But I'm not sitting at my table staring out at my nature, I'm staring out at the trees and mountains of NW Arkansas. I have no idea what direction I'm facing but based on the lack of sun in my eyes, it's not east. That's not my cardinal in that tree.
|This is not my cardinal.|
I'm watching the world through a different window. It's still satisfying.
|This is not my kitchen window.|
And it's not Sunday yet. It feels like Sunday to me but it's only Saturday. And I could really use an extra day this weekend because Monday is going to be the start of all sorts of changes for me, mostly good.
So, this weekend, I've been staying at the Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow (who graciously invited a group of writers to come and share our experience) and my worst writing-related nightmare came true: what if you go to a writing retreat but your words don't come with you?
I arrived with a great group of bloggers on Thursday night (Marisa, Heather, Bethany and Rebekah) and we all read our work to a room full of people—which was like karaoke for me: scary but invigorating. We spent Thursday night getting to know one another and discussing how productive our weekend was going to be.
|Still life: writers' retreat detritus.|
But then I spent a lot of the day Friday foundering around for my words and not finding them. It's not a great feeling. Instead I convinced Marisa to go for a walk with me that turned into a really, really long walk where we both fell in love with Eureka Springs for being so hilly and having windy streets and then got really pissed at it for being so hilly and having windy streets. I ate some awesome food. I stared out the window for a good long time. I organized my stuff. I took a nap. I Zentangled. I did the math: to write an 80,000 word book typing at 60 words per minute, it would take less than a day—a mere 24 hours. And when I'm in a groove, I can type more like 120 words per minute, so banging out a book shouldn't really take *that* long, right? I mean, aside from the research and the thinking and the outlining and all the things.
And then, I reread some old stuff I'd written, I let go of some stuff that didn't make sense anymore and came up with a plan.
Because, here's the thing: my words aren't used to me letting them come out and play. I most often steal moments to write when I can—like Sunday mornings when my people are sleeping—and this was middle of the day word time. I needed some time to adjust to that, and that's what yesterday was.
Will today be prolific? Maybe. Maybe not. Marisa and Heather gave me good insight on the story I'm trying to write and my characters hung out with me last night. But for right now I'm going to drink my coffee and listen to some classic country for a bit.