This Time it Worked

Back in January I attempted to do a little writing retreat and failed spectacularly. There were a number of factors at play—personal, logistical and otherwise—but one of them, I’m pretty sure, was the fact that I didn’t have one big, fat mega project I was working on at the time. In other words, I wasn’t working on a book.

I mean, I was a little bit.  I’d played around with a scene or two. But kind of half assedly.  Flirting, not committing. On that particular retreat, I’d planned to work on couple of short stories, an essay (I think?) Those kinds of things are all fine and good, and I want to try to squeeze in more of them here and there. But….but: while in the hedgehog and fox construct for knowledge I’m most definitely the fox (the fox knows a little bit about a lot of things while the hedgehog knows a lot about a single thing—hedges, I suppose), if you apply that to my writing, I’m on team hedgehog all the way: I much prefer to be invested in one big project than hopping between lots of smaller ones.

More than that, I just don’t feel as happy when I’m not working on a book. Having it there, anchoring me below, giving me a sense of creative focus and purpose while I bob about above doing my day-job work—where I am, by contrast, very fox-like—is a key to my contentment it seems.

Now, as I mentioned in my last post, I’m committed to a new book. (Why? Why do I do this?) And, not surprisingly, THIS time when I went on a brief little writing retreat, it WORKED!

I went to my fave writing place ever, Wellspring House, out in Ashfield, a couple of hours west of home, in the foothills of the Berkshires. A hundred years ago, I suspect Ashfield was full-on Grover’s Corners—a bustling little village of farmers and tradespeople and merchants. It’s still bustling (with a grand total of 1,700 residents) but in a different way: A strange mix of artsy-hippie folks and long-time locals. Wandering around town when I’m taking my mid-day break (when I am generally at my least productive) is one of the highlights of any visit.

I always take a ton of pictures when I’m there, but never actually do much with them. So, here. Here are some pictures of spectacular Ashfield. Quite different from the stark, wintry, maritime loveliness of those Gloucester pics. I’ve actually never been to Wellspring in summer before, and boy is it lovely out there with everything green and blooming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, that was Ashfield. Of course, most of the time there was spent on my butt in front of a computer in a small room—which is the part that matters. Writing a book is a slog, even when it’s a book you’re having fun with (like the one I’m working on is). But getting to retreat from time to time most certainly sweetens the deal.