Dodo Au Go-Go

It's the last week of August 2015. Which also means it's the last week of winter 2015. In Australia, that is. There have been hints - little breaths and soft whispers - that spring has been stirring, stretching its arms, and beguiling winter out if its customary grumpy cold. Magic undercurrents of watermelon freshness have been dancing through the air, and now, the signs of spring are

I read something years ago about Anais Nin being part of a community of writers (including Henry Miller) who were getting paid  $1 a page to write, shall we say, 'explicit' stories for an anonymous, wealthy collector. You can find out more about the story itself easily enough, but the thing that really struck me and stayed with me, was that Nin was part of a group of writers who hung out together, worked in a collective and were trying to make a living through writing, creating.  How, I always wondered, did these writers all find each other? I mean, I assume that they were all hanging out at the same cafés or salons  or gatherings all the time, but still... How did they go from crossing paths to having and sharing a writing community and culture?