Group Therapy

Every other Tuesday for the past two years I have been meeting with a wonderful group of men and women...my writing group. For years I have felt a real need to sit down and write. A story. I love telling stories.

But writing them takes skill and craft. So I began searching for a teacher...a mentor. And then one day D. showed up and filled that gap in my life. I am so grateful.

The first year everyone helped me write my first novel, My Heart Told Me...the story of my grandmother and mother.

During that year by honest critiquing and gentle prodding, my group brought me to the point where one day I said, 'My G-d! I'm a writer!'

A year ago last June, I had to close the doors on my learning center. For fifteen years we helped learning disabled children to stay in school and get the grades they felt they deserved.

But the intifada killed us. With each bomb that went off, less and less students appeared for their lessons until we had to admit that there was nothing more to do, but close our doors for good.

During all those painful months, I kept writing. And every other week, I went to the group. We read each other's work. J. is writing a terrific science fiction novel...now isn't he brave! K. is writing a fantasy fiction storybook for kids that is gorgeous. A. is writing the story of her life and is wading through her past history with courage and a sense of humour. The new lady in our group M. is writing about a man who is painfully shy...a novel that I could never write myself and one that I am amazed at with every turning page. That leaves A.L., the other man in our group who is co-writing a children's book with me. Lovely thing that takes place in the 50s somewhere in Kentucky.

And finally my novel. Emma Shelby is No More. Emma was orphaned at seventeen. When she got a scholarship to study at Wayne State in Detroit, she packed her bags and left Cleveland for good.

Her entire life changed the day she met Rafiq Moussa, a Lebanese Muslim from Dearborn.

I have been writing this story for a year now, never thinking that all my research and insight into the Lebanese mind and culture would come and play out in front of me on the television and over the radio.

I know Rafiq Moussa...I know his family...I know his culture. But Rafiq's family left Beirut long before the Hizbollah took over.

Rafiq wouldn't have let the Hizbollah endanger his family. He wouldn't have sat by as the katyusha rockets were fired from behind his apartment building. He wouldn't have put his babies to bed knowing that at any moment the Israeli's could and would retaliate.

And then I had to laugh. Here I am defending Rafiq Moussa.

It's eerie writing about a Lebanese family while in real life we are at war with them.

Stay tuned and I'll let you know how it turns out.

The novel, I mean. We all know how the real life story will end. The good guys climb up on their white horses and ride off into the sunset.

I wonder if they'll remember to take Emma with them.

Have a great day...stay safe...thanks for dropping in.