What happens when you get together with your ‘twitter’ friends? The friends who engender strange reactions when you mention them—especially in your husband, who looks at you as though, perhaps, he married . . . um, a virtually bizarre wife.

“You know they’re not real, right?” he asks. Gently. But not so gently that I don’t get the point:

Neighbors, Rose and Alan next door: real.

Women’s group, Ginny, Diane, Susan: real.

Team Besties, Nichole & Kathy: Real.

Tweeps: Not real.

Well, today, I had lunch in a room full of avatars, through the Wednesday-held Saturday Salon literary tweet-up. Head became entire bodies! Women I’d only seen as author photos, Facebook profile pictures, or teeny little twitter heads, now walked, talked, ate, and drank coffee. It was like seeing the flattened Bugs Bunny reanimate like a pop-up sponge.

At lunch there was lots of laughing. Friends I’ve only tweeted and emailed with, I was now hugging. Comparing family war stories, laughing over publishing mishaps, making fun of ourselves, and feeling kinship we’d never feel with just-met acquaintances. We even talked about missing people who weren’t there (people we’d not yet met in-person—hello, Joe!)

It’s quite the amazing phenomenon, how one can gravitate to a ‘group’ of friends on Twitter and FB, not unlike grade school or camp. Today a FB friend (hello, Nancy!) bonded with my twenty-plus-year real (and now FB) friend (hello, Kris!)

Sadly, they were bonding over disagreeing with my status and me.

See, just like real life!

Forget the cold words ‘social media.’ We’re forming small towns in a whole new way. I have friends in Australia with whom I feel true connection (hello, Gary!)

Personally, I think the worlds getting closer and warmer. These are the good old days.

I don’t care how many writers shed tears for the good old days, before we were so connected, before life sped before our tapping fingers:

Web, thee do save me.

My sister and I may not have grown up rife with traditions (when Jill and I hung our socks on Christmas eve, the flat unfilled sight of them the next morning reminded us that Santa didn’t stop for little Jewish girls) but darn it, we had THE STUFFING handed down from Grandma Millie. If we were on death row, our last meal would be THE STUFFING.

You could tweak it (Jill uses garlic, I don’t) but you never messed with the main ingredients: Uneeda Biscuits and stale rolls. The stale rolls might change from year to year—we’re flexible. Recently I’ve discovered that Bertucci’s rolls are perfect and we make sure to stop by the restaurant where our take out order is, um, a bag of rolls.

But don’t mess with the Uneeda biscuits.

However, the last few years became scary. Each year it became more difficult to find the trademark cardboard boxes with the little boy in the raincoat. Year round, the entire family went on the lookout for these increasingly rare crackers. What was going on with Nabisco?

One year I was able to order them from Amazon. Then not. Finally, I discovered DeLuca’s Market on Beacon Hill stocked them (I think for the frail ladies in their nineties who shopped there and crumbled them in their Campbell soup.) For years, I’d drive down and clean them out, sometimes, when only 4 or 5 boxes remained, I’d shudder, knowing how close I’d come to an Uneeda-less year.

A week ago, when we were already dangerously close to Thanksgiving, my older daughter swore she’d seen them in a Market Basket. My husband and I raced over. We scoured the aisles. I called my daughter—oh, had she forgotten to mention the sighting had been months before?

We drove to DeLuca’s, thinking it an auger of success when we found a parking spot in front (a Beacon Hill miracle.)

Nothing.

The wonderful clerk went to the order form.

Nothing.

Nauseous with fear, I went home to, of course, Google Uneeda Biscuits. Where I learned, on Chowhound (my new best friend) that it was over. They were gone. Discontinued. Kaput.

But, oh Lordy, it turned out that Grandma Millie’s secret ingredient was known by others. OMG! We were not the only family in America using Uneeda Biscuits for stuffing. We were not the only family in America for whom Uneeda Biscuits were the cure for stomach aches.

We were not alone.

But wait; there’s more. The miracle of Thanksgiving unfolded on my screen. Others, secret byte-sized friends, had already attacked the problem: Goya Snack Crackers. They weren’t a clone or a complete match, but as my savior, Bicycle Chick wrote: they are quite similar in flavor.

She was correct.

Jill, we’re going to be all right.

Because when it comes to keeping tradition alive, sometimes you have to go online, where you have a Word Friend.

Happy Thanksgiving to friends of all dimensions.

Even as pundits bemoan the end of known society—painting pictures of computer-frozen zombies clicking away—I feel hope and see the growth of a newly close world.

Without (I hope!) losing my real-life friends, ones I see in the flesh on a regular basis, my circle of new friends, word friends, grows. Sometimes it seems as though I’ve finally gained those pen pals I always wanted growing up. (A phenomenon that seemed to happen in every childhood novel I read, but never once in the Brooklyn schools I attended.)

I’m not sure exactly how it began—friend-zero—but I can trace it to joining Backspace, an online group for writers. It was my first experience with having an online presence, though for a long time I simply lurked. Much like real-life, I was shy, the new kid, afraid to crash into a clique and have the popular kids mock me. Then I made my introduction (how many times can one agonize and re-write, “Hi! I’m new to Backspace and  . . .)

From there I went to Facebook, where I still thrill to finding old friends, people I might never have seen again if not for their posting their picture on the site. Then I joined Red Room Authors, where I started recognizing regular bloggers, enjoying keeping tabs of favorites. I am now the tiniest bit edged into Twitter, with barely a following, but enjoying being a follower.

There are other sites I occasionally dip into, but in main I stick to two or three sites—because on line, as in life, there is only so much socializing I can do.

Perhaps there is a sociologist who will tell me that I am in the midst of a group psychosis, as I start to feel I know these unknown people, but for one who works at home, alone at her desk, it’s as close to a water cooler as I may get.

With old friends, who’ve become word friends (because of miles or years between us) online may be as close as we get to reunion, but I’ve seen their pictures, heard about their children, and learned when they change jobs.

Through Backspace, I truly do feel like I’ve gained word friends—friends who I write, friends whose writing I enjoy, friends who’ve helped me in large and generous ways, through their words of sage advice.

Word friends.

I like having them.

For all those who moan about the many ways we are being changed by on line networking, Facebook, twittering, spacing, Googling, etc, I can only answer this:

Get over yourselves! Leave your mean-spirited gnawing on the bones of yesterday, and put a toe in the web water.

It wasn’t long ago that I frowned and shook my head as my daughter talked about ‘friending’ people. Then I joined Facebook where sure you can find old boyfriends, long lost cousins, and famous authors; but really, you find your very own friends, only now you can keep up with them. Daily!

Working at home makes one a bit of a hermit. A hermit in very ugly clothes who may have forgotten how to apply eyeliner. But with Facebook, I can keep up without getting in the car, ironing a shirt, using gas, or blow-drying my hair. I can check in at six am. I can instantly see Nicole’s newborn baby. I know my daughter is safe in California, because I saw her on Facebook.

Facebook is like a  “Yoo hoo!” out the window. It’s “Good Morning, Henriette” all the way to Greece. It’s seeing and hearing about Amy’s German book cover, Jenna’s motel view, Kathy’s view of the Bushes, and Charles’ political views.

It’s my coffee break (good article, Linda!) my morning stretch (oh, choose the Mac, John!) and a friend during my two-minute lunch break (she did what?)

Working alone, even a distant friend is better than none, right?

Yesterday I tweeted for the first time.

Time to come clean.

I am a former blog-snob (what did I care about what Mary Maple Avenue ate for breakfast,) who became a toe-in-the-water blog reader (so that’s how my character would feel after surgery,) turned greedy reader of smart blogs providing instant information (I need Splenda-based popsicle recipes and ways to get rid of mice, and I need it yesterday!)

I’ve come late, but now I’m on my knees, begging forgiveness for my skepticism born of ignorance. I’m in awe of people willing to write into the wilderness of empty web space (I even joined, zombie-like I followed the sound of clicking keyboards) without a clue that anyone but friends and sisters (Hi, Jill! Shout out to Ginny, Susan, and Diane!) would ever lay eyes on their words.

The best blogs are borne of generosity, and agent Nathan Bransford’s blog offers top of the line bounty for writer’s seeking advice, help, and definitions. Here you’ll find a map to find your way in the world of writing, editing, selling, and agent-seeking. It’s filled with inside scoop and grin-as-you-read teaching. This post on defining writing genres brought joy to this plot-loving writer:

“First off, I’d like to bust one of the myths about literary fiction — that it doesn’t have a plot. Sooooooooo much literary fiction I get in the old query inbox is plotless. It’s just a character musing about the vagaries and eccentricities of everyday existence. The prose is lush, the character detailed, but one problem — absolutely nothing is happening and thus it’s (forgive me) extremely boring. Good literary fiction has a plot. It starts in one place and ends in another. The characters face challenges and evolve. Even in quiet books like GILEAD (a seriously amazing book, btw), things happen. A literary novel might not end in a shootout or with the death of an albino, but there’s a plot there.”

If you love writing, agonize over making the written words sound good, nay great, then you’ll read his revision checklist. Need to format a manuscript, write a synopsis, craft a query letter—and do it correctly? Bransford’s micro-lessons break it down simply and quickly.

Showing very charitable this agent is, today’s entry provided a Writing Advice Database, so one can use his posts as a veritable online hand-holder.

Thanks, Nathan, from this writer and from The Council—her writer’s group, those ever-polite souls who put up with daily ‘read this!’ emails.

Mentoring is alive and well and coming from agent Nathan Bransford. The thing I love about his blog is this: it just plain reads as though he truly wants you to succeed. And who doesn’t want a little of that sugar in their life?

Bransford offers top of the line bounty for writer’s seeking advice, help, and definitions. Here you’ll find a map to find your way in the world of writing, editing, selling, and agent-seeking. It’s filled with inside scoop and grin-as-you-read teaching. This post on defining writing genres brought joy to this plot-loving writer:

“First off, I’d like to bust one of the myths about literary fiction — that it doesn’t have a plot. Sooooooooo much literary fiction I get in the old query inbox is plotless. It’s just a character musing about the vagaries and eccentricities of everyday existence. The prose is lush, the character detailed, but one problem — absolutely nothing is happening and thus it’s (forgive me) extremely boring. Good literary fiction has a plot. It starts in one place and ends in another. The characters face challenges and evolve. Even in quiet books like GILEAD (a seriously amazing book, btw), things happen. A literary novel might not end in a shootout or with the death of an albino, but there’s a plot there.”

If you love writing, agonize over making the written words sound good, nay great, then you’ll read his revision checklist. Need to format a manuscript, write a synopsis, craft a query letter—and do it correctly? Bransford’s micro-lessons break it down simply and quickly.

Showing very charitable this agent is, today’s entry provided a Writing Advice Database, so one can use his posts as a veritable online hand-holder.

Thanks, Nathan, from this writer and from The Council—her writer’s group, those ever-polite souls who put up with daily ‘read this!’ emails.

Mentoring is alive and well and coming from agent Nathan Bransford. The thing I love about his blog is this: it just plain reads as though he truly wants you to succeed. And who doesn’t want a little of that sugar in their life?