Fishers Five
September 8, 1998
6:22 a.m.
Things run their course. Then they're done, and there's no use trying to resuscitate them. I withdrew from the Fishers Five writers group yesterday. This morning I see e-mail from Linda Dunn that says she's finished with it, too. It was a nice group while it lasted. It brought Charles Eckert sales, and it helped refine Lisa Silverthorne's preliminary ballot Nebula story. It gave me deadlines, and it made me become better. But in my heart I know we hung on too long. Looking back, the F5 was really finished about a year ago. Lisa Silverthorne left about then. Interest waned. We stopped meeting in March (was it really that long ago? . . . checking the calendar). I should have slipped out then, too, because it was obvious we were done. So, why didn't I? Hmmm. I don't think I can answer that one here. Way too complex, you know? The beat goes on, however. I'm nearing the end of the first draft of "A Gathering of Bones," and hopefully will finish it tomorrow. I'm looking forward to another story. I have crits to do for another on-line group I've been working with for the past few months. there are always things to do. Everything that's happened around the Fishers five is for the best. I'm in a better situation for me now. Still I feel like a small piece of me has been snipped out. Knowing the group is dying is one thing, but there's something very final about seeing the death certificate. So I pause here, and think back on only the good times. I remember laughing so hard my sides hurt. I remember seeing my fellow workshoppers bringing in their published material like warriors returning to the clan with their trophies. I remember the Bodin Solution, and body parts everywhere. All the inside stuff that makes a group special while it is, you know? Good luck, Charles. Linda. Susan. Kevin. Jennifer. I hope each and every one of you goes on to a prolific career. Until that happens, I'll remember the good times.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"A poem is never finished, only abandoned" W. H. Auden |
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