My First Visit to the East Hawaii Writers' Group

I haven't written much in three years. I beat myself up for it. I used to write as an escape from the stresses lawyer life and the boredom of single life in rural Nebraska. It was effortless and it gave me a rush.

Writing doesn't feel the same anymore. It's a slog. It doesn't come easily and a lot of times it gives me headaches. Plus, Hawaii has lots of distractions: the McNephew, the sister, and Not Jersey being the primary culprits. Truthfully, most days I think about writing, and it just makes me feel tired.

In hopes of pulling myself out of the three-year rut, I've been following a local writers' group. They meet weekly. Last Sunday I was sitting on the couch browsing Facebook. I saw a post that the writers were meeting in a few hours. Not Jersey threw together a bag of hiking gear. I grabbed my pen and journal, and we hopped into the car.

After our thirty minute drive from sea level to 3,000 feet, I dropped Not Jersey off in the National Park for a hike. I flipped a u-turn and drove back down to Volcano Village. I pulled through the gate at Volcano Garden Arts and Cafe Ono.

As usual, it was 60 degrees and misting sideways. I had forgotten that it was always freezing in Volcano. I was wearing shorts and t-shirt, as it was 75 degrees when we left Hilo. I rooted around my car looking for a jacket. No luck. I did find a large, blue beach towel. So much for first impressions, but this is Hawaii, and much weirder things happen here. Armed with my towel and umbrella, I set off to find the writers.

The property had three large tented areas. Under the first large tent I found a beautiful seating area with decorated banquet tables. A Buddha statue centered the back of the tent. There were plants and other decorations inside but no writers.

The second tent also boasted a beautifully decorated seating area with a long wooden picnic table. There were six empty glasses and only one woman. This looked like the end of a party not the beginning. The woman and I exchanged greetings, and I moved on to the third tent.

The third tent was white on the outside. Inside there were long tapestries. There was a long banquet table with seating for ten in plastic patio chairs. There were writers sitting in the chairs. I introduced myself and took a chair with a nice view of the garden. To my right was a beautiful oval flower bed. Tucked in between colorful pots of tropical plants were different sculptures and statues.

There were eleven writers in attendance. There were three novelists, three poets, one short story writer, and a travel writer. The travel writer had the coolest gig. She was teamed up with a woman selling travel journals and the pair were headed to Croatia for a month to teach a travel writing workshop.

I didn't bring anything to read. When I realized the writing group's format, I tried to pull up my saved work from my Hotmail folder, but it wouldn't let me search that far back. I didn't think to read a blog post, so I sat and listened to everyone else. I challenged myself to have something ready for the next session.

After an hour and a half, we said our goodbyes. I drove back to the National Park. Not Jersey was waiting at the Devastation Trail Parking Lot at the end of hike. A week later I sat down to write for the first time in months.