Writers should support other writers. Too often, we perceive other writers as competition, but in reality and especially if you’re an Indie writer, other writers are a support system and a source for the myriad resources you need to publish and market your works.

And sometimes they’re simply “there” for you.

Last week, I was on my annual DIY writers retreat at Porches in Nelson County, Virginia, with my regular “tribe” of writers. (Read all about Porches HERE.) The four of us had the whole house to ourselves, and we celebrated everyone’s safe arrival with a bottle of Irish whiskey called Writer’s Tears, which turned out to be more than apt. However, since we killed the bottle, we decided we needed another and planned a Monday morning trip to an ABC store in Charlottesville, Virginia.

All went as planned. Good weather. Great company.

Now, the 19th century farmhouse that is Porches has been remodeled for 21st century use, but the owner wanted to leave some things authentic to the house’s time period.

Like the front steps leading to the first level porch.

Now, these are steps I’ve navigated dozens of times in the decade I’ve been going there, but last Monday morning when I made the last step to the porch, I felt a distinct “pop” on the outside of my left knee. I stopped, initially didn’t feel any pain, but when I put weight on my left leg to take a step to the front door, it felt as if some one had jabbed a pike from my heel to my hip.

Not good.

The other three managed to half-carry me into the house and to the kitchen, were I sat for several hours with my leg elevated and my knee iced.

For two days, I was practically immobile, but my writer friends interrupted their work to move my belongings into the first floor parlor, to fix my meals, to refill my water bottle, to spend time writing with me when the point of Porches is to retreat from humanity and write in reflective solitude.

Needless to say, I was embarrassed and hesitant to ask for help. I’ll give help whenever someone needs it, but I have a hard time taking it. It’s a dependence/independence thing, and I had to give over that independence and accept their help.

None of them had to do any of it. They could have said, “Oh, that’s too bad,” and gone back to their rooms, but they didn’t because writers support each other beyond writing.

By Wednesday, I could get around with the help of a walker the homeowner had and my walking stick from my car. By the time to leave came around, my writer friends packed my car for me because they didn’t want me walking on uneven ground and down a steep gravel driveway.

I was humbled, and I still haven’t found the words to thank them in an adequate manner. I may never find them, but I was moved by their support and their love.

A trip to my doctor upon my return showed no tears, only a little arthritis, but that’s to be expected for someone as ancient as I am. Plenty of Tylenol and some PT exercises for a couple of weeks and I should be fine. In the meantime, there’s my Gabel Classic walking stick. I do think, however, that if a walking aid becomes a permanent need, it really should be a shillelagh.

So, support your fellow writers. You never know when you might really need them.