6 Ways to hook up with other writers -- even if you're insecure

Writing can be a solitary task, but it doesn't need to be. There's lots of support for writers if they know where to find it. Get to know other writers, form alliances, give each other feedback, encouragement and advice. The writing community is one of the most generous with sharing of information. So where can you hook up with other writers?

1. Join a Writers Group -- Best thing I've ever done. We meet once a week and take part in writing exercises, share our work and discuss the industry. This is an intimate, safe environment to share your writing with people you trust for an honest critique.
2. Blog -- I never realised there were so many writing communities until I started blogging. Start your blog on whatever you like. I enjoy blogging about the craft of writing, but also love reading marketing, education and reading blogs. It's a way to interact. Turn off 'captcha' or 'word verification' in your settings. These are horrible torturous tests visitors must endure just so they can leave you an encouraging comment. It's not polite. If you are worried about spam (yes, I'm rolling my eyes), then use comment moderation instead.
3. Sign up to Blog Groups and Challenges -- Such as Alex Cavanaugh's Insecure Writer's Support Group. You put your link on a list and everyone posts on an agreed topic or event. You'll meet lots of blog friends very quickly.
4. Pick your Favourite Social Media Platform -- You don't have to do them all, so don't be overwhelmed. Best to pick the one that suites your style and use it effectively, than to flounder on half a dozen different sites. The top ones seem to be Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and LinkedIn, but there's also Instagram if you're more of a photo person, and Pinterest if you like sharing websites and online photos. Browse through and read posts to see which platform suites your lifestyle. 
5. Visit your Writer's Centre -- There may be one not too far from you. Writer's centres have plenty of advice and contacts to get you on your way and most charge a reasonable yearly membership fee.
6. Attend Writing Festivals/Seminars -- You'll be educated, entertained and get to network with other professionals in the writing industry.

Most of all, it's important to get out there with a positive attitude. Be thoughtful and reciprocate. If you want followers for your blog, then go follow other blogs. Don't hide in a corner and expect all the introverts to come to you.

By offering a place where followers can comment without obstacles,
you'll increase the number of people who stay long enough to say hello.

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Art Prompts Fiction - Romantic Friday Writers

Is it just me, or do his eyes follow you around the room?

My writers group (Vannguard Writers) took an excursion to Queensland Art Gallery. Ok, so the art gallery is right next door to the State Library where we have our writing sessions, so it wasn't a big excursion, but still it was a nice change in routine.

Denise Covey, friend and fellow Vannguard writer, hosted this arty session with some creative writing exercises using the artworks as prompts (you can read more about this excursion on Denise's blog). One of the exercises was to imagine yourself as a character in the painting, or put yourself as an extra character into the scene. I flipped this around and took my character out of the painting... literally.

Getting yourself out and about, using prompts to inspire can freshen up your writing, and new layers and textures. Maybe you could visit a museum and write about the interesting items or times, or, a restaurant and write about the smells, tastes and atmosphere.

This week Romantic Friday Writers are hosting a horror blog challenge, and I decided my response to our art exercise would fit in nicely. So if you're up for a bit of afternoon horror, here's my take on the requirement of a scary tale with a touch of romance... (1,000 words - FCA as always, I welcome critique and am not at all sensitive to feedback)

John Opie's Portrait

Christina tugged at the chrome armchair. It was heavy, but with some focused grunts she managed to pull it across the large glass doors. She sighed. Her arms burned, but she couldn’t stop now. She’d have to make sure he couldn’t push those doors open. Exhausted but determined she manoeuvred all six armchairs shoved up against each other.

Feeling safely hidden for the moment she allowed herself the luxury of sinking down to the floor. He would come for her, she could only pray the doors would hold. Outside she heard the wailing of mechanical monsters. So many inventions in this world! Like the voices. When she’d found that poor man in the darkened corridor crumpled in a pile, his uniform patch announcing Chubb Security, Christina had bent to see if she could help him. Too late, she knew as soon as she saw his life spread  to form a dark stain. She’d spun to run, but heard them. The voices. Looking back she thought they came from the dead man. Crackling demons taunting. But there was a box by his side and someone called Doug was checking in on Larry. She didn’t know what checking in involved, but she knew a worried voice when she heard it. She called to the voice, begged him to come, to send help. She warned him the devil himself was loose. 

The only response was a repeat for Larry to check in. She could hear him but some dark magic kept him from hearing her. Maybe help would come in time? She’d didn’t think so. Each time she was pulled from the dark into a newer version of her world, he’d come for her. That was all she could remember. Everything else was hazy. There was only him, his need for her.  And John! It was coming back now. John had warned her, tried to save her each time. Did he succeed? She didn’t think so. If he had, all their souls would be at rest. Instead she kept being ripped from that horrid painting. 

It was always the same and yet Christine could not conjure a clear memory of how the events would run.

She looked around the room only dimly lit from outside. The walls were adorned in many paintings and small round tables displaying pottery and china under glass boxes. She pulled herself up and moved about the room, treading softly so as not to make a sound. She squinted at the plaque by the door, there was just enough light from the hall to read Brisbane State Art Gallery. She knew not of Brisbane. The last time she emerged from the painting she was still in London. The painting had been shipped to this new location. And those foolish teenagers had obviously known the legend and snuck in here on this ungodly night to conjure their own dark magic. But to summon him? Surely the stories of his violence and taste for blood had survived the hundreds of years since the fire. John had made sure the world knew about the Count, the monster he really was. 

But the girl, maybe sixteen with witches eyes and sharp metal swords and rings pierced all over her face, had thought she was resurrecting a lost love. The love between Christina and the Count. It may have started that way, but John Opie came riding his carriage into town, armed with scientific equipment, little pins wobbling along measuring unknown entities and vials of hissing and foaming liquids. He’d been tracking the Count for years. He claimed the charismatic man was actually a demon sent from the depths of hell to devour human souls. Christine had laughed off the claims about her husband. But girls started to disappear. One by one. All of Christine’s servant girls. The Count in turn accused Mr Opie. 

The Newspaper clippings had convinced her. One for each of the places the Count had lived and visited. Missing girls. It was true.

Fire is the only way to return a demon to hell. Christine slipped from her husband’s bed and burned their home down. She would have made her way out too, out to her beloved John. But her husband awakened with a vigour and caught hold of her.

‘Then we die together,’ he’d snarled. And they had. As the flickering heat enveloped the room she saw their wedding portrait remained unharmed. Mocking her through the the flames. 

The teenagers had frightened her with their chants, but she was more terrified when she turned to see the Count smiling beside her. She’d screamed and run.

In the darkened art gallery she’d stumbled about until she’d come full circle. There were the teens. Dead in a heap. She ran on. The man with the Chubb badge stretched across the floor. The sound of the Count calling to her.

‘Christine, my love, wait!’ He appeared, arms stretched to reach her. She spun to the right and ducked down a corridor. Now she hid in the darkened room alone. Or was she? A shadow moved in the corner. She wanted to scream but was too weary with fear.

The silhouette stepped forward until the moonlight through the window revealed his face.

‘John!’ She leapt into his arms.

‘Christine, you bought me back,’ he smiled down at her.

‘I’m so sorry, I tried to come to you, but he held me back, I… I couldn’t get out.’

‘Shhh, it’s okay now. I was there too. I came for you.’

Christine stepped back. ‘But you couldn’t have. I sent the servants home and locked every door.’

‘You remember how this goes?’ John smiled.

‘I don’t understand, I’m confused…’

‘Christine!’ The Count banged on the glass doors.

She gasped and leaned into John’s strong protective arms. 

‘Christine!’ The Count yelled, ‘It was him, he’s the monster, run Christine!’

Christine spun to look up at John, but his face had changed, his teeth exposed, long and pointed. She tried to run, but it was too late.

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Scene Change

I only re-sparked my passion in writing a couple of years ago when I moved to my lovely country town outside of Canberra. Long cold winters by the fire provided plenty of time and ambience to work on my manuscripts.

It's no coincidence that my character (Kitty Walker) finds herself moving to a small country town in DOG SHOW DETECTIVE. I wanted to share the awe of driving pass cows in the morning, something that only a city-raised kid could understand.

The kids in my high school have been great inspiration for me too, country kids have a certain quirkiness and brashness that is endearing. I've been lucky enough to have a great writers centre not too far off in Canberra (ACT Writers) and many of you know I attend workshops religiously.

If this were a story it'd be time to shake things up. So we will.

Twice now I've flown up to Brisbane when the annual CYA Writers Conference, and I've made some good friends. So, although I hate change (here comes the inciting incident), when hubby was offered a position he really wanted at the University of Queensland in Brisbane, I wasn't too horrified.

I'll miss the cows, the country kids and the wide spaces, but I'll love being close to my dad (also a budding writer) and joining in the writing activities with Queensland Writers Centre (I've become a member already!). I can't wait to find a critique group to join too :)

My plan next year is to cut back on my teaching hours and step up my writing schedule. I is gunna be a real writer!

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