Retreating

Last weekend I went with some friends up to a pseudo-Swiss villa, complete with green rolling hills and goats to frolic with, for a writer's retreat.  A few of the other attendees (Nikki Mantyla, Brodi Ashton, and Chersti Nieveen) also blogged about it.  But since I arrived at the retreat late, I have to blog about it late too.  Or something.

Anyway...

I drove up there Friday morning and the drive included driving across some wetlands.  Where there were birds.  Now, I haven't gone bird watching officially since high school, which would disappoint my zoology teacher, I'm sure, but I still get excited about the pelicans swimming in a pond nearby or the red tailed hawks that often soar over our house.  And it's a terrible thing when I see something exciting while I'm driving.  Like a crane.

Or houses for sale.  Those distract me too.

In any case, I arrived in a very distracted mood.  I knocked at the door and it was opened...into utter silence.  Really.  Like the freaky should-I-run-out-screaming-now sort of silence.  Fortunately, one of the writer's broke the vow of silence to show me around the three story condo in a whisper.  It was like a tree house.  Really.  The main living room had vaulted ceilings that showed all the stairs leading up to the top floor.

I slept on the top floor.  In the party room.  I learned that when people tell you in hushed tones how late they stayed up the first night, to plan on staying up even later the second night because writer's, when given the choice, will sacrifice sleep to talk about books.  And, no, I'm not admitting how late we stayed up.  I told my husband when I got home and that's confession enough for me.

After my tour, I sat down to write.  We all wrote and wrote and wrote, mostly in that baby-is-sleeping silence (which wasn't terrifying when I was writing too), and occasionally chatted if someone was stuck on a part or if other's joined us.

At 4:30, we decided to take a break, go for a walk, and get ice cream.  Unfortunately, the ice cream shop closed at 4:00.  The lady in the gift shop felt sorry for us, so she gave us goat food instead to go feed the goats.  I'm still not sure how goat food made up for ice cream, but that's okay.  We wandered away from the gift shops and fed the goats.  And, yes, someone did greet them by saying, "Hello, David," even though David was an ibex and much bigger.  Just FYI.

That night, when I my brain completely shut down and refused to write another word, we watched The Young Victoria, which is a delightful period piece.  I'd seen it before, but I liked it even better the second time.  And then we stayed up way too late giggling about belly-buttons (watch the deleted scenes) and talking about--what else?--books.

The next day involved frantic writing by most of us.  Two of the writer's, though, tried to convince the rest of us to get ice cream again.  We stared at them like they were crazy.  Why would we choose ice cream over writing???

All in all, it was a wonderful experience and probably the best Mother's Day present ever, thanks to my husband and my own mother who watched my kids so I could go.

How was your weekend?