Writing

A Late Fall Writing Retreat

An inspiring trip, maybe.

Ginger Cook
3 min readNov 29, 2022

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When your husband is 7'9 but you only brought his workshirt to the cabin for pajamas. Photo by Olga Nayda on Unsplash

Do you want to guess how many half-written books I have lying in a wasteland somewhere? Probably hundreds. Simply tossed away, along with my old desktop computers from ages sixteen to thirty-eight.

Stories, perhaps best sellers, (right?!) were lost to the world of rubbish because I lacked the confidence to work harder on them. So, I tossed my junky computers, and sadly also ditched my words.

I’ve been working on writing a book again. This time I’m absolutely determined. I’m a writer. It’s what I’m meant to do. But at home, once I make it to four sentences — a dog barks, a kid texts, or I accidentally stumble upon an online sale.

Then my husband said these four sweet words to me:

Get the fuck out.

And he sent me far, far away to take a writing class for three days. No kids, no dogs, no appointments, no cooking. He’s a saint, by the way.

I’ve just settled in, and I’m in the most delightful spot with beautiful rolling hills and scenery. It’s a damn Hallmark movie setting, and precisely what I need to write with no interruptions.

I never go anywhere alone, because I’m the biggest wimp. How will I buy wine for myself or order…

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Ginger Cook
Ginger Cook

Written by Ginger Cook

Severely depressed. Anxious about everything. Sound familiar?