musings in mayhem

writer, mom, tutor, superwoman

writer retreat in Denver – post notes

Friday night, I arrived with Honey in Denver, CO. Gor-ge-ous sunset on the drive from the airport.  Sorry, I did not bring a camera for this trip.  I was going to write, after all, not fool around taking pictures!  But I did curse myself up and down for lack of camera when it came to that sunset.

We helped his cousin set up his speaking engagement/seminar, and ate a late dinner of hotel bar food.  the Grand Hyatt 1876 Lounge had a three sauce sampler for fried zucchini and portabello mushrooms, that was a bit greasy, but the middle sauce for dipping was a tomato jam I could have eaten on anything for eternity and never missed another flavor.  I ate it on Honey’s sweet potato fries that came with his pork sliders. I couldn’t get enough of that tomato jam.

Food rhapsody over for the moment, I turn to the purpose for leaving my children on Mother’s Day Weekend:  to write!!!

 My manuscript is, after all, my other child.  They do vie for attention constantly.

Saturday morning, my dear Honey trotted off to do his tech support function for his cousin, while I stayed in the hotel room, under the auspices of writing.  I proceeded to drive myself completely berserk, agonizing over getting past the block I had regarding what I knew I needed to do to the manuscript.  I’d been having this block for months and was blaming my lack of time alone for it.  So I got the time alone, and still went bonkers.

I finally said, I must walk!  I am in a new city.  I have never set foot in Denver proper.  I must find the nearest green space to find some solace in my frustrated writer’s soul. 

I rode the elevator down to concierge and she pointed me toward the capitol and its park. Then she looked dejected as she recalled, “But there is a huge Cinco de Mayo Festival going on there, so you won’t see much of the green.” 

I replied, “no problem, I love to people watch.”  Along the walk, I met an adorable nine week old brindle coated sweet little pitbull puppy.  And the young man on the other end of the leash, who had a big smile, proud to show off his new little girl. It’s been a long time since “my Boston days” between tall buildings, seeing the slant of light and shadow play down the walls and windows.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Then I hit the busy amusment park set up of Cinco de Mayo, on the eighth of May.  Lots of good sights and sounds and distractions and rhythms, and some construction of the park, and children on rides, and walking and Spanish and dancing, and a lot of Dos Equis displays.

I didn’t stay long, and the capitol building in Denver is a gold domed beaut, like my beloved Boston capitol building, so that was nice for my suburban aching heart to see. Then I turned back to the hotel and to face the open document on the laptop. 

More agonizing.  I called a friend, who asked me to send it to her, to which I promptly said NO!  Then backtracked that I was sitting there staring at seven critiques already.  She kindly said, “Oh, no, you don’t need me to look at it.  You need to know that what you know you have to do to your manuscript is good because it will make it better!”

I said, “Aha!  That was the missing piece!  Editing will make it better!” 

And so I began to edit.  It wasn’t easy, but I did it.  I still struggled, was still largely attached to what I had already written, but I moved stuff around, rewrote the beginning.

Loads more to the weekend, but as far as the writing, that’s what I did.  I agonized, I moved something around, I agonzied, I moved stuff around.  I agonized, I deleted a few lines here and there.  And I agonized some more.  I made it to page 5 out of 120.  And I was disappointed enormously with my new first line.

I thought, “If I picked this book up off the shelf, and read that opening line?  I’d put it back.”

And then, the day after my arrival home, my writing group met to write on Tuesday.  All of a sudden, I was able to work much more effectively in the company of my writing group all sitting quietly with their laptops and notebooks, doing largely the same thing I was doing:  editing what we already had. 

But if I had not gone to Denver;  had not driven myself crazy until I chiseled away a crack in the writer’s block, I would have been of no use to myself or my manuscript on Tuesday.

And, like Edith Ann says, “That’s the Truth, thpblbubblepppbubth!”

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