What do we do? Well…anyone who’s got something to share, shares it. You are free to ask for critiques if you’d like them, or not, if that’s not your desire. Sometimes we brainstorm together, and sometimes we just chat about all those “writerly topics” that most of the world just doesn’t get. You know what we mean.

We’d love to have you join us!

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It has been said that being a writer is a lonely profession. Sometimes this is true, but it certainly doesn’t have to be this way all of the time. After all, writers are people, and people need to connect with other people. Fortunately, there are many ways that one can stay connected with others throughout the writing process. The one I enjoy the most is my writing group, the Mid-Ohio Writers Association.

The Mid-Ohio Writers Association was a group started by a lawyer years ago who was looking for some help writing up papers for his legal projects. I believe his goal was to attract writers who would create legal documents infused with a personal, passionate touch that would win over the courts. He certainly did attract writers, and they soon realized that they enjoyed gathering together to simply discuss and work on their art. After working on a few of the attorney’s projects, they decided to continue meeting with an altogether different purpose. Thus, the Mid-Ohio Writers Association (MOWA) was born.

There are many reasons why someone would join a writers group, but here are my main reasons for being a part of MOWA:

I love networking with serious writers. The support and encouragement I receive from this group is authentic. They know what it’s like to be a writer. Even if other’s compliment me or support me, it’s not the same without that level of empathy.

I love reading my works to people who want to hear them. Let’s face it: Not everyone wants to hear what we write. My family loves me dearly, but that doesn’t mean they are interested in discussing the poems I write.

I love improving my writing skills. Through workshops, suggested articles or guest speakers, I learn so much in this group. It is much more fun to learn in a group than alone.

I  love collaborating with others. When I share what I am writing for various projects, I receive objective and sincere feedback. The level of honesty is high because they care about my work as much as I do, and they want it to flourish. My writing is always better when I share it with the group.

I love having fun with words. The writing prompts are awesome! Slamming down 100 – 500 words in a set amount of time with these people is an adrenaline rush, to be sure. The taunting and bantering that goes on is reminiscent of backyard basketball more than anything.

I love hearing the works of other talented writers. They inspire me with their art, and they encourage me with their pursuit of their craft. I truly enjoy our sharing time.

I love not being criticized. Being able to write about anything that’s in my heart and read it in front of a group without being judged is priceless. Yes, my work will be discussed. Suggestions will be offered. But I will not be criticized for my feelings or my opinions that are expressed in my art.

I love the price. Ten dollars a year is peanuts when I realize what it is I’m getting in return for my investment.

I want to personally thank every member of MOWA for making this writing group what it is and for bringing in your writings to share. You are an inspiration and a joy. Never put down the pen! If you would like to join our writing group, visit the website for our location and times. We would love to see you there!

Modern-day windjammers ply the solid water of the Arctic North
When the day’s glowing orb is stingy with its warming light,
Teasing living creatures with the promise of brighter days yet months away,
And during endless Stygian nights when aurora borealis entertains these steel machines’
Pilots with curtains of electric color.
These raucous windjammers deliver sustenance to those wresting from the cold Earth’s bosom
That substance which refracts light into rainbows and dazzles human eyes.
The pilots endure endless icy trips on the solid water in their intrepid vessels,
Dependable, relentless in their slow trek south to north, in swift returns north to south.
Camaraderie keeps the pilots safe, but when one vessel breaks down on the solid water,
All behind it stop. The stricken pilot calls his fellows and navigator and waits for rescue.
The pilot looks behind his vessel, into the endless night.
Other ships line up single file behind him, each a safe distance apart, engines idling, waiting.
Now, the inky blackness isn’t lit by moon, star, or aurora, but by the windjammers’ themselves. An ethereal yellow light cocoons them in the glow of their own headlamps.
The glow mingles with the cloud of white smoke their engines emit,
hovering low over these hearty wayfarers’ machines.
An icy, raging wind trails the smoke behind them, and the metal ships seem to be moving,
Yet, they can’t move until their stricken comrade is in motion again.
Not allowed to shut off the furnace that drives their ship, these pilots sit in their vessels,
Hoping, praying that their fuel lasts, that they don’t break through the solid water’s surface
And be lost in the dark depths below. Praying for God’s compassion and protection for all.
The North is silent this Stygian night, except for the metal ships’ engines humming, idling, warming the pilots, making music. The melodic rumble is music that sings safety to the pilots. The music of life. The music of the far Canadian North.
When the stricken pilot’s vessel moves again, one by one, his fellows follow him
Into the night to complete their deliveries and return to the diamond capital of North America,
To rest until their metal windjammer convoy must again sail on the solid water around them.

“Ever doubling back, ever advancing, ever moving in the sky’s blackness
at the poles of Earth,
the Dawn of the North Wind makes herself known.
Humans who are intimate with Aurora Borealis, adore her psychedelic lights when they’re
vulnerable to the Arctic’s winter anger.
Yet, they risk it to see her royal night dance when solar flares ravage the solar system.
Her dancing clothes crown the pole with lithe curtains of light moving in the sky.
Electric particles ride the seams of her magnetic garment down to Earth
to collide with oxygen and nitrogen in the air and dance together
until their voltage must be discharged in a Learyesque light show.
Electric emerald, magenta, and azure fold the sky above,
greeting those who watch the dance with awe and wonder, and fear.
Does understanding the science of Aurora’s dance lessen the magic of her spell,
or does it make her ever more alluring? Myth and legend some may say,
but Aurora will take us with her
if we whistle for her some cold ethereal night in the snow.”

Browse our website, meet our members, and join us for our next meeting!.

I remember my fourth grade teacher very well. She was the first teacher to spank me (for too much talking). She was the first teacher to scare me (there wasn’t anything I could do to make her like me). She was the first teacher to tell us horror stories about life in the USSR.

She told us that children in the USSR were encouraged to tell their teachers if they said anything bad against the government. Children then watched as police came to take their parents away. Those children became wards of the state and the parents had no say in the matter whatsoever.

This was a scary story for us and, although I now doubt that my fourth grade teacher ever set foot in the USSR. We were happy to be American and knew how to be grateful for our freedoms. At the time America was in the middle of the Cold War and our folks were afraid of Russia dropping the bomb on the US for no reason.

We said the pledge every morning after prayers (not just on Monday) and we struggled through The Star Spangled Banner. (I am guilty of helping my classmates on the playground create the classic “oh say can you see any bed bugs on me” for which I hereby publicly apologize.)

These memories have come back to me over and over throughout my short career as a reporter. Sometimes I remember them when I am saying the pledge at a public meeting (my personal record is 11 recitations in one week). Sometimes they come to me as I speak with someone on the phone who will not give their name because of the fear of retaliation from some unnamed force.

Recently the memories came back as the question of whether or not a public body should pray before a meeting. I have seen it done both ways. Some boards of education pray before the pledge, some don’t. Some village councils pray before the pledge, some don’t. Some meetings begin with a moment of silence.

I think this is an important LOCAL issue as well and one that local voters should voice their opinion. Are your elected officials mirroring your community’s personality?

The only way you are really going to know is to go to your local school board meeting and to attend your local village council meeting. If you have never gone to one, I strongly encourage you to take the leap. They aren’t as boring you might think. In fact, the discussions they have and the decisions they make affect you directly. All meetings give visitors plenty of time to ask questions and make comments on what is going on in the meeting. Hope to see you there!

The Domestic WarHorse is a column by Rachel Mendell, writer, photographer, reporter, speaker, workshop leader, and mom. Comments are welcome to thedomesticwarhorse@yahoo.com.

Would you like to see a sample of what some of our members have written? We’re working on getting these up onto the website, but for the moment, please enjoy:
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Essays:

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“Free Speech” by Rachel Mendell

“Why I Love My Writing Group” by Joseph M. Cole
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Poetry:

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“My Herb Garden Guests” by Kay A. McNaul

“The Tale of Bonnie & Todd” by Kay A. McNaul

“Aurora’s Dance” by Sandy Wickersham-McWhorter

“The Music of the Ice Road Trucker” by Sandy Wickersham-McWhorter

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