Do You Support Other Writers and Friends?

JC Walkup, writer, editor and publisher

On www.netwestwriters.blogspot.com site, JC Walkup wrote a post about why writers should join our chapter of NCWN. I like what she said about us. She said we are not in competition with each other, we support each other and always help our writing friends when they need it.

It sounds too good to be true, but she is right.
I don't know if I could have published as much of my work if I had not had writers like Estelle Rice, Michelle Keller, Janice Moore, Carol Crawford, and Nancy Simpson who read my stories and poems and gave me honest and helpful suggestions to how I could make my work better. We do this for each other.

Get Feedback
I can share my work with other writers in NCWN West and get good feedback, not mean-spirited criticism, or jealousy. I think we all truly want the best for each other. Nothing pleases me more than to see the success of my friends and my students.

Wouldn't it be great if more people, instead of trying to step on someone to get ahead, tried lifting someone instead?

I have found that when I lift someone up, I rise with them. 

I have never gained anything good by putting down others. 

When I try to improve myself, when I compete with my own results, I come closer to achieving my goals.

Be an Example

If I had a child, I would tell him, "Try to be the best person you  can be, and treat your fellow man as you would want him to treat you. Then you can live and enjoy a good life." 

And the child would likely say, "Please, don't preach to me!"

Because, you can't tell people anything and expect them to listen. Just as we say in writing class, show, don't tell.
Let you life be a lesson.  

Michelle Keller, poet, writes about a Lace Shawl

Sometimes we write poems about real people. My friend Michelle Keller gave me permission to share this lovely poem she wrote. It tells a story I think you will enjoy. I certainly do, every time I read it or hear Mike read it. So poignant.


LACE SHAWL
By Michelle Keller


The sign says Estate Sale, code words,
someone died, usually a grandmother,
mother or elderly aunt, the men already gone.

Two great nieces sit in overstuffed chairs
drawn to an early American table, topped
with Japanese Hummels and sandwiches
on wax paper, potato chips and half full cola cans.

This is part of the ritual of letting go,
after all no one wants Aunt Mae's old things.
The great nieces live in new vinyl houses,
decorated with designer furniture of pressed wood,
poly-acrylic protected, permanent press Pricillas,
and rent to own.

Put up that sign and strangers rush
in where family fears to tread.
I confess, I am one of those strangers,
I walk reverently through the house, after all
she well could have passed in this room.
Not wanting to appear insensitive, a vulture,
I examine, measure with care the leavings,
those in sight of the great nieces. mourners.

In the bedroom I quickly sum up a life's accumulation,
unused gifts from sons and daughters, worn quilts
pieced by her mother, polyester dresses and slips,
straps pinned shorter with safety pins. I untangle
a lace shawl tossed on the floor in a cardboard box.
Aunt Mae had run a string through the top cupping
it to fit around her frail shoulders. I hold it up,
admire the flower tracings tatted into the triangle
of silky fringe. It cannot be much,
an old woman's shawl.

Does this touch your heart as it does mine? Does it remind you of something or someone?