Critical Mass

By the time I finish typing this post, I doubt that I will bring clarity or coherence to the topic of critical mass. It's something I've thought about a lot. The term comes from nuclear science, and is defined as follows in an article in Wikipedia:

A critical mass is the smallest amount of fissile material needed for a sustained nuclear chain reaction.

It's kind of like a snowball that's rolled downhill. Everyone who's tried it knows that what they show in cartoons doesn't really happen. You don't start with a tiny snowball and it rolls on it's own, picking up snow as it goes along and getting bigger and rolling faster. You have to have a certain mass of snow in the snowball to begin with—snowman-segment-sized—to get the rolling started. That's kind of like critical mass.

I use the term quite a bit in a non-nuclear meaning, for the minimum amount of effort needed to get something going and keep it going. When we're working on a project at work, early efforts are typically slow, or seem slow. Little progress is seen. Then, at some point, the amount of work done reaches "critical mass"; all other activities on the project can be done in rapid succession, and the project zooms to completion. In the workplace training program I'm trying to build, reaching a critical mass of people able and willing to prepare and teach noon hour courses is something I'm looking for. I'd define that as enough people trained and prepared that we could have a class every week without a lot of convincing and cajoling on my part.

"Critical mass" is a valid concept in church growth. You need a certain number people to attract more people. You need a certain number of programs to attract people. You need a certain amount of assimilation going on to keep the people who come to take part in the programs you do to attract more people. Yes, critical mass is a valid concept here.

In terms of writing, I think critical mass applies in the writing of books. They normally start out slowly, build momentum, critical mass kicks in, and are finished in a rush. I know most of my books have been that way, both novels and non-fiction.

It's also true about the writers groups I've been involved with, especially the one I started at church and the one I'm in now. Neither one had or has critical mass. I'd define that as having enough active members (meaning writing something regularly, sharing it, and attending meetings) that meeting makes sense. At church, I learned of several others who either wrote or had a desire to write. I mentioned this to the pastor and offered to start a writing ministry. He said go for it, so I did. A couple of writers in the congregation also had friends in the city who wrote, and they started coming. It got to the point where we had nine or ten on our roster, and six of us were attending either regularly or close enough to regularly that we anticipated they would attend a meeting and weren't surprised to see them. I thought we were at critical mass, and would a sustaining group.

Alas, I was wrong. One person dropped out, a regular became irregular, and suddenly it was two of us meeting, sometimes just me. We weren't at critical mass after all, we were just below it. After two or three "meetings" of being the only person present, I folded the group.

My current writing group is headed in the same direction, I'm afraid. We have eight people on the roster, plus one man's name who a member says is intending to come. We had nine, but it turned out one of those names was a woman who came only once, sometime before I started, and never came back. So I deleted her from the roster. Am I the leader of the group? Not really. Another woman was, but she quit coming shortly after I started. We floundered for a while without someone to facilitate discussions of meeting days, times, and places, so I stepped up and just started being the leader. No one objected. We settled on a meeting day, time, and I found us a place. We had four people coming regularly, one coming some, and everyone was talking to each other.

Now, evening work has taken two of our members away on meeting nights. One does taxes, and won't come back till after tax season, sometime later in May. Another may be back when the school semester is over. Another, a retired woman, no longer replies to e-mails. I don't know what's up with her, though I know her husband has some health problems. Two meetings ago I knew two members were going to be away, but not having heard from two others I showed up. I was the only one there. The last meeting I had an evening meeting. I alerted the group that I wouldn't be there, and they didn't meet. I'm going to miss the next meeting also, due to travel. Alas, we don't have critical mass to keep the meeting going when one or two people are gone.

I suspect this group will die as well. We might limp on through the summer, depending on how many are traveling, but I don't really anticipate it will survive. Critical mass is just too hard to come by with writers groups.

Long Live the Critique Group

It appears that BNC Writers is dead. So far this year we have had about eighteen meetings. Twice we had three people attend. Three or four times we had only one attend—me as the leader. The rest of the time we had only two. Bessie and I used those times to good advantage. We worked on her missions book, intended to be one of the six annual books for our denomination. Last week we put the finishing touches on her proposal and three sample chapters. The rest of her book is done, subject to minor tweaking and formatting. Also during these times I read chapters from several things I was working on.

But a group of two isn't much of a critique group. Three is immensely better than two. Even Bessie, a very new writer, noticed that it was always better when we had three or more people in attendance.

I started the group back in early 2011. I had lunch with our then-new pastor, Mark, and asked him if he had any objection to me trying to start a writing ministry at church. I thought we would have a core group, as I had already talked with four people about it, and they all showed some degree of interest.

Alas, one can only continue to pump time into a losing effort. With Bessie's book essentially done, and with her not having anything else to share at the moment, it doesn't make sense to tie up two Monday evenings a month for a critique group that barely exists. Bessie and I can continue to share stories and chapters as we have them complete, without needed to formally meet.

We had fifteen people on our mailing list, including four people who didn't attend our church. Seven of those attended at least one meeting in the eighteen months we met. Those four I talked to before approaching the pastor with the idea never attended a meeting. They never promised to, though they all expressed interest in advancing their writing.

After our last meeting on September 17, I sent an e-mail out to the mailing list, suggesting that maybe we didn't need to maintain BNC Writers anymore. Only Bessie responded. To state the cliche, the silence told more than responses would have.

So I guess I'll lay low for a while, keep writing, keep self-publishing, and looking toward the future. Whether a different critique group is in my future remains to be seen.

A Calm Place in the Whirlwind

Life is busy. At my engineering day job, it seems like no task gets closed, yet many more get open. I can't quite get my current floodplain project to work. The lateral structure I entered, as a way to simulate an overflow pipe, needs to be revised, and I haven't yet figured out how to revise it to make it correct. Or rather, I believe I know what needs to be done and how to do it, but time to do it hasn't materialized. I figured it out at the end of the day yesterday, but today so far has been fully consumed in...

...teaching a class at my company, and preparing for it. I haven't done a class in at least three months, due to busy-ness, and several people have been saying they needed professional development hours. So I decided to teach a class titled "Five Important Construction Items Often Overlooked During Design". Creating the PowerPoint presentation to go with it took all morning—or all least all of the morning that I didn't let myself get distracted with a couple of personal things. Even half my lunch hour went to that. I didn't actually prepare what remarks I was going to say. I just talked an hour from the PowerPoint, using my many years of construction engineering experience. From the comments of attendees, I did pretty good. Add this to my list of classes for listing on a resume or on a website, if I ever get one built.

Back at my desk after teaching, I talked with my wife. It seems I am to go to the next town over after work and purchase a used jungle gym to give to our grandson Ephraim on is third birthday in two weeks. That's if the one called ahead of her doesn't take it. We are second in line. Hopefully we'll get it. Sounds like a good bargain. But, it does take away time I could have used on something else.

My writing efforts right now are fully consumed with the John Wesley small group study. One chapter done, another half done, the outline finished—except today I realized I had left out a major part of his writings, the many hymns he wrote, and the many of his brother's he published. How can I leave those out? I can't, so I will have to insert another chapter (I think I'm up to 22 now), figuring out the best place for it to go. The pressure to have the study ready around September 1 is off, as I believe the church is going to do another all-church series. I might not need it finished until December or January. That would be nice. I might be able to work on volume 2 of Documenting America. I'm still inching toward e-self-publishing volume 1, maybe in less than a week. It looks as if I'll have to do that without any beta reader comments, as no one has gotten back with me. I think I ran four or five of the chapters through my previous writing groups, though they were shorter at the time.

So where, you ask, is this calm place in the midst of life's whirlwind? It was last night, from 6:00 to 7:30 PM at the Bentonville Public Library, as we held the second meeting of the BNC Writers group. The previous meeting was to organize; last night was for critique. The same four of us met. Four others who want to attend couldn't because of illness or other unspecified reasons. About the time some would be traveling here the sky opened up with another round of rain, which probably contributed some to keeping people home.

But the four of us who met had a great time. Last meeting I had given them copies of my short story, "Mom's Letter", not for critique, but just as a sample of my writing. But they came back with some critique, and I will consider it. It's already for sale on Kindle, but I can easily make changes and re-upload it if necessary. As group leader, I chose the order of presentation. The three ladies went first. Brenda shared a short story based on a dream she had. Joyce shared the first chapter of a novel she has just begun. Bessie shared a non-fiction story from her years on the mission field in Papua New Guinea. I know that was her first formal writing, and first time sharing writing in a critique group. I think it was also Joyce's first time. She had been involved in the writing process before, helping writers through critique and editing, but I think she is just beginning her writing efforts.

We had a great time with the critiques. Our procedure is for each person to have copies enough to pass around, then for the author to read their work while the others follow along and make notes. We then discuss the work, making suggestions, asking questions. In the end we give the author the copy we have marked on. The author can respond to comments, sometimes indicating what their intent was, but always accepting critique with graciousness and thick skin.

Alas, we ran out of time, and I wasn't able to present the Introduction and first chapter of Documenting America. Maybe next time. I did receive the crit on "Mom's Letter", so it's not as if I was left out. We will meet again in two weeks, probably at the church this time, which will allow us a full two hours, not limited to the library's allowed schedule for conference room use.

I left the group and went home, to evening storms (outside and inside), a checkbook that wouldn't balance, a pile of mail to go through, and no time to write, very little to read. But that was okay. A momentary respite out of the whirlwind was sufficient for the day.

A New Writers Group

Tonight, when this posts, I will be at the Bentonville Public Library, meeting with three or four fellow writers from my church. When I met with our new pastor ( of four months) in March, I discussed the possibility of forming a writers group/ministry. He liked the idea and told me to run with it. I knew of three others in the church who either wrote or wanted to begin writing in earnest, and two others who seemed interested. We ran a notice in the bulletin for two weeks. That brought one more person to my knowledge who not only writes but has published a couple of books.

Today I posted a notice to one of the church member's Facebook wall, because I had a difficult time getting hold of her. Another lady in the church saw that and wrote, "What? I want to come!!!" So she will be there tonight. That makes seven people who have expressed specific interest in the group, and three others in the church who either write or want to start writing. Who knew there were that many?

My last writers group, the Bella Vista Writers Guild, faded into non-existence about May of last year. One of the ladies moved to Oklahoma City, leaving not enough attendees to make if viable, or at least no one to take the lead to recruit and build it up. That wasn't where I wanted to go. I've missed the fellowship. I've missed the discipline of preparing something to share each week. I've missed the critique. I submit some things to an online group for critique, and the critique is good, but there's no discipline to do so. I sent some items to beta readers, but truthfully more than half never respond, even though they have either requested the material or agreed to read it. So this has been a bleak year as far as writing fellowship is concerned.

I don't know how our BNC Writing Ministry (or whatever name we decide on) will turn out. Seven plus three writers is more than enough for the critical mass needed to make a viable group. But how many of us are serious at it and putting in enough time to make a group work? Will it be a critique group? A fellowship group? How often will we meet? Will we allow members from outside the church? These are things we will determine tonight and in the coming weeks. I'm excited. I think something will come of this.

Of course, as always happens, the minute I ratchet up my writing activities, during a lull in the whirlwind of life, the whirlwind picks up again. This time, though, instead of complaining and flying off the handle, I'm trying to work my way through it.

A Day Usurped

Okay, so this morning I had two things on my mind--well, actually three:
1. Get the reanalysis done for my floodplain project so that on Wednesday all that would be left would be to have the CADD tech change the two maps and assemble a submittal to send off.
2. Attend writers critique group at 7 PM.
3. Help my wife decide on when to go to Oklahoma City: today with Sara and Ephraim; tomorrow the day after them; Thursday; or Friday.

Concerning the floodplain analysis, I had good success on Friday, completing 1/3 of it (as to total computer runs), and less success on Monday, due to interruptions, working sub par due to this cold, and to normal Monday inefficiencies. Still, the morning went well, and by a little after noon I had completed much, and could see my way to finishing it today or early tomorrow morning, making deadline.

I had a couple of conversations with Lynda. She felt she should go on Thursday, but we are under a winter storm watch for Thursday: 4-8 inches of snow, possible ice, possible rain. It all depends on the track of the storm. I suggested she go tomorrow. Sara called at 1:45 PM or so, when I was working on my analyses after lunch, and said they were going today and that Mom needed the cell phone (hers has never been replaced; I'm not going to do it) and would I meet them in Decatur, sixteen miles west. I hopped in the truck and met them to transfer the phone, and headed back to the office to check one thing in Centerton (right on the way) useful for my floodplain analyses.

Heading back to the office, about 2:45 PM I witnessed a four car accident right in front of me. I circled around the block and hung around about half an hour until I could give my contact information to one of the emergency workers, and drove the mile to the office. So far no one has called to take my statement. Others probably had a better view and so they may not need my observations.

So, with time lost but with no wife to go home to tonight, I decided I would stay at the office till 6:30 PM, rush to writers guild, getting Sonic on the way. That would almost make up for the Decatur run and the accident time. But no, the VP in charge of Production dropped by, asking me to assist that afternoon and help with an unexpected floodplain issue in Covington Louisiana. So from about 3:45 till 5:45 I huddled with one of the young engineers, then with the said VP of Production, including a conference call to our Dallas office where the project manager who botched--I mean supervised--the original work could hear our findings.

That done, I went back to my computer and saw an e-mail from another engineer, saying he knew I was busy but he had finally made the changes to the wastewater lift station project I checked last week and it had to go out tomorrow and could I look at it by mid-morning. He had the specifications done that I insisted he do before I signed off on it, he said. I told him to get it to my by 6:20 PM and I'd take it home. I also wished, by this time, I had not committed to going to writers guild, cause I sure could use the entire evening at the office.

The lift station documents in hand, and the writing I was to share tonight in the truck, I rushed to writers guild, picking up my discount Sonic burger along the way. And nobody else showed up. I waited half an hour, knowing there would be a message on the answering machine at home, saying it was cancelled because of people not being able to attend.

Had I known writers guild wasn't going to meet, I would have stayed at the office until my floodplain analyses were done. But at that point, I was about a mile from the house and fourteen from the office. So I came home and entered the Dungeon, deflated from the day's usurpations, very tired from the emotions, and possibly from the effects of my lingering cold, so I decided to not bother with the two articles I was going to write tonight. This post will have to do. I'll pack a bag to take in tomorrow and spend the night in town, either at the office or at my mother-in-law's so I won't have to fight the snow on Thursday. I'll stay in town Thursday night as well.

Right now, I feel both sad and mad: sad at the missed opportunities and the tiredness, and mad at the usurpations. My choices are to fight the emotions with food or with writing. About the only writing I could do tonight is to critique a poem over at Absolute Write, but the way I feel I'd probably dash some budding poet's spirit with an overly-harsh critique, and I don't want to do that. So the forage in the fridge it is. I seem to remember seeing some vanilla ice cream in it.

ETA: Oh, and when I got to the writers guild meeting that didn't happen and opened up my Sonic burger with mayo and added ketchup and took a bite, it turned out it had mustard on it instead of mayo. The perfect unauthorized substitution for an usurped day.

An Evening at the Writers Critique Group

Last night I attended the writer's critique group in Bella Vista. This is the group that I attended regularly from 2002 to 2007, quit for a while, then attended the another writer's group in more-distant Gravette until March of this year. I spent a few months without attending any writer's group at all, then decided to go back to the old one, and have been a regular since July.

Why did I leave this group in the first place? For one, I was the only person in the group who was trying to be published with a royalty publisher. Everyone else was satisfied with self-publishing. Now there's nothing wrong with self-publishing if it is done well. But obviously the threshold of excellence for royalty publishing is a whole lot higher than for self-publishing. the self-publishing company makes their money in charging set-up fees, not by selling books, so their writing goals tend not to be as high as mine.

But on-line fellowship is not the same as in-person, and I missed being with writers. So I went back to the old group. It meets only a little more than a mile from my house, so getting there and back is a snap. In fact, last night I fell asleep in my reading chair in the time before I needed to leave. Lynda woke me at one minute till seven and said, "Aren't you suppose to be at writers group about now?" I quickly went and was there well before they began sharing.

Some good and bad about the group, which goes by the name of Northwest Arkansas Writers Guild:

• As I said, most in the group are not striving for royalty publishing, so the outlook on writing tends to be different.
• I'm the only one in the group who is a serious poet. Two women in the guild write some poetry, but I don't think either studies the art or really works on her craft. One may; I can't tell for sure yet. I gave up bringing poetry to this group a long time before I left it.
• The ladies all bring snacks to the meetings. This takes quite a bit of time to distribute around the table, with plates and napkins. We meet at an assisted living center, who provide us the meeting room and coffee. I'd prefer we didn't have snacks at all. Without the time given to snacks we could each read five pages instead of four.
• We don't tend to stick to business. Too much chatting. I don't mind some of that--that's what fellowship's about. But we do too much of it.
• At times members don't tend to say focused. I won't mention names, just in case one of them should wander in here (quite unlikely). But one has a habit of interrupting the reader with comments that have nothing at all with what is being read. This happens almost every week. Finally, one of the ladies called out the offender this week. She did it nicely, perhaps so nicely that the offender didn't even realize that she was being mildly chastised.
• I'm the only man in the group. That's not so bad, except I'm the only non-retired person in the group. One woman works, but she rarely attends and will soon be moving away.
• In general, everyone is polite; we never talk politics; everyone in the group seems to be a practicing Christian (though that's not a requirement); and we never have off-color material to read or listen to.

Well, that's the status of the group. I'll stick with it. It's the closest game in town, and fills a need in my life. Hopefully they find value in my contribution.