My research took several tacks. I headed to the library for books on the nature of friendship, contacted fellow writers for their take on the subject, and asked for input on one of the links I belong to.

Mary Jo Putney must assume a lot of responsibility for broadening my take on the subject by pointing out that, “cops, firefighters, schoolteachers—just about any groups—tend to form strong friendships among their own kind because of mutual understanding of the challenges and experiences they share. This bonding process may be particularly strong among writers, partly because, as you say, ‘we lay our hearts and souls on the line in ways only other writers comprehend.’ This is true not only on a creative level, but also as we are pounded by the vagaries of this strange business.”

I would only add that we aren’t cops, firefighters, or teachers who work daily with our colleagues. Instead, we do our jobs in isolation and everything comes out of our heads and onto the computer so, in fact, not even our nearby dozing dog or cat can truly see us at work. Only another writer experiences the same “employment” conditions.

Carmen Green e-mailed that in her five years of writing, she has made some of the best friends she’s ever had. “Quite simply,” she wrote, “they understand me and I understand them. We talk about things my other friends have no interest in. Like editors, agents, the state of the business, conflict, action, love scenes etc. We’ve bonded deeper than the traditional roles of peers in an office . . . I’ve found that although we come from all different walks of life, ethnicities, parts of the world, we’re smart people who have a lot to share and give. From writers, as much as I give, I get double in return.”

Lillian Carl said much the same thing. “—So many of my friends are writers—in the same way everyone has friends who are in the same profession, that’s simply who you meet along the road. But yet, another writer does understand the psychological ramifications of the job . . . My very best friend has been my best friend since we were in junior high school. One of the reasons we became so close is because even then we were both writers. When I turned pro she was inspired to do likewise. And, the way these things go, she’s now exponentially more successful than I am. When I was visiting her recently, she said something about ‘drilling a hole in your head to let the voices out’ which was, I thought, a perception the lay person isn’t necessarily going to have.”

Jodie Larson put her own spin on the same reality. “Writers are a different breed,” she e-mailed. “Living within the confines of the publishing world sets us apart from those lucky souls who have at lease some degree of control of their careers. Outsiders try to understand, but they’ll never truly know the depth or the impact a simple two paragraph rejection letter can have on our creativity . . . The old childhood taunt, ‘It takes one to know one’ fits writers quite well.”

I’d posed my topic by commenting on how we lay our hearts and souls on the line in ways only other writers comprehend and that hit cords with several writers

“All my friends are writers now,” Lori Handeland wrote. “Actually not ALL, but most. And to be honest, they are what has kept me from bailing out when this business kicks me one too many times. Not only because of their support—but because if I wasn’t writing, then I wouldn’t be one of them anymore. And those friendships are the best part of writing. I think you are right when you say that we lay ourselves open in such ways that no one else can understand but writers when things hurt, or when things are joyful. When you try to tell someone who is not a writer something writing related, they don’t get it. How can they? There are so many nuances to what we do—and so many opportunities for opinion to sway the outcome of our careers. Having another writer to lean on, whine to, etc., is too precious to explain.”

Mary Jo apparently agrees. “Writers as a group tend to be really smart, interesting people, always a good foundation for friendship. My writer friends have not only been a godsend in bad times, but are a continuous, day in and day out, source of one of life’s great pleasures—the sense of connection . . . I tend to think of friendships as rather like the layers of an onion. The small number of friends on the inner layers are the ones I can tell my darkest secrets and failures to, and trust that they will be as discreet and sympathetic as required. There are other layers of friendship, where there might not be as much contact, but there is still a warm relationship. And there are people I might only see once every couple of years at a conference, but we can still sit down and have a great conversation, and care about each other’s lives.”

As Ruth Schmidt puts it, “most writers open themselves up in the rawest way to fellow writers. It’s a huge chunk of who we are as people—the need to communicate our own version of the human experience, the drive to write about it one way or another, the hope and dream of having that work received with accolades, or at least with understanding and recognition of the efforts that went into it. No matter how commercial it may be, how good or mediocre it may be, most of our work comes from our gut.

“To this end, writer friendships can be a curse and blessing. In my own experience, I began some years back with a critique group that became a ragged-edged support group and sifted down, like panning for gold, to the nugget friendships that remain as gold nuggets. A few of these bonds formed at that time are my most treasured friends today. And I wouldn’t trade those first years of critique experience with that whole group of writers, ten of them, for all the tea in China. But not all of it, or them, were pure gold. Some, both the critiques and friendships, turned out to be fools gold and went the way of the slag heap.”

Ruth wasn’t the only one to bring up failed friendships. Despite a great deal of talk about the “sisterhood” (or “peoplehood,” if we’re being socially correct here) of writers, the fact is, we’re often in competition with each other. There are only so many slots and many more writers than that vying for those slots. We need each other at the same time we must compete in order to remain in the career that has chosen us.

For one published writer, that reality hit at a personally vulnerable time in her life. She admits she’s always had difficulty with friendships, but since publishing regularly, she gained the courage to present herself to other writers as a writer. For a while her critique group saved her life while she was going through an emotionally draining crises.

“Recently, however,” she wrote, “I’ve been discovering the down side. There’s jealousy as one has success and another, equally deserving, writing just as well (because in many respects we’re the same writer after so many critique sessions) doesn’t. Personal styles begin to grate.” She admitted that the complexity of friendships, especially if they no longer work, “can be very exhausting, much more so than relationships outside the business.” She still turns to writers for kindred souls capable of rejoicing and commiserating over the same things. However, “—just because the person is a writer doesn’t mean there’s not going to be dreadful emotion baggage to slog through. And having always had my nose in a book, I don’t have the best skills at handling these things.”

In an attempt to learn more about relationships defined by the dual aspects of support and competition, personal while at the same time professional, I lugged home the aforementioned texts. Within them were a few gems such as what I found in Lillian B. Rubin’s Just Friends, The Role of Friendship in our Lives. Ms. Rubin’s observation that friends accept each other as long as they both remain essentially the same or change in similar directions helped bring things into focus. She warns her readers that if people change or grow in different or incompatible ways, the friendship most likely will be lost. Being human, we don’t all see the change at the same time or in the same way. Sometimes the break is unilateral, but often one member decides there isn’t enough common ground left to sustain the relationship while the other doesn’t understand what happened.

In Women And Friendship, Dr. Joel D. Block and Diane Greenberg make the observation that women are more likely than men to confuse the line between business and friendship, or have problems separating their feelings from their intellect. They warn that, “ . . . the intimacy that women friends often share, is born of intense caring, enormous expectations, but also disappointment, conflict, and contempt . . . a woman who is extremely close to her friend will risk being totally herself with her; this means she will show her weaknesses and irritating qualities as well as her strengths and likeable traits. The friend is expected to accept both the negative and the positive side of the individual.”

Add to that the fact that writers are trying to succeed in the same competitive career, and it’s no wonder that friendships are put to the test. Block and Greenberg point out that when women climb to a high-level professional position (i.e. publishing success) instead of having their successes applauded, they may be ostracized and penalized. “It is one of the ironies of our times that women of accomplishment, pioneers who need supportive friendship, experience a good deal of rejection from other women . . . If one friend leaps ahead while another gets stuck in the status quo, the less fortunate friend may feel threatened and jealous.”

Much of what we do is in the form of networking. Mary Scott Welch, author of Networking: The Great New Way For Women To Get Ahead, supports networking for its professional usefulness to women while admitting that its main purpose goes against the feminine consciousness. “Networks are set up so that women can use each other,” she concludes, and goes on to caution women to see networking as a business rather than friendship function.

To that I respond, “Hmm.” I belong to a couple of links whose membership is limited to writers who have all sold to a specific publisher and in classic networking fashion, the links’ specific purpose was to share and disseminate information about our mutual “employer.” Both links, however, have quickly and naturally it appears, evolved into support systems. While working on this article, a member of one of those links received a devastating rejection from a line’s senior editor who’d concluded that the writer was incapable of writing anything acceptable for that publisher again. As soon as she’d posted, she was “surrounded” by fellow writers all offering, not just sympathy, but a kick in the seat, a reminder that there are other fish to fry, plus the addendum that we’ve all seen, experienced, and survived rejection. That was hardly a business reaction or function.

In conclusion, I believe psychologists and psychiatrists would benefit by looking at the unique community of writers before expounding on the nature of relationships. Ours is neither purely a business or personal society but a blend of both made even more complex because we work isolated from our employers and co-workers, and because our work evolves from our imaginations and emotions. We may be in competition with each other, but we’re hardly trying to fill sales quotas; we’re peddling our hearts and souls. As a result, we need the support of the only other people in the world who share that unique experience.