Since I started thinking of myself as a ‘real’ writer I began studying how other writers cultivate their craft. Ya know, like writing retreats and writing workshops; those gatherings that take place in exotic locations with great food and classes led by Published authors...most of whom make their livings on the cash they get from the aspiring writers who attend their workshops. While I haven’t done a survey of how many writers actually get published because they attended an exotic workshop, I suspect those numbers are on the low side. And I’ll admit I’m just plain envious of the people who can afford to attend those cathartic experiences of group writing.
So, I decided to create my own writing retreat using my share of our joint tax return – five days alone in a cheap hotel in a small tourist town on the Oregon coast...in January, “shoulder” season...no tourists. Solitude and the comfort of the vast Pacific ocean framing a cozy small town would surely stimulate my best work. That was the idea.
My darling spouse insisted I take his gigantic late model SUV with 4-wheel drive to be sure I’d be safe from the latent mechanical failure in my aging Fiat. Despite the gas-guzzling strain on my personal retreat budget, I was grateful. The loan wasn’t free, however; I had to promise to detail his filthy car while I was gone.
I couldn’t wait to hit the road with my hiking boots, rain gear and computer. I had fond feelings for this small Oregon town having spent many a happy weekend there with friends, my spouse and even alone. It had been a favorite place of respite on a variety of occasions. I was expecting it to bequeath great inspiration upon me.
Driving there,I took the scenic route through rural communities, along forests, just soaking up the sights with no particular schedule. I was already relaxing and even thought, “Okay, what if I don’t write anything? What if I just sleep for five days?” Dangerous thinking! But it did remind me that I needed this retreat for more than work. Indeed, just me. Just my schedule, my rituals, my mess...my agenda. Is this how Margaret Atwood did it? No, I think she wrote in the middle of the night while her children were sleeping...or was that J.K. Rowling?
Upon arrival at my modest hotel, I was greeted by the very friendly desk clerk who handed me a key – a real key – and warm homemade chocolate chip cookies. Good start!
My room was modest at best, but clean with all the necessary amenities, my own coffee maker as well as free wi-fi if I wanted to contact the outside world. I could even access my own Netflix account if I wished. Already I was seeing distractions that would test my writer’s discipline...and the rustic Oregon coast was steps away complete with the sound of crashing waves, the sight of briny surf and Haystack rocks. The weather was, of course, dreary Northwest January gray and rainy...Perfect for a writer’s cloister.
I quickly unpacked so I could feel settled in this place, then took my first walk along the blustery shore. It was, as they say, bracing, and I could see elk tracks in the sand. This hotel was on the edge of town next to a state park, so the elk felt pretty safe wandering nearby when the tourist population was non-existent, but for me. I thrilled at the possibility of meeting an elk.
But I was there to write, so I drove the two miles into the tiny town market, picked up some ‘food’ for dinner – the deli was closed early because...no tourists. But this trip was not about food for the body. I rushed back to my room eager to get started, put the supplies away and sat in front of my computer. Sat there for what seemed like a long time awaiting inspiration. We all know, because Hemingway told us, that writing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. What was I waiting for!?
More writers’ advice—when blocked write anything. So, I did...I made a list of things I could write about: my childhood (too maudlin); my Asian travels (done that); my pets (done that a lot). I turned on Netflix, watched a movie and went to bed. More on the morrow, I thought.
And it worked. I woke up early, took a long walk on the beach (more elk tracks) and returned to face my computer, alone in my room with a whole lot of coffee. Topics rushed in. I started five different essays and decided to break for an early dinner in town. Yes! I worked all day! I felt like a REAL writer now.
The town was within walking distance, but the weather made that two-mile walk feel like water boarding, so I drove the huge SUV and parked where I could walk to everything. As I mentioned, I’ve been to this town many times before...before COVID and the changes the pandemic made in me. For instance, I no longer consider shopping a form of entertainment. Not only do I have every THING I could possibly need, I’ve learned about the planetary devastation caused by ‘fast fashion’ and textile waste. While this has dealt a devastating blow to my love of clothes, I’ve discovered second hand -- methadone for clothing shopaholics. But, like most tourist towns, this one is filled with entertaining and expensive boutique shops, all with big sales because...no tourists. Talk about testing my principles!
Okay, so how about the possibility of live music to pass the time? Well...no tourists, no music. There’s always food, especially chocolate. Yes! One confectionary was open, and the chocolate was priced by the gold standard. Nonetheless, I treated myself to that and wandered the shops where I had fascinating conversations with the proprietors who had time to chat...no tourists.
The leather shop proprietor was woman of a certain age who had been tooling leather with her own hands for 50 years in that place. She knew everything about the town and told me that only 1700 people lived there year-round and all of them were in the tourist business. I learned that the hundreds of buildings that looked like houses were vacation rentals. Only the laborers who keep the town running live there year-round in the lodgings marked “Worker Housing.” NOBODY really lives in this town. Suddenly it dawned on me that this is a fake town made to look cute and cozy for tourists – mostly white – like me. It felt like I was walking the streets of Laredo on a Warner Brothers lot and I wanted to run back home. Instead, I returned to my cheap hotel room and spent most of the rest of my five days writing just as I had planned.
I did indulge in nature as much as possible with long walks on the beach every morning. On my almost last day I decided to hike up to the State Park adjacent to my hotel. I noticed, as I walked that I was the only person on foot...no tourists. It turned out to be a much longer, uphill, trek than I’d anticipated but I felt close to nature and it was a surprisingly warm day. After what felt like a reasonably challenging hike, I turned around and started back on the road which meandered through some rural residences.
I was just about back at my hotel when I came upon a small collection of ELK! I was thrilled to be on foot within sniffing distance of these...gosh, they’re really big...beasts. I whipped out my phone as I walked calmly up to them from behind so I could get some photos. The lady elk closest to me turned to look at me as she munched on a mouthful of grass. I felt we were having ‘a moment’ of connection and I got in a couple shots of her full frontal. A few feet ahead was the back end of the bull elk and I got a quick shot of his behind. Man, I thought, this guy is magnificent! And I trotted around his left flank to get a shot of his face, but that didn’t happen. He looked at me much like his cow had at first, but he didn’t like my phone/camera/gun(?) and he didn’t like me either. He started moving toward me with his big headful of horns pointed in my direction.
“Don’t panic!” I told myself. “Whatever you do, don’t panic!” I was on foot, exposed. No car to hop into. So, holding my breath, I started walking backwards, maintaining eye contact and slowly as to not arouse him any further. I held my hand up in the peace sign as I mumbled softly to him, “Okay, I’m outta here. No need to follow me, I’m good. This place is all yours.” He did follow me, but no faster than I was going backwards and at a ten-foot distance until he was satisfied that I and my ‘weapon’ were far enough away to be safe. I made it back to my hotel room without having soiled myself, and with a lovely shot of Elk Ass to remind me of my stupid human trick for that day.
Allow me to explain with a minor digression. Years ago, there was a pop psychology question that was supposed to provide insight into a person’s personality. It was – “What Disney character do you most identify with?” Well, my answer was (and still is) Snow White when she was in the forest with all the wild animals flocking to her side as she sang “With a smile and a song life is just like a bright sunny day...” You know, birds on her shoulder, bunnies and chipmunks in her lap, deer and raccoons nuzzling her neck, etc. That is my idea of heaven. I still fantasize that all the animals know me. And with no one around to stop me, I act as if it’s true. So far, I’ve survived.
And I more than survived my personal writing retreat. It was worth every penny, every minute, even washing the big gas guzzler. But I think if I do it again, I’ll go to a REAL town or a REAL woods for some REAL inspiration. Real life, as it happens, is all material.
LOL! Thanks, Suzanna!
I don't think I am the Snow White type, but I do sometimes feel a connection with wild creatures. It is magical! Connecting with that Elk woman must have been pure magic!