit elsewhere.

My writing group deadline holds me accountable. I try to submit a piece for feedback every month, although sometimes it doesn’t happen. The comments from my fellow writers are sincere and useful. An essay that has been sitting on my computer for months suddenly comes together when one of the women points out that I am missing a truthful conclusion. A 1000 word piece becomes a 1200 word personal essay when a fellow writer reminds me to describe my scenes and add dialogue. Every submission to the group improves my work.

Our international group has some of the best stories about family and relationships that I have read. When essays from the women in my group are published, I excitedly comment, thrilled that I could be a part of the piece. These women are teaching me what it is like to mother in different countries, to raise boys, to find patience with teenage girls, to try to connect with an aging parent and to leave your family and move across the world. Their stories fill my head at night and inspire me to write more, to open up more, and to bleed my heart onto paper.

As a group, we have published on a number of impressive sites. These writers have helped me tremendously in my own writing, and just this past month, I was published on two of my wish list sites, Literary Mama and Coffee + Crumbs.

But the best part of this group is not that it has helped me get published. The best part is this little community we have created, spanning across the globe. In this solitary craft, there is nothing better than knowing that I am not alone.

I imagine us all sitting at our desks at night, after the kids are asleep, our bodies weary after a long day, reading each other’s essays and smiling as our heartstrings are pulled to the other side of the world.