Writing Retreat vs. Real Life
Last week I was away at the annual writing retreat that my critique group holds. We rent a cabin on a lake (called a “cottage” in these parts), bring our laptops, take turns cooking, and sit around typing in companionable silence all day, with breaks for long walks and swims (well, not this year, too cold) and talking about craft and publishing. It’s also my Internet and news detox week for the year. I’ll read books, but that’s all. It’s always wonderful. (I wrote a first draft of a longish short story that you’ll get to see early next year, fiddled around with an edit of a different story, started brainstorming some new stuff, and even wrote some poetry.) My absolute favourite place to write is on the deck surrounded by forest, or down on the dock, or somewhere on the wooded slope in between. This year was mostly too chilly for that. But on several of the days it was crisp-not-cold, nice enough for long walks through the changing leaves. It’s like magic. The mental and physical clutter of daily life is gone. Normally I have wrist issues and confidence issues. Somehow, on retreat, the one gets managed* and the other just…vanishes. *Okay, it’s not a mystery. I managed by being very careful. I took lots of breaks, switched between my laptop keyboard and my external keyboard, did lots of stretches including solid 15-minute sessions of yoga each day, and also switched to Dragon dictation software at the first…