March 15, 2023
The writing retreat that kept me from posting my essay last week is in the rear-view mirror now, but my, what a good time we had!
I waved goodbye to husband and
daughter on Monday morning and drove a short forty minutes to the city that’s northwest
of us. My destination was the home of a dear friend, the woman who initiated
our online writing sprint group. She grabbed my two bags—a duffel bag that held
my clothes and a tote that held food, including two home made soups—before I
could even get out of my car. She put them in the back seat of her vehicle and
then we were off, destination the home of another member of our writing group—the
second of the three that live in that same city. There, we changed vehicles—and
drivers—and then went to get the fourth member of our writing group and traveling
party.
Shortly after one-thirty we
left familiar territory, bearing northwest, and within about two and a half
hours arrived at the venue for our mini writing retreat, an inn on the shores
of Lake Huron, Ontario, at just after four in the afternoon.
These three women are my “sprinting”
partners. We sprint together via video link two days a week. Then, later Monday
evening, and for the duration of our adventure, we were joined by one other
author, a woman who three of us had known for a long time, and one with
tremendous writing bona-fides: Kelley Armstrong.
We gathered together to write,
for that is what we are at the base of our beings. We are all of us writers
down to the bone. And we gathered together for personal reasons that will
remain personal and private, and in our way to cosset and hold dear, in honor
and support of one of us.
We are writers, and being
writers have formed a bond that is unique.
We write in different genres
and our novels are presented via different methods, but in so very many ways,
we are one. We are women who have chosen to spend our days in pursuit of crafting
stories. We reach into the ether and draw out the raw material that at first
only we can see; and that which we form with that raw material becomes our
sustenance. We write to connect, or to comfort, or to entertain. The why of it
is different for each of us. But together, we share a similar spirit. We
understand and connect with each other in ways that our nearest and dearest
simply cannot do.
We are writers. And while
writing by its very nature is a solitary pursuit, from time to time we need to
surround ourselves with other writers. In a deep and intrinsic way, other
writers are our people.
So we wrote each morning for
several hours—the solitary pursuit—then gathered for lunch and talk, to feed
our bodies and our need for each other. Then we’d return to our solitude for
another several hours. Then we’d gather, go out to supper, and then return and
again, talk all things writing, and life. It was a glorious time.
There’s a story that’s been
making the rounds for several years now, although I cannot attest that this
encounter really happened. But it’s a great way to explain the way writers are
perceived by others. The story goes that a famous Canadian author once encountered
a brain surgeon at a cocktail party. “You’re a writer?” the brain surgeon
asked. “Yes,” came the reply. The brain surgeon nodded. “Isn’t that interesting?
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. When I retire, and if I can find the time, then
I’m going be a writer, too.” “What a coincidence!” the author said. “Because I
plan, when I retire from writing, to be a brain surgeon.”
Writing is often not treated by
those who are not practitioners of the craft, as a “real” career. I would argue
that to be a writer, one needs to pursue as much learning and put in as much
work as would be required for any other skilled endeavor. Of course, there are a few basic personal
qualities that would also be helpful to possess—though not having them is not a
deal breaker. Insightfulness and the ability to discern people and motives, and
an understanding of nuances—these all would be assets to anyone aspiring to be
an author.
I’ve been known to say that
the qualities that allow me to tell stories of deep emotion are the same qualities
that can be a challenge to maintaining my own emotional equilibrium. To be
honest, these last few years have played absolute hell with my ability to focus,
to create…. to sink deeply into my work.
I’ve never grown that thick
skin everyone always told me I should have. So I’ve had a real struggle closing
out all the turmoil and angst that has been filling the empty spaces around us
all. The noise has been just too loud and too pervasive at times to be overcome.
But being with “my people”;
being for just those few short days in a different place, physically and
therefore a different place emotionally really helped. Being with those who
have also struggled, those who have also felt the miasma that others are
percolating in, that seems to permeate the very air around us all? Well, everything
that comprised this four-day adventure was the tonic I deeply needed. I liken
the experience to the sensation of throwing the doors and windows open wide at
the first sweet scent of spring.
I didn’t learn anything new, particularly.
But I was able to remind myself that ultimately, everything in life really is a
decision. And that, at the end of the day, I don’t really need any fancy trimmings
to get the job done.
I just need to fully embrace
the reality that getting the job done or not is a decision that I need to make
anew each and every day.
Love,
Morgan
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