One of the things that writers write about is Home –
defending home, finding home, there's no place like home, etc., etc., etc.
Sometimes I look at the houses when I drive at night. There
are houses with floodlights and houses with all the windows dark. And then
there are the houses with the lights on in the windows. Those are the houses that are home. People
are making dinner, checking homework and tucking the kids in.
There's a light on, if someone is missing, they can find the
way home.
I've got several homes: My mother's home, the museum where I
work is a kind of home, and I have a home on the internet.
It's a place called Forward Motion Writers. I joined it 6
years ago, this month, and it's a home on the internet for me. I've made some
excellent friends and went to writers' conferences with them, traveled to Australia
to meet them, read their books and they've read mine.
It wouldn't exist without an amazing woman by the name of
Lazette Gifford. Officially, Zette owns
the site. Unofficially, she's the den mother for a disparate bunch of
egotistical, fragile, neurotic writers. (What? I'm one of them. ;-))
Zette's shepherded the group through some of the changes in
the publishing industry, especially the rise of "Indie" publishing.
There's a huge wealth of information on all manner of craft, genre and
marketing. And the chat rooms are where we hang out and talk about our days,
especially the writing part.
Thank you, Zette. I'll see you later. But I'll be home late
tonight. :D
