A Saturday in January
Hi, readers of the intangibles! I’m Allison Kirkland, and this publication was created to celebrate and explore the world of creative nonfiction and the writing life. I’m so glad you’re here.
This story began with an email from Cara, letting us know that she’d be coming into town the weekend of January 25th and would love to meet up with those of us who were already local. The Monday Night Writers workshop that I launched in 2019 went online in 2020 at the start of the pandemic and since then it’s been a hybrid group, with some members local and some as far flung as Colorado. We workshop on Zoom for two hours every other week and at this point many of the members have been working together for two or three years but had never been in the same room together.
Vicky followed up with an email of her own a few days later — if so many of us were going to be in Durham that weekend, maybe she’d buy a plane ticket and come down to meet us. She had friends she could stay with in the area.
OK, this was getting exciting! Was it really going to happen? After years of working together and writing together, would we really get to share space in person? In January, of all months?
January 25th turned out to be a beautiful day — bright blue skies, crispness in the air, and and a light blanket of frost on the grass from a recent snowfall. I woke up buzzing, anticipating our time together.
Fran arrived first, and brought a delicacy that she’d written about in workshop: delicious individualized custards that were favorite of her grandmother’s, and that she’d lovingly made for her own mother in her last months of life. It was so special to see these custards in person after reading about their significance, to eat them together and to know the fullness of their story.
The rest of the group filed in, right on time, out of the crisp cold and into the warmth. There were a lot of hugs. We talked about and wondered about former members of the workshop that were no longer writing with us — writers who had moved away or started graduate school or were taking a break from writing, writers whose words had impacted us, stayed with us.
(You know who you are, writers! Don’t ever hesitate to send an email and say hello. You’re missed!)
The room buzzed pleasantly as we continued to talk and share food together. We laughed a lot. We marveled at the many topics they’d explored in their writing during our time together: identity, cooking, friendship, grieving, big changes, small changes, jobs, divorce, illness, music, balancing motherhood and career, perimenopause, spirituality, family, loss.
It’s so gratifying that this is a part of my job: to make space for people’s words and their experiences. To bring people together online and now in person. To nurture community, especially when connection seems to take place mostly on phones and social media these days.
Two hours later, when the last of the goodies had been packed away, when I’d cleared the half empty cups of tea and everyone had said their goodbyes, I felt a little lighter, a little more energized. I was fortified — ready to dive back into the work of being in the world.
The next day I woke up to a flurry of emails rehashing our time together.
“It was so good to see/meet you all in person,” said Cara. “I came away honestly feeling better about the world.”
Me, too.
Until next time,
Allison
You are reading the intangibles, by writer and creative writing instructor Allison Kirkland. This publication is geared toward writers of memoir and creative nonfiction and the people who love them.
If a paid subscription doesn't make sense for you right now, there are other ways to support the growth of this reader-supported publication:
click that little heart to "like" the post, which ensures that more people will see it
gift a subscription to a creative friend who is putting their words out into the world
share this essay with another reader or writer
leave a comment and help nurture a conversation about writing and publishing
Want more? Check out my website. Thanks for reading. I’m so glad you’re here.