In January 2019, I finally did something I had wanted to do for years – I signed up for a writing course. A Memoirs writing course. It wasn’t really about penning my recollections. Rather I knew I needed to give myself some structure and put myself on the line with an instructor who could offer feedback and suggestions on improving my writing.

So that January I headed off to the class offered by my local school board as part of its continuing education catalogue. It was quickly apparent that many of the participants had previously taken classes together. I watched, feeling very much the newcomer, as the various class members greeted each other with hugs and queries about family members, sharing updates about how they had spent the holiday season.

And then the class began. The instructor, young enough to be my son, chalked three different but related writing prompts on the blackboard. Over the next 20 minutes, we wrote down the memories triggered by whichever prompt most “spoke” to us (a technique known as “hot writing”). After the allotted time was up, the class debriefed as the various members shared their thoughts. At that point, the instructor communicated his insight on some aspect of writing or provided a short lecture on a selected subject such as the finer points of grammar, appropriate use of tenses, writing dialogue or “showing versus telling.”

The second part of the class was taken up with participants reading texts they had prepared ahead of time. The rest of the class was expected to listen attentively and then provide gentle but constructive criticism in a positive and supportive manner. The instructor would have the final word. Then it was on to the next writer and story. And so it went.

Our group was a diverse bunch: men and women, straight and gay, members of various religions, nationalities, and life experiences. Some classmates were writing in English as their second or even third language. Most were writing the stories for their children and grandchildren. A small minority were hoping to publish their memoirs. Given the afternoon time slot and the course’s billing as a “seniors’ course,” it primarily attracted retirees and those who had flexible work hours as I did.

I quickly realized that a Memoirs course forces immediate intimacy with complete strangers. While you don’t always know a person’s history, family status or work life situation, you are suddenly plunged into their experiences of childhood trauma, immigration or travel, loss of loved ones or observations on something that struck them as interesting or funny in the run of their day-to-day lives. It is a bit like intimacy without courtship. But ultimately that intimacy also forges friendships and strong bonds. I signed up for the next course offering – and the one after that. By now I was no longer a stranger, but an accepted member of this highly integrated writing collective.

And then the pandemic hit. Our in-class gatherings, like so much else, came to an abrupt halt. That was where our “den mother” stepped into the breach and suggested we continue our efforts online. In short time, the group had developed a scheme where we submitted our stories via email to the participating group members on Monday of each week and provided our individual written feedback on each submission the following Friday. We renamed ourselves “Writers in Residences.” Our new adventure had begun.

I missed our weekly in-person meetings and hearing the authors read their pieces in their unique accents and inflections. But, by having the written words in front of me, I could delve deeper into each submission and think about what feedback I wanted to provide, rather than simply offer my initial gut reaction during the hurried ten minutes we had had in class. This new way of consuming the stories became a richer and far more immersive experience. It also helped pass the time and give focus to the weeks of pandemic ennui.

Throughout the various stages of lockdown, reinforced by the unpleasant realities of Canadian winter, I had the privilege of venturing forth through time and place. I experienced growing up in Communist Romania, post World War II England, post-revolutionary Iran and on the Canadian Prairies. I taught school in Israel, Australia and across Canada. I rode a camel in Egypt, crossed the Pacific on a 1960s ocean liner, explored the Galapagos Islands, and drove through the mean streets of Los Angeles in the 1970s. I lived the ex-patriot life in Papua New Guinea, Jamaica, Ireland and immigrated (numerous times) to Canada. I had my heart broken, tried an unorthodox diet, and experienced the joys of being a grandparent. I learned about restoring a century farmhouse, studied engineering, and had a near-miss encounter with a mama grizzly bear. Along the way, group members started inserting photos into their stories, adding colour and depth to the experiences. Some of the group members wrote on COVID-related themes, while others avoided the topic completely. All of this while safely seated at home in front of my computer, compliantly observing the rules of household bubbles and social distancing.

Sometime during those long months, the group decided to add a monthly Zoom chat so we could connect in person as well as through the written word. While we discussed our writing and gave each other helpful suggestions on moving forward with our various projects, it was also a wonderful opportunity to catch up on the latest events in our lives. These individuals, who started out as strangers, have since become cherished friends.

In the spring of 2021, the group decided to explore new horizons and published a small collection of the members’ stories for sharing with our families and close friends. While bringing this project to fruition was fulfilling, inspiring each other to keep writing during the long months of isolation at home made the realities of the pandemic more tolerable. And dare I say more memorable?

This post is dedicated, with my deepest gratitude and affection, to Guy, Pam, Monica, Heather, James, Carol, Anka, Shahin and John … and all the other wonderful writers and instructors I have met on my writing journey. Thank you to each and every one of you.