Yesterday, I met with my writing cult. Me and my writer friends My writer friends and I started it last semester. It was spearheaded by the oldest member of our group because – like all great cult leaders – he had a beard
When you first let people read your writing, it’s kind of terrifying. You watch every little movement in the face of the person, hoping they grasp a glimmer of your brilliance.
It’s kind of funny, because when you’re the one doing the reading, you want nothing else but to make sure the person feels comfortable so they don’t hate you afterward.
My writing cult is filled with nothing but nice people, but for some reason, I can never shake the feeling that secretly they’re all planning to get rid of me. I have no reason to believe this. There is no evidence. In fact, we let so many people into the group that now we have to push two tables together and it’s kind of hard to hear everyone.
It’s probably a natural for humans to fear rejection from a social group. No matter how independent anyone thinks they are, humans are social animals, and we don’t last very long on our own.
I think it’s nice to be a part of a group, especially if the group is connected by some broad ideal. The ideal could be becoming better writers or promoting firearm legality or cleansing impurities from the German race – working as team feels good.
I guess you never really know what goes on in other peoples’ minds.