I often think that were it not for literary lunches I would have no existence outside my house. A writer finding an existence in outdoor cafés and coffeehouses is, of course, nothing new. It is a rich tradition. It was the starting points of the Lost generation, the Beats, and the Algonquin crowd. It continues today and there is little more I relish in than to sit in a café, coffeehouse, or bar with a group of friends and discuss all aspects of writing interspersed with talk involving the daily chores of man. But I have always hoped there could be more to it. I have looked many times to expand upon it. What happens is, in the attempt to expand, everything seems to close in.
In the late '90s, I helped friend and fellow poet Dan Schneider compile a list of Twin Cities artists aptly titled, THE LIST of Twin City artists. It came about when Dan had grown disgusted by the artistic cliques; writers keeping the company of writers, painters with painters, sculptors with sculptors etc. The idea was to pass out a directory where each artist listed his or her name, telephone number, and email address so a writer, wanting to see a film about a painter, could call up a painter to join him or a painter could call up people from different artistic disciplines to meet over drinks. The mission was to break the borders that seem to separate the disciplines. The response was better than expected, before long we had put together a list of nearly 300 names. Of course everyone had to be listed as a poet John X was a painter/poet, Mary X was a novelist/painter/poet, Jim X was a sculptor/painter/poet, all mistaking poet for poetic.
The breakdown came as soon as THE LIST was distributed. Suddenly people didn't want their phone numbers or their email listed. Some even threatened legal action unless their name (which they, themselves, had submitted) was taken off THE LIST. But it mostly broke down because very few people actually used THE LIST and the few that did used it to contact people within their discipline; the writers called the writers, the painters called the painters. In frustration, the project was abandoned.
In 2000, I moved to the seclusion of Phelps Island on Lake Minnetonka. I was told that I was the only writer out in the Minnetonka area and would have to go into the city to have artistic company. I found this belief to be absurd and took it upon myself to seek out and try to put together a community of writers in the Lake Minnetonka area. I began THE LAKE MINNETONKA POETRY ALLIANCE. A few ads and a newspaper article about me later I had poets crawling out of every corner of the western suburbs all believing that they were the only poets around Lake Minnetonka. It started off well; I had a mailing list of forty-some poets all interested in a variety of activities. The first scheduled literary lunch at the Minnetonka Mist brought about 20 people. It grew from there and soon made way for THE LAST CHAIR reading series. But this broke ground in the winter. As soon as spring hit I learned that all activities non-lake related had no place in anyone's life. Poetry lost out to lying on the beach, boating, and swimming. I went from 20 30 people at a gathering to 1, maybe 2. Soon I was sitting by myself. Again frustration won out. The LMPA came to an end.
The latest venture came about this year. Sitting in the Wilde Roast with a couple friends, I decided to try again. I would bring writers of the Twin Cities together for a bi-monthly salon. The owners of the Wilde Roast were eager to host it in their establishment. Somewhere along the line it was tagged with the name, THE SUICIDE TABLE. It ended before it could begin. Writers argued over any scheduled time and date, one writer would refuse to attend if a certain other writer was permitted to attend, everyone questioned what we'd do or talk about and yet they demanded there be no format. Few were interested. They preferred getting together with the group of writers and friends they were already accustomed to. What I did get was a bounty of email from people who had or were considering suicide. All wanting to know what The Suicide Table could do for them. One very disturbed individual was hoping the group would be one in which we helped each other kill ourselves. Eventually he wrote telling me that his psychiatrist didn't think my group would be a healthy one for him.
The plug was pulled on The Suicide Table.
The Twin Cities has had many groups that have worked well but those groups, such as The Uptown Poetry Group and The Poet to Poet Society, have been more focused on the presentation of poetry rather than a pure social gathering. And it is that social aspect that seems to be missing on a larger scale. Other groups, such as the Whey group, have all the social aspects but are exclusive.
While I try to realize something of a more social setting I now take into account the basic makeup of the writer. Writers tend to be introverts. They also tend to have fragile psyches, therefore they more than often stay with groups of individuals they have become comfortable with; they have their habits, they rely on their patterns.
Everything that succeeds or fails in the writing world does so by way of that fragile psyche. An organized social gathering of writers is only the beginning. To understand what I and others had hoped to achieve (and still do), every aspect of this writing environment must be taken into account. And there is much to delve into. One must look at the open readings, the grant programs, the writer workshops, the literary institutions such as The Loft, the bookstores, the webzines, the publishers, and, yes, those sacred tables where writers gather to have a drink and talk.
This is the path I plan to take with this column. From this bare beginning we move forward into the dim and sweaty hours of the open readings. Take a seat, and order yourself a drink.