Ditch the Care Bears and Have Some Ice Cream

The fact that I am finding the time to write this while wrapped in a towel on the couch as my children play a game in the bathroom featuring characters named Charlie Pimple and Diaper should qualify me as a writing mama. I’ve been one since the day darling Frances (aka Charlie Pimple) arrived on the scene.

However, being a Writing Mama is a whole different ball of Play-Doh.

The Writing Mamas are the ice cream truck at the park of local writing groups. They’ve been written up here, there and everywhere for their cold and creamy menu of treats such as excellent guest speakers, (authors, agents, publishers) and networking time, followed by critique circles. Special events like the Mama Monologues where members read their work are the M&Ms on top of the ice cream.

It has taken me seven years to arrive at the Book Passage on a Sunday night, in jeans, boots, a cute tee and my red suede jacket. I feel like I just spent the day wandering Green Apple books and eating at King of Thai noodle house instead of measuring out Children’s Tylenol and watching the Care Bears.

Why is this?

Two reasons.

One, I’m not a joiner by nature. I’m not one of those “me-and-my-group-of-15-best-friends-on-a-spa-weekend” gals. Don’t know why, really, except perhaps a few seminal mean girl moments back in the day. That and the fact that I spent and spend most of my free time with my nose in a book, or an iBook.

Two, I thought to be a Writing Mama you had to write about motherhood, which is not true. Writing Mamas featured on their website www.writingmamas.com spill their ink on a wide array of subjects, not just, as their motto says, “the multi-hued poop.” And quite a tidy number of them have birthed books as well as babes.

So leaving my loner streak behind, I signed my name on the line. The evening that followed was just what I needed: intelligent conversation about writing and publishing, mothering, working and being a wife—all in a Care Bear-free environment.

I’m sold.