It is my great pleasure to introduce Diana Sigler, one of the longest-standing and most cherished members of the SaddleBrooke Writers Group. Over 27 years as a member of this group, Diana has been a cornerstone of support and inspiration, witnessing the evolution of the group while contributing to its success. Her early short stories earned her recognition in magazines, but her recent venture into poetry led to the publication of “Snippets”, a collection of her free verse poetry, a new form she embraced with the encouragement of the group. Diana’s dedication to her craft, coupled with her leadership role in organizing successful events like the Coffeehouse production, highlights her deep commitment to both writing and community. Through the ups and downs of group dynamics, including debates over critiquing practices, Diana has remained a steadfast advocate for creativity and collaboration. Today, as she works on her second book, Diana’s journey continues to inspire all who are lucky enough to share the writing path with her.
Diana’s StoryThe SaddleBrooke Writers Group has been an integral part of my life for many years, offering both inspiration and camaraderie. My love of writing began in second grade with a simple story on blue-lined paper about the Easter Bunny and the Sandman. In my tale, the Easter Bunny, unable to deliver all the eggs on time, enlisted the Sandman to keep the children asleep until the baskets and eggs were perfectly placed. This early spark ignited a lifelong passion for storytelling. Throughout the years, I wrote many short stories, with a dozen or so published in magazines that once featured short fiction.
Before moving to SaddleBrooke, I was a member of a writers’ group in California, similar to the one I found here. We would share our memoirs, fiction and poetry, offering each other constructive feedback. Many of my fellow writers published books, and their success inspired me to keep pushing forward. When I moved to SaddleBrooke 27 years ago, the Writers Group was the first organization I sought out. At that time, there were only six regular members. We were a small but committed group, with one man participating regularly and adding his voice to the mix.
Over the years, the group has grown and evolved. We’ve faced various challenges, from changes in leadership to debates about the role of critiques in our meetings. Some members prefer in-depth analysis, while others are content with general support. However, one thing has remained consistent: our mutual respect for each other’s work. The five-minute time limit for readings, established at the start, has become a cherished tradition, encouraging us to be concise and adaptable. Writers working on longer pieces have learned to divide their work into manageable sections or shorter chapters to fit the format.
In recent years, under the leadership of Patricia Fremont, John Smith and Mary Richling, our group has become more organized and structured. We’ve created detailed minutes of each meeting, capturing a brief overview of each writer’s work. A photo album documenting our workshops, potlucks and events continues to expand, celebrating our shared journey as writers. We’ve also become more confident in using a microphone for public readings, a valuable skill that has enhanced our delivery and performance.
Over time, I shifted from writing short stories to poetry, drawn to the freedom of free verse. The five-minute reading limit, which initially felt restrictive for fiction, actually encouraged me to experiment with a new form. I wouldn’t have taken this leap without the support of my fellow writers. Two years ago, I published Snippets, a collection of my poetry. Though I didn’t publish it for commercial reasons, sharing it with family and friends has been incredibly rewarding. The sense of accountability within the group has been a powerful motivator, helping me stay productive and focused.
Most recently, I took on the challenge of organizing the 2023 Coffeehouse production. It was an ambitious undertaking, but everyone in the group contributed their work on time and worked hard to perfect their performances. The result was a resounding success, with many compliments on our delivery, pacing, and the quality of our reading. It was a testament to the strength and unity of the group.
Our meetings continue to be a source of creativity and encouragement. With around 15 to 20 members attending regularly, the group remains a vibrant mix of fiction writers, poets and memoirists. The feedback we give one another continues to help us refine our work and improve as writers. As I look ahead, I’m excited about the prospect of publishing my second book in the coming year, knowing that I have the unwavering support of this incredible group behind me.
For SaddleBrooke residents interested in joining the Writers Group, contact John Smith at (520) 818-1332 or email fresmith572@gmail.com. We meet on the first and third Saturdays of each month from 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. in the Catalina Room at 38735 S. Mountain View Boulevard.
ECLIPSEDiana Sigler
Sunlight plays through the corn stalks…
breezes set the varied green leaves whispering.
A day much like any other on a dirt lane
leading to a farmhouse in Nebraska.
Lifetimes had waited for this day, but one is gone.
He had longed to see a total eclipse of the sun.
Perhaps he is here, she thinks.
Energy, right?
It’s all energy.
The sun, the earth, me, you, him…
The invisible waves we cannot see.
The sounds we cannot hear.
The spirits we only sometimes sense.
She had flown two thousand miles,
driven two hundred more,
to see the shadow of the moon blot out the sun
for two minutes.
With her daughter she had risen at four.
The car surged through the morning dark…
slammed by slashing rain;
the skies splintered with fierce lightning,
pounded by thunderous responses.
They had outrun the storm and
now she gazes about the rolling farmland.
It becomes strangely surreal as the sunlight slowly dims.
Then, more quickly, the light changes,
not fading…but darkening, deepening to twilight.
A deep hush settles, slowing time.
With curiosity and awe she scans the scene,
then looks up and gasps.
In the cobalt blue sky is a circle so black no light escapes
except the shimmering silver rays dancing round it.
A lone, bright star floats nearby.
She stands transfixed, barely breathing.
A draft of cool air gently whirls around her and is gone.
Time stops.
Too soon a diamond bright spear of light pierces the sky.
It’s over.
“More,” she says to no one.
“I want more.”
The daughter,
ambivalent about things of spirit, whispers,
“That was awesome, almost spiritual.”
“I wonder if Dad was here.”
Yes.
