Bo-Bo Knows Gratitude for Grub Street

After the initial shock of the September 11^th attacks wore off—once it became clear that the nuclear bombs I'd been bracing for weren't imminent—it became even more clear that my well-intended plan to satisfy my urge to write with a career in journalism was absolutely cock-eyed.

I wish I could say that 9/11 had stirred my inner heroine. That I'd been called to enlist or become a firefighter or paramedic or grief counselor. But the only calling I felt was the same old call to write fiction that I'd been ignoring for years. It was time to write for me— not just a paycheck. So I bought a notebook and started what would turn out to be failed novel number¹, but my problems were bigger than a second failed book: the journalism skills that helped me tell true stories were letting my fiction fall flat.

Enter Grub Street, the Boston-based non-profit creative writing center extraordinaire.²

By December, 2001 I was scribbling away in a beginning fiction class at Grub Street.³ That first class gave me the most precious of gifts: access to a community where like-minded individuals didn't need me to explain why the writing itch I felt went deeper than journalism's ability to scratch.

At Grub Street, I was welcomed as a writer as long as I showed up willing to learn. And that welcome took the form of established writers who had clear memories of what it felt to be just starting out, peers who knew what POV⁴ stands for, seminars on topics I wanted to wade around in for an evening and workshops on topics I wanted to immerse myself in for weeks, opportunities to read my work and hear others read theirs, encouragement, commiseration, and a safe place to take risks, build confidence, foster friendships, and line myself up for the all-important, if occasional, kick in the ass.

Last night I met with a couple of Grub-Street novelists to swap scenes from our novels-in-progress, chat about what's working and what still needs work, and just generally refill the well that drains down to nothing by unchecked solo-time spent blinking at my computer screen. I walked away feeling jazzed—for their books, for mine, and for the process in general.

For the most part, the non-writing world only recognizes writers once they've got an Amazon sales rank. But Grub Street recognizes writers in the fast-talking breathless ways we speak when talk turns to writing, in the beautiful turns of phrases that shine like daffodils among our beginner dandelion sentences, and in our Herculean ability to nurture a willingness to stick to the page in the face of long, long odds.

For the guidance, friendships, and all the ways leading to ways⁵ I can trace back to finding my own way into that first Grub Street class almost eight years ago, I'm more grateful than I have words to describe. Maybe some Grub Street someone will help me with that, too.


¹ Out of four failed novels. Five times is hopefully the charm...novel number five is the only one that graduated to revision stage, so it's already more successful than all the others combined.

²I think it's only fair to disclose that I'm an ambassador at Grub Street. Though I want to be clear: I'm not writing this piece because I'm an ambassador, but I'd bet I got tapped to become an ambassador because I love Grub enough to think to write a piece like this.

³Novelist Lisa Borders was at the helm. I couldn't have asked for a friendlier, more doggedly enthusiastic first face of Grub.

⁴Point of view.

⁵With apologies to Robert Frost.