The retreat is over, but the writing has just begun…

Over the dinner table Ken and I were marveling over how the time had flown and James said a little wistfully, “I feel like Cinderella and I have to return to my pumpkin,” and I felt so moved and touched and lucky and truly blessed that I am in the place I am in my life.  That I have the space and freedom to write every single day. 

We stayed up after midnight last night reading our new pieces, discussing writing, life, what we hope to accomplish. 

This was a truly wonderful time.  James wrote the first 20 pages of a new manuscript and the work is good and very exciting.  Ken jumped off the cliff in a big way and is diving deep in this new novel that I believe, if he continues to work hard and be brave and go to the page on a daily basis, that this might be the one that breaks through.  Don wrote wonderfully of course.  He always does.  He’s working on the notes his editor gave him.  His book is very, very good, but we all know that already.  And then there is me!  The help and feedback my friends gave me on The Big Muckle was so insightful and valuable and truly are going to make this manuscript that much better!  So thank you my friends.  I feel very lucky to have participated in your group.  I know it was the three muskateers, but thank you for letting me participate and tag along.  It was a wonderful five days, including the getting up this morning at 3:45 a.m.  All of us chatting in the car, driving to the airport in the dark.  Okay...I was chatting the most, but that’s because I didn’t want you to think I was grumpy at having only a couple of hours of sleep.  The idea of getting up so early and driving to the airport sucks.  But the reality was, it was so cozy.  Don driving, the two of you flopped in the back, groaning softly from sheer fatigue.  Me babbling away, trying to be interesting so Don wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel.  But something even more.  I don’t know why, but it felt real special, the tires whirring on the wet road, the whole world asleep.  Whizzing to the airport in one third the time it normally takes.  The darkened car, the slush falling, the windshield wipers slopping it away.  And then of course our scintillating conversation.  Because we are all wordsmiths.  What other kind of conversation could we have?  Even in the wee hours of the morning. 

So you wordsmiths, now that you’re safely home, do what you promised, to yourselves and us.  Write those books, so the rest of the world can share in these stories and disappear into these worlds you are creating.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, January 02, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

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