In 'Working' [0], Robert Caro spends pages on how much being able to join a community of writers meant to him when producing 'The Power Broker.' The New York Public Library set aside a room as a workspace explicitly to house writers working on books.
A passage from 'Working':
And these writers provided more for me than merely the glow of their names. In my memory, no one spoke to me for the first few days I was in the room. Then one day, I looked up and James Flexner was standing over me. The expression on his face was friendly, but after he had asked what I was writing about, the next question was the question I had come to dread: “How long have you been working on it?” This time, however, when I replied, “Five years,” the response was not an incredulous stare. “Oh,” Jim Flexner said, “that’s not so long. I’ve been working on my Washington for nine years.” I could have jumped up and kissed him, whiskers and all—as, the next day, I could have jumped up and kissed Joe Lash, big beard and all, when he asked me the same question, and, after hearing my answer, said in his quiet way, “Eleanor and Franklin took me seven years.” In a couple of sentences, these two men—idols of mine—had wiped away five years of doubt.
[0] Caro, Robert A.. Working (p. 76). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
I'm curious how spaces like this are run. Who identifies the need, finds budget or space, then operates. Is it invite only or kind of underground word of mouth?
I know more about how this works in the arts, where the relevant term is "residency". Access to exclusive residencies is usually allocated on the basis of previous career success, and they are usually funded by endowments of some kind. It's an example of institutional support for artists, and the top residencies are extremely elitist. There are lots of humble ones too, though.
My local group is open to the public and doesn't require previous publications or any fees.
It also means it attracts a lot of less serious writers. People who are more into the fantasy of writing than the actual doing of it (or at least the putting it out there in the world, which admittedly I'm somewhat guilty of myself, I only have a few short stories out there).
Basically it's headed by one stubbornly persistent guy in the area, who puts a lot of time into it, for free. He works with local libraries and municipalities to secure meeting spaces, sets up meetings, comes up with activities, etc. We tend to get an influx of new members every Nanowrimo, which he hosts the local chapter and then invites people to join the year round group (how he got me).
It has decent attendance, and can get up to 40 people at a meeting at times. The Nanowrimo-specific group is pretty strong and usually has 100+ people participating each year.
But yeah, I'm pretty sure without him at the helm, everything would have drifted off a long time ago and the group wouldn't still be there. If he ever decided to move on, I don't think the group would last more than 6 months to a year.
Libraries are a bastion of socialists. And the words librarian and libertarian are almost homophones. However the totalitarian are literally taking over.
A passage from 'Working':
And these writers provided more for me than merely the glow of their names. In my memory, no one spoke to me for the first few days I was in the room. Then one day, I looked up and James Flexner was standing over me. The expression on his face was friendly, but after he had asked what I was writing about, the next question was the question I had come to dread: “How long have you been working on it?” This time, however, when I replied, “Five years,” the response was not an incredulous stare. “Oh,” Jim Flexner said, “that’s not so long. I’ve been working on my Washington for nine years.” I could have jumped up and kissed him, whiskers and all—as, the next day, I could have jumped up and kissed Joe Lash, big beard and all, when he asked me the same question, and, after hearing my answer, said in his quiet way, “Eleanor and Franklin took me seven years.” In a couple of sentences, these two men—idols of mine—had wiped away five years of doubt.
[0] Caro, Robert A.. Working (p. 76). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.