The Right Retreat
This rock is like me, layered, multi coloured, with a little bit of sparkle if you look closely or turn it in a certain way. A hard outer core worn down by the elements, but strong and resilient. A pebble in the scheme of things. Small enough to miss, but big enough to trip over.
This was my response to a writing prompt we were given at the Write Retreat that I attended in September. The weekend getaway was publicized as “an opportunity to connect with other writers.”
We were a group of 14 perfect strangers —all women— assembled together at a lodge on the scenic banks of the Madawaska river to share two days exploring the craft of writing. What does the phrase ‘perfect strangers’ really mean? While I know it’s defined as people you’ve never met before, I pondered why the use of the adjective perfect. Is it because you have no preconceived notions of what anyone is like, so you’re starting out with a blank slate? Yes, I watched the Prime series 9 Perfect Strangers. When I told my kids that I was going away for a weekend writing retreat with people I had never met, they conjured up scenes from the TV show, cautioning me to be careful with what I consumed at the breakfast buffet.
I packed my car with a range of clothes for all weather, a few snacks, and a significant amount of dread and anxiety. When I signed up for the course in the summer, it seemed like a good idea at the time to spark some new ideas for my writing. Having published my memoir Storm Orphan in April, I was ready to start a new project and thought this would be just the motivation I needed. But as I said goodbye to my husband and headed off for a four hour drive alone, I reconsidered my logic. What the heck was I doing? The anxiety wasn’t just about meeting strangers and exposing my vulnerability by sharing personal writing with them, but I also hadn’t been with a group of unknown people since COVID began eighteen months ago. The lodge assured us it was safe. We were to eat all meals outdoors and we would be masked during any indoor gatherings … but still. I was one of those people who had an extremely low tolerance for risk and never even went into a grocery store for more than a year! I headed off with trepidation but also excitement. I‘m a risk taker by nature and it had been so long since I’d done something that scared me. I like to live by the phrase Jim Whittaker coined — the first American to summit Mt. Everest— “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.”
The facilitator of the Write Retreat, Adelle Purdham; writer, teacher and advocate for those with differing abilities did a remarkable job in creating a safe, inclusive and welcoming space for all participants. As a former educator, I noticed all the strategies she employed to create this environment: a group meeting—as well as a one to one chat—on Zoom for all participants before the retreat, a detailed agenda of each day, a balance between writing workshops, guest speakers, and free time to explore the surrounding boreal forest and raging river.
On Friday night after a wine and cheese welcome and an evening around the campfire, I woke up early the next morning to join in on the outdoor yoga. I felt ready to dive in to writing, listening, learning and sharing.
There were a range of authors —some had published while others were budding writers—who wrote in different genres: poetry, memoir, fiction, non-fiction, but after our Saturday evening “Writers Circle”—one of the highlights of the retreat for me—where each author shared her work, I can attest to the fact that every person there had extraordinary talent. I was incredibly nervous to read my 750 word piece that I had written specifically for the retreat, but after receiving carefully crafted feedback, I left feeling affirmed that I can call myself a writer.
What I will remember the most from this experience are the 14 people I met. In a very short time, we shared and learned so much from and about one another. Every woman there had a compelling story that they could write about their own life. The collective expression of joy, pain, resilience, sorrow, humour, eroticism (yes, there were tales of lesbian sex that would make even the straightest heterosexual question her sexuality) was life affirming. Our community included: a former Olympian, two poet laureates, a mother enjoying her first time away from her two young children with special needs, a woman in mid-life who was going back to school to pursue a passion, and two mother-daughter couples that were each other’s most powerful cheerleaders. There were also brave women who shared their ache of abuse, trauma, loss and grief. It amazed me how they could turn their pain into captivating poetry.
Over delicious meals of hearty vegetable soups, grilled meats and salads with herbs collected from the vegetable gardens that surrounded the lodge, we developed a sense of community as women and as writers. We began the weekend not knowing one another, but left with a fondness and familiarity.
That’s what I would call perfect strangers.
Sharing a reading from Storm Orphan at the Write Retreat