Story: Writers Retreat

When I went as an unknown to the writer’s retreat it was not long before word traveled and I was approached. My status as one without status held a certain intrigue, so after breakfast and while on my way to the garden, two women stopped me. As round themselves as their old fashioned glasses and with words of excitement, ready for spring, much like their sun dresses, they asked what I was working on.

I’m not sure if I was bluntly honest because I was making an effort to be son in my writing or maybe I wanted to erect antisocial walls in which to set up my papers and desk in peace. But whatever the true reason, I did say to them, “I’m working on crap.”

Their eyes widened just a bit, but it takes only a few trips round the art circles to bring you to an artist who is shocking for the sake of being shocking. So maybe they wrote me off as that (though it would have meant more writing for them than they were used to).

I decided to fill the pause hovering between us with an explanation. “I always start with nothing, but I give it a chance. If I help it along and nurture it a bit maybe it gets some life. On rare occasions it is more than worthless and I share it with others. But in those cases I’m not sure if I’ve written it or if its written itself. I have trouble even remembering putting those words to paper. So maybe its true when I say that all I ever write is crap.”

And those two, they looked blankly at me. Wondering if the words had just been in my head but not spoken, I decided to leave. Maybe they knew I came here to be alone with my work. Like a couple that had hard times, we needed some quiet time together to find ourselves, our us.

But not today. I wished my fellow writers well and the offered me some “good inspirations.” I excused myself as I turned to leave.

I walked past the garden and looked at the little town below. Today I would take some time on my own. My relationship had some issues and I’d just realized another. As too often happens with too much time, I wasn’t appreciating it for what it was and what it was to me. I was trying to mold it to my idea of what it was. Tomorrow we’d become reacquainted. Today I needed just a little more time to myself.