As a child I remember playing "Musical Chairs."  The music began and everyone marched around a grouping of chairs.Only there was not a chair for every child.  When the music stopped, one child was left standing.  Out.  No seating for her.  One more chair was removed, and the whole process began again.  Eventually there would be only one chair and one child--the crowned winner and lone survivor. 

Sometimes I feel like this is the mindset amongst writers.  It can feel like we're all vying for a chair, knowing there is not room for everyone in the maniacal musical chair competition.  We can feel threatened by other writers, because they might get a coveted spot, and then we won't have a place to sit.

I was reminded of this metaphor over the weekend.  I attended an artist's conference.  And it was a Christian conference, no less. The first night felt a bit awkward--a roomful of introverts attempting to ward off the silences with dreaded and inane small talk.  I felt relieved when the speaker began her lecture.  Near the end of the evening, I timidly approached another writer desiring to make some connection.  I perceived she did not want to speak to me. She did not make eye contact and seemed irritated that I asked for her website address. I felt surprised and hurt, honestly.  I felt confused that she didn't seem interested in meeting another author.  It was as if she thought I might snatch her chair.

I almost didn't go to the second half of the conference.  The atmosphere felt so uninviting the night before, I wondered if the next day would be the same.  I went, though.  Actually, I decided to go, because the best part of the previous evening occurred when a kind man named Joe prayed for me--that I would have discernment and wisdom and understanding about what to write--that I wouldn't give up.

That next day, it seemed as if the environment had flipped to something entirely positive.  I sat with a group of brilliant, kind and joyful women.  We played a different game.  There was a chair for all of us.  We were not shoving each other and pushing for a seat amidst the chairs.  We expressed feelings of joy in pursuing our calling; we commiserated regarding the rough patches of perservering with artistic pursuits in this ragged and challenging culture.  We prayed for each other.  

The ache for acceptance is strong.  I feel it.  I felt it when I wanted the author to look at me and share her work.  I am not spotless.  I have done my share of exclusion when disdaining authors who write romance or artists who perform country music.  It is a horrible attitude.  And I won't do it anymore.  None of us must do it.  Each artist belongs and deserves a chair.  The result will not be merely a lone winner left holding her crown, but rather a whole host of winners cheering each other on to artistic victory.