I opened our last California Writers Club centennial celebration meeting with a few comments. They are summarized here:
Why do we write? We have about a hundred answers to that question represented in our audience today. Most of all, the world needs content. And your writing provides that content. Whether it encourages young children to read, reveals unexplored hiking trails in the Sierras, examines our innermost urges, or helps to explain why we feel so desperate at times the rest of world waits for your next passage.
Jack London, along with a few of his writing buddies, established this Club 100 years ago this month. They had escaped the ravages of the 1906 earthquake by fleeing to the East Bay. They called it the Alameda Press Club. A few years later, they invited all Bay Area writers to join them for a picnic in the hills that would for many years hence be called Joaquin Miller Park. In fact, Joaquin Miller, a celebrated poet and long time CWC member, did not attend.
Jack London and his pals were not happy that so many folks who called themselves writers attended their picnic. They had imagined the Club a small, erudite group of accomplished authors and journalists. These founding fathers, when faced with this burgeoning collection of aspiring writers abandoned us and fled to their erudite halls. In 1913, the Alameda Press Club became the California Writers Club. The Club’s intent from then on was to embrace inclusiveness and diversity, for established authors to mentor aspiring writers, to expand the Club to all points within California and all points of view.
We are now a Club of over 1,200 published and aspiring writers, including fiction and non-fiction authors, poets and screenwriters. Sharing our perspectives on the past, present, and future. We network, blog, tweet, and write our names and thoughts onto the fabric of time. Let’s celebrate our distinguished authors that have come before us and the contributions our current members will lend to our future history.