Writing
A Late Fall Writing Retreat
An inspiring trip, maybe.
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…