As a teen, I spent many summers in the mountains at my grandmother’s home. It was just a village, not big enough to be a town. For generations, my mother’s family had farmed in these mountains, cutting out fields step-style from the soil.
Living there for the
summer seemed like camping to me, roughing it. No TV, no hot water, a
toilet/shower/sink in one room with a drain in the floor. No washer or drier –
laundry had to do be done by hand. No movie theater, no library, very few shops
and those weren’t meant for browsing. They only really carried the necessities.
It was more boring than
watching grass grow.
I didn’t know then that
it was the perfect writer’s retreat. I don’t mean a retreat where you and a
dozen other writers converge at a nice hotel where work hours for writing are 8
– 5 and meals can be had with or without company. Where perhaps in the
evenings, a little gathering is organized for networking or talking about
books. And there’s a TV right in your room, with dozens of channels. I mean a
retreat from TV, from people, from fancy food and distracting fun places to
visit.
I went on such a retreat
years later, as an adult. The place I stayed was in the country, on farmland,
and remote enough that even the nearest fast-food restaurant was 30 minutes
away by car. I know that’s not really far, but when I’m hungry and tired, and
it’s pitch black out in the country night, I would rather not venture out where
I don’t know the roads. For about $65 a night, I got a bedroom with a
comfortable full-sized bed, simple desk and chair, a box air conditioner, no TV
or phone, and a bathroom shared with other guests. If I wanted meals, I had to
buy groceries and cook, and wash up, too. If I didn’t bring it with me, I
wouldn’t have it, at least not conveniently. I was provided with free coffee,
though (writer fuel!), and the water from the artesian well was delicious and
ice cold, perfect for a hot summer.
Some people might wonder
why anyone would want to be all alone for days. Being alone is often used as
punishment for bad behavior: being sent to your room, being grounded, having to
stay inside the classroom at recess, being made to stand in a corner by
yourself. Or being alone meant that you had no friends. By deliberately
choosing a no-frills destination with no TV meant I couldn’t so much as watch
the news in the morning or evening, a routine I had kept up since my twenties,
in addition to knowing I would still have the chores of cooking and cleaning.
So why did I choose solitude?
I really, really just
wanted the world to shut up. I really, really just wanted to see what I could
write when I focused completely.
I was not disappointed.
Even with interruptions like meals and showers, I still wrote for at least 8
hours a day, every day. Some days it was from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. and some days it
was more like 11 a.m. to midnight. I slept when I was tired, and when I awoke,
I wrote or gazed out the skylight in meditation. I even had time to research
and catch up on my reading for fun. I explored the flower garden and rocked on
the front porch. I browsed the bookshelves that were in every common room, and
was charmed by hummingbirds at the feeder. But without any responsibilities,
errands or distractions, I could actually quiet my mind, and it was easier than
I expected. I created my story arc, developed my characters, thought quietly or
out loud, and spread out my index cards on the floor with no fear of their
being eaten by the dog or otherwise disturbed. I outlined almost an entire
novel in just three days.
After I returned home,
life got in the way. Finding focused time to continue writing was almost
impossible with young kids, a husband, dogs, and work. But I’d visit
my story, sometimes adding only a few sentences, I’d sit with my characters,
dream up another conflict or a different plot twist, and now I am carving out
time to continue writing “My Big Novel.” Maybe I need another retreat for a few
days. Winter time hotel rates on the coast are pretty good. Maybe this time,
I’ll forego cooking and go to a restaurant to people-watch for inspiration.
Maybe I’ll do a day long retreat at a coffee shop or bistro. Maybe I’ll visit
one of my favorite local libraries.
Or maybe I’ll sit in my
car by the water and let the view inspire me. My spot is never very crowded,
and I’d like it to stay that way, so I’m not sharing its name. Just a few
preparations, like sandwiches, water and a caffeinated drink, and I’d be set,
at least for a few hours.
Try solitude. It’s not loneliness; solitude is freedom. It gives
you time to remember what you want from life, not what you’re supposed to want.
The creativity that can spring from solitude is amazing, and you can start
small. Write down a word that you like, or a few sentences for a scene, or a conversation
between characters. Maybe it’s a conversation you would like to have with
someone you know. And you don’t have to spend hundreds of dollars to enjoy a
writer’s retreat. You don’t have to be away from home for a long time. You can
take control of the hours in the day and the dollars in your pocket at any time
and change direction. Add a new facet to your life. Have a little adventure. A
change will do you good!
