I moved to Pittsburgh about 30 years ago. I was a young mother, married with three children, who loved to read and was hungry for adult conversation. I got together with some acquaintances who shared my interests, and we formed a book club. Six women came to the first meeting. We read and discussed Joan Didion's "Play It as It Lays," and had a great time. We decided we could manage a night out every six weeks -- squawks from children and husband be damned. At first, we had few rules. We decided more or less to follow Didion's line of thought and let the group evolve, nudging it into order when unruly members got in the way of progress. Our plan was simple. It was to be women only. The one suggestion of a couples group was quickly out-voted. We would meet in the evening at each others homes, and our husbands could function as babysitters. Our families quickly learned that dinner on Book Club Night would be a hurried affair, whether the meeting was at our house or elsewhere. Mom would be unavailable after 7:45 p.m. Children were to be bathed and ready for bed; husbands were to deliver bedtime stories, juice and goodnight kisses. Rules were understood: Arrive on time -- 8 p.m.; engage in idle chit-chat for 15 minutes; talk about the book and its author for an hour or so; break for refreshments; gossip; pick the book, date, and place for the next meeting; and leave. We picked books to read by bringing in lists of paperbacks from the newspaper, the New York Times Book Review and references from friends. We said we were willing to read anything, but as the years went by, we discovered all we read was fiction: a good story being the main ingredient in our selection. There was surprisingly little conflict among the group. Book clubs weren't yet a hot item, and we were happy when someone brought along a new member. Sometimes this lackadaisical system created conflict. One newbie never read the book and amused herself by steering the conversation away from the written page onto the rumor mill of whose husband was sleeping around. Another referral came to the meeting stoned and tried to convince us that this was the way to enjoy literature. A few people left of their own accord, mostly deciding we were too undisciplined. For example, our RSVP pattern was "regrets only" and you never really knew exactly how many members would show up at your door. One person quit after a rainy evening when she'd baked a cake and brownies to serve 14 and only four people showed. Somehow, we've managed to stay together all these years. Our membership has aged and now the chit-chat centers around grandchildren rather than children. Husbands still know a home-cooked meal isn't in the making on Book Club Night, but by now, most of them already know how to fend for themselves in the kitchen. We've tightened up the rules a bit. We remind each other by e-mail of the meetings and expect an RSVP from everyone -- yea or nay. Instead of poring through lists, one person is assigned to bring three or four books to each meeting, and we vote for the next selection. We're still reading paperback fiction, but the Internet has broadened our horizons and the biographies of the authors and reviews of the books have gotten longer and more interesting. Our only problem now is that we've become trendy, and people actually have to be turned away from our door, simply because there's not room enough for all the readers who want to join. We're hoping to keep the group going as long as the youngest of us can still read. Maybe our daughters will be inspired and ask for advice and suggestions on how to start their own clubs. Now that would certainly be something to read about. To submit articles for First Person, Singular, send an e-mail to focus@tribweb.com or mail to: Susan Jones, Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, D.L. Clark Building, 503 Martindale St., Pittsburgh, PA 15212.

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