I Did This

It's been a while since my last post. I simply haven't had the time or the energy to write. I don't need to get into the particulars of running a school on short staff and trudging through testing season, so let's just say I haven't had the time or the energy. What I did find time to do in the past month, is coordinate a writing retreat for several of my writing buddies and me. It's something I have thought about often over long periods of time. A sort of mini vacation in a relaxing locale that would give me environmental respite and communal inspiration. I just wasn't sure anyone would be on board to join me. I wasn't interested in becoming a major event planner or a collector of funds. I would set the course, make the plan, and it would be up to others to come or not to come.

After a few discussions with my writing group, it seemed there would be some interest. We sorted through some recommendations and I started by booking myself a room at Lover's Key Resort. A quiet resort by the beach with enough room to write, a pool, a restaurant, and a room with a fantastic view. Sounds like a perfect recipe doesn't it?

I have to admit, as plans solidified and the virtual invites went out I was disappointed at the lack of response. So many of my teaching and writing friends have talked over the years about how much they would love the opportunity to come together and have devoted time for writing like this. But little by little, I started to let go. This was supposed to be about people who wanted to come together and write, not people who were dragged or guilted into coming. It wasn't about projecting my wants or needs onto other people. It was simply a time to write. A writing retreat.

This morning we started out as a group of 5. Two of my regular writing groupmates and me, along with my sister-in-law a (closet) budding writer and her NWP-ISI classmate who both came out for the day. We were later joined by two others who have come in and out of the group for some participation. I did more writing this morning than I have done all month and I am enjoying it and not feeling burdened by it, which was the whole purpose of the retreat.

We did some slightly structured writing exercises out by the pool this morning, setting our intentions and getting the writing juices flowing. We wrote journal entries and short pieces of poetry and fiction. Then we ate lunch at the poolside restaurant. After we were stuffed, we wrote some more, playing around with inspiration from some of our favorite authors. Then we checked into our rooms and met in one for some exploration of what it means to be a "wild woman," with the help of Judy Reeves' book Wild Women, Wild Voices. It's been a great day so far!

As we broke apart for a little solitary down time, some for writing, others for naps or maybe the pool, I came out to my 10th floor balcony to gaze out at the beautiful view and reflect.


And I thought, I did this. It wasn't huge, it wasn't this big event, but we're here and we're writing. And I couldn't help but think, I was the catalyst. We wrote today about what our wild woman qualities are, what the word wild even means to us. There was conversation around the connotation of the word to mean crazy. In our own words, wild was everything from natural and nature appreciating to risk-taking and brave, sensitive and unrelenting, smart and achieving.
For me, this communal writing retreat embodies everything I want to be when I think of being wild. I want it to be okay for me to want to take time for myself. I want to be gutsy enough to encourage my friends around me to do the same. I want to write. I want to write. I want to write. My friend Helen mentioned this awesome notion she read in Amy Pohler's new book. She said, in so many words, we have to treat our creativity better. We have to nurture it and feed it, because it's always here, always a part of us. Contrary to our jobs which can come and go, and our careers that "shit all over us."

This retreat has been affirmation for me. I'm on a journey. Not in the concrete sense that I'm trying to get somewhere, but in the abstract sense of exploring my wild voice. To each of you on this journey with me, I thank you for holding my hand. This one's for you: