We are in our second day of writing retreat and we think we deserve great thumps of “good job, girls” on our backs. Because we have written, yes, and also because between the two of us, we’ve only bought one pound of fudge and two bottles of wine. No clothes. No sweatshirts proclaiming our whereabouts. We’ve eaten well—we always eat well—talked about everything from character development to eye shadow colors (neutrals work—who knew?), and slept well on the beds in the boutique hotel where we ended up staying.
I am homesick, of course. It happens every time. Nan rolls her eyes when I admit it, but then she calls Jim, so what does she know?
Strictly from a writing point of view, I can’t say enough about the value of a writing retreat. While it’s true it’s fun to spend good-friend time, having someone talk you off the ledge when you absolutely know the book you’re writing is
a piece of crap less than stellar is priceless.
We’ve discovered over the years that we are absolutely splendid at naming each other’s characters, that she can beat me at Farkle, and that we share an affinity for fuzzy socks. We have a good time and the annual or biennial getaway days serve to deepen the friendship.
It’s a time for dialing down whatever has us being stressed and dialing up things that make us laugh. While a writing retreat is a valuable tool for getting work done, it’s even more important in its curative treatment of mental health issues.
Good to talk to everyone. Hope you’re having a great week.
Liz, feeling mentally healthy as all get out. 😊