Writing retreats

This afternoon I'm packing for a writing retreat. Headed up to Whidbey Island to one of my favorite places on earth for 9 days of writing and community with 5 other writers. I do this at least twice a year and sometimes more. I find I write best with others around me on task, and the energy of creativity and risk that builds up over time is really delicious.

I had thought I might get some time this last week to finish the first draft of the novel I'm currently working on. But there turned out to be plenty of paid work and social events and Christmas projects to complete (including a wonderful large collage for my sister) so I didn't get any real time to think about the story. And in a way, that's fine. I'll have several known chapters to embark on right away and lots of thinking and planning to do to complete the draft so I won't feel at loose ends around the project.

The other writers going along are deep in their own projects. They've been to the retreat center before and are eager to go. We have one potter going along this time. She's writing a grant and hopes to complete it in the intensity of our cauldron. I think she will.


And I've been to this retreat center to write once or twice a year for the last 8 years, so much so that my creative self shows up right away and the Muse comes calling before much time has past.

I'll keep you posted as to my progress. Merry Christmas.

Treadmill: This writer's tool

Friday I spent writing two of the remaining chapters. I've got a couple more to write before the big final showdown and I more or less know what needs to get accomplished, if not exactly what is going to happen. But although I know how the killer gets there, I'm still trying to sort out his motives and connections with the dead bodies strewn across the country.

So there I was yesterday, walking along, listening to Savage Garden and trying to decide whether to do five more minutes of speed or five more minutes of incline, when a whole bunch of information just dropped into my mind, like a branchload of snow that gets too heavy and showers you with cold, wet knowledge.

It was a bit like walking past the card table that holds the jigsaw puzzle and suddenly clear as day, you see the piece you've been searching for, the one you were sure was lost because you'd looked everywhere.

I still have a few more things to resolve and I don't think that will happen until next week as I won't probably get much writing time between now and Christmas but I'm so excited to know the killer finally. Clearly, exercise is good for the imagination as well as the body!

Circling the end

I spent today writing two chapters on the novel. One was started a few weeks ago and I was glad to finish it. The other was more difficult as I knew what had to happen in it for the plot and the characters' development but I didn't know what the content was. I had to uncover the rest of Al's past with his dead wife, and I couldn't get the muse to show up easily.

Often I write quickly, the ideas flowing. Today it was fits and starts. And some of it meant sitting at the keyboard, staring at the screen, and just waiting. A couple of times I told myself to put down something, anything, and I could change it later. And I felt okay with that. But another part of me said to wait, just be patient, and an idea would come. And it did.

In the end, the chapter didn't turn out as I thought it might. It wasn't in real time, there wasn't a detailed sex scene, and I struggled to keep Ellie's point of view. So it wasn't the smooth sailing that I might have hoped for. But the story that came to me was so intriguing and gives me some good leads for earlier bits of the story that I'm really pleased.

I've got about 5 more chapters to write in this first draft. I'm very excited.

Writing on the treadmill

When the November beach writing retreat was over, I knew I was coming to the end of my book. I have maybe 4, 5, or 6 chapters left to write. The killer is on the move, the detective is on the move, the victim is lulled into feeling safe. But I still felt uncertain about what would happen, what the final events would look like and, believe it or not, who is actually the killer. I know something about the killer. I know he's male and younger than the main characters but who he is and how it fits into the picture has remained a mystery even to me, the all-knowing author.

I haven't been concerned about any of this not knowing. My characters in tandem with my imagination have been guiding me all year in the creation of this novel and I have no doubt that they will do so up until the end and even into the revisions. I just have to wait and be open.

Last Wednesday on the treadmill, I was listening to a random mix of music, from Nickelback to the Carpenters, from Marc Cohn to Rick Astley, and suddenly, at about 15 minutes in, I could see the showdown scene in my mind. I hadn't been thinking directly about the book; I hadn't tried to figure anything out or ask myself any questions. It just showed up.

I'm not much closer to knowing who the killer is but I know how he'll get there and what he'll do when he does. That's a major breakthrough. Looking forward to the next writing Friday and getting some of this on paper.

Filling the creative well

Today I was able to fulfill one of the items on my bucket list, that list of things you've always wanted to do. I spent about 4-1/2 hours at the Chicago Institute of Art. The Institute's Impressionist collection is legendary and it was more impressive than I imagined.

I've been an Impressionist/post-Impressionist fan since college days and art history courses and my first time in Paris in 1967. I've since developed a strong liking for all kinds of other painting but to see Renoirs and Monets that I didn't know existed, to see an Odilon Redon still life, to see some beautiful early Vuillards was such a treat. I found myself weeping from the beauty of their work.

It also really inspired to reconsider my relationship to my own painting, which has been on hold for most of a year as I've written more and more. I looked at their wonderful use of color, of combinations, of interpretations of what they saw around them and felt a deep yearning to playing with all that again.

I'm also a firm believer in the cross-pollination of the arts, that writers should spend time with visual art, that fabric artists should spend time with sculpture, etc., that it all feeds and fills the creative well. Our imaginations need priming from time to time, and to be absolutely sated with gorgeous images today was just fabulous.

There's much more to explore here in Chicago and I won't get much of a chance. We are going to the theater tomorrow night but while my sisters explore more of the art and culture here tomorrow, I'll be attending the conference that has brought me here. I've no regrets. I love speaking to recovering women; just wish I could be in two places at one time.

Looking forward to the plane ride home, some time to be alone and digest the experience. I feel so fortunate today.

Taking risks

“If you spend your days avoiding failure by doing nothing much worth criticizing, you’ll never have a shot at success.” –Seth Godin


One way we risk is by putting our work out into the world. Another is to write when we have to say without worrying about its acceptance. Yes, you could write a book in which Goldilocks meets 3 vampires and maybe even sell it. But probably that’s not the story that lives in your heart to tell.

Maybe you want to write about growing up in suburban Dallas in the 1950s but childhood memoirs have gone out of fashion. So what? Write your stories. Maybe as a memoir it’s not sellable but as a novel or collection of short stories it is. Maybe you want to write about the use of runes in everyday decision-making and you know that the audience for that is pretty small. So what? Write that book anyway.

In a personal transformation program I was involved in some years ago, the facilitators regularly asked us if we were playing small, below our capacity. They wanted to know if we were being run by fear. I think Godin’s quote addresses this nicely. We can write so as not to fail or we can risk and write what is ours to write.

The number of well-known writers who were rejected for years is legendary. They kept at it and they wrote what they needed to. Great role models for us all!

Step away from the manuscript!

One of the best things you can do for a completed draft, whether it’s the first or the eighth, is to step away, way away. When we’re involved in a big project, the ideas or story lives in our head and we go on working it subconsciously even while we’re at our day job or taking a shower or doing the laundry. We mull it over and make changes and additions and we get so close to it, that we can’t see it anymore.


That’s when a vacation is due. Maybe that’s a literal vacation where you travel and see new things and make notes for a new piece of writing. Maybe it’s a sabbatical and you turn your attention to cleaning out gutters and organizing the garage or the basement. Maybe you take a class in a related or completely different writing technique or other art medium to fill the creative well. Maybe you read in a different genre, getting a feel for epic poetry or Russian fantasy novels in translation, anything but murder mysteries, since that’s what you’ve been working on.

While a hiatus of a few days is good, a hiatus of several months is even better. You’ll step back into the novel with a more critical eye, with an ability to discern solutions to the bigger issues, and a way to resolve the sticky issues that have been plaguing you. And if you’ve started a new writing project, so much the better. Working on two pieces at once can give you all kinds of great ideas and keep you from getting stale on one.