No children, no men, no internet, no television. We were supposed to be honoring our creativity by giving it the time and space it deserved. I had adapted to being creative even with a teenage boy regularly interrupting to tell me that he needed more snacks and, yes, was still incapable of finding them himself.īut this writing retreat was designed to get women away from the cries of “Mom!” or “Honey?” that so often compete for our brain space. This setting was quite a change for someone like me: a single mom of two boys used to writing over the din of crashes and bangs and shouts and her own attention deficit disorder.
As I looked out the window to the giant evergreens surrounding my cabin, I was supposed to feel the spark of inspiration. I spent my days in a charming cabin surrounded by trees, kept warm by a little wood-stove. I was at an idyllic women’s writing retreat.
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