Scarborough Writers' Group
Looking for a place to share your writing talents and get some praiseworthy or critical feedback in the Toronto area? Try the Scarborough Writers' Group. Meets every Monday. Just show up and jump right in. All are welcome. Bring something you have written to share. Here's when and where they meet:
| Jack Goodlad Centre On Kennedy Road |
Say hello to Nick for me. I miss hearing Nick's stories that were written so succintly. I miss being silly and secret with my best friend Ruby. I miss hearing Dennis' funny, unusual, and wonderful poems. I miss Derek being friendly. I miss being bored with Eugenie. I miss Andrea's gentle, sad face. I miss seeing what new people the night might bring in. I miss feeling like I belong.
Ever since I was 10 years old and my dad gave me an old office typewriter (circa the 1950's), my love of writing was born. I sat that entire summer of 1957 secluded in my room pecking out two stories--one about a girl who got involved in the Civil War; the other about a good witch that saves Halloween. I also typed out a complete set of lyrics to all the songs that I knew at that time (there were quite a few).
I don't know what happened to those fledgling stories. They were probably in the box I had stored under the steps when I moved out that my (evil [no, not really]) stepmother threw out (which also had my prized collection of Cherry Ames' book, an original Wizard of Oz book and original Winnie-the-Pooh book not to mention other memorabilia that I don't remember but would have cherished now [resentment runs deep sometimes...]). I still have those lyrics, though.
Included on this page are some of my musings from the past year or two. My husband has encouraged me immensely to devote time to writing. He likes my style. As for the world liking it, that remains to be seen. I seem to be slowly collecting rejection slips. But the writer writes on; it's in my blood.
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My typewriter sits idle, Its silence calls to me, Murky dreams Shroud the keys That wait to once again Spill out the letters That will look into my soul, I'm a writer, you see. Words caress me Secrets lie deep waiting On lighter days |
Poems of light and dark Mingle on my keyboard, Each word I type Carefully chosen To try to express My mood to my satisfaction. This is what it's all about, This is enough. And if someone else Then that is more. |
Some writing links:
Subscribe to a writing list where you can submit your writings to be critiqued and you also critique others in your genre. You generally have to critique four a month to stay on the list with everyone participating in the honor system of not plagerizing each other's writings.
