Writing retreat: August 2021

In my previous post about writing retreats, I talked about what they mean to me, how they support my writing process, and how that’s changed over the years.

Now I’ll share some nuts and bolts about my August retreat with my best friend in Maine. I want to post this kind of thing more often for anyone considering a similar getaway (or just interested in living vicariously — whatever floats your boat).

While I’ve attended several writing conferences, I’ve never done an official retreat. I’ve vaguely dreamed of Vermont Studio Center since my undergraduate days, but never applied. Most prestigious retreats have felt too expensive, too long, or too inflexible with scheduling (or all of the above!) to fit my current life situation.

Maybe someday. For now, I’ve spent the past several years doing regular DIY retreats. The roll-your-own option can be as cheap or expensive as you want. Most of the time I’ve chosen cheap. My dad’s side of the family owns a beach bungalow at the Jersey Shore. I can use it pretty much whenever, as long as I do a few chores while I’m there no one else already called dibs. This gives me a relatively off-the-grid location that’s already near and dear to my heart, for basically the cost of gas, food, and tolls.

This retreat was both constrained and enabled by the pandemic.

This August, my friend and I changed up our routine. It made sense for a variety of reasons for me to join him near his house in Maine. Thanks to (still) cancelled in-person events alongside healthy book sales, I had extra room in my business budget this year. In other words, I could buy Amtrak tickets and rent us a writing cottage in Old Orchard beach, or I could pay a bunch of extra money to the IRS. The choice felt obvious to me.

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When we made this plan back in May, we had no idea COVID would still feel so present. Fortunately we’re both fully vaccinated and generally conscientious. We felt safe enough to go through with the retreat, albeit in a pared-down format to minimize unnecessary indoor stuff. Pretty easy when you’re a few blocks from the beach. We ate outdoors at a restaurant once and cooked in or got takeout for other meals.

Even with the extra caution, this time together was such a gift. Surprisingly, our last retreat like this had been only a little over a year before! Continuing our co-working traditions through my friend’s move to Maine, the birth of their first child, and a global pandemic has required trust and dedication. Our nearly thirty-year history as friends and writing buddies gave us a sense of comfort and stability in an otherwise disorienting time.

Plenty of friend time, plenty of mutual creative support time.

Because the pandemic was still raging and we hadn’t seen each other in over a year, we prioritized friend time alongside our creative time. That said, I still set a goal for a single project I wanted to focus on for the retreat. I feel best about my use of time, regardless of how much time that ends up being, when I do this. Some examples from the past:

• Complete a detailed outline of a non-fiction book
• Write as many new words per day as I can on a new novel
• Integrate critique group feedback and continue editing a manuscript
• Draft several new blog posts
• Do a close read of a manuscript and mark it up for later edits

Even if a retreat doesn’t cost a lot of money, it still costs time and requires the rest of my household to adjust to my absence. This gives built-in accountability to do what I came to do. When my friend joins me, we kick off the retreat by sharing our goals. 

This time, he was prepping for a Kickstarter launch. This meant a bunch more visual art than writing — which was okay! The goal was moral support and mutual accountability. I advised him on some social media and Kickstarter strategy as well.

I, on the other hand, was drafting a new book. Drafting is probably my least favorite phase of the book creation process. This makes it a prime candidate for writing retreat goals. If the writing is going well, a retreat offers space to take advantage of that momentum. If I’ve hit a high-friction slog, it removes almost all acceptable alternative tasks.

Retreats are a great place to hit my stride…or a snag.

Both happened on this retreat. On my two-hour train ride from Boston to Old Orchard Beach, I roughed in at least twelve hundred words without breaking a sweat. That vibe continued for a couple days. By the fourth day, I had entered full slog mode.

Fortunately, the weather hemmed us in from our extracurriculars of wandering, skateboarding, or playing in the ocean when tropical storm Henri’s remnants brought a full day of dousing rain. I spent the last day forcing myself through some transitional scenes that probably would’ve taken (at least) several days longer at home.

That’s the biggest benefit of writing retreats for me. At no other time does a project have me as such a captive audience. In the end, I don’t measure a successful retreat by the number of hours spent or words written. I measure it more by feel. And this one felt good. My manuscript and I had worked through our first real rough patch together — and come out the other side. I didn’t write such a huge volume that last day, but it felt like a massive victory to be able to type the words “Part Two” into a heading before I closed my laptop and packed my bag.

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