Not sure how it all happened. After all, it was just a group of ladies like me with stories to tell. Stories of triumph and disappointment. Stories of pain and recovery, stories from our heart.
None of us are professional writers. We just sit around the long rectangular kitchen table covered in two different colored plastic table clothes in a Frank Lloyd Wright style home in a small enclave nestled next to a busy freeway.
Our writing coach, Anne Randolph, a former director of several opera houses, holds court at the head of the table, her every word laced with southern charm from another time. Many times, our group has no idea where our writing will take us. Put our time together always starts by reading a poem out loud. The poem soothes out of our business, settles us into the mismatched chairs, the weight of our world shifts, our chatter subsides, and we go deep into our stories.