Reflections – Writer’s Retreat

 

My Place Setting at the Kitchen Table

Dear Laura and Beau,

 

    Give yourselves and your little Anduin hugs for me. I hear stories of folks gathering in your farm house kitchen for meals and celebrations. I can imagine how welcome they feel.

 

When I attended a writer’s retreat at the Mount Saint Benedict Monastery, I didn’t eat in the dining room with the nuns like other writers. Because of my food sensitivities, I’d packed my own meals. I ate alone in the guest kitchen and read The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman. 

 

But like you at your house, people found me. 

 

A high voice interrupted my cracker and tuna fish munching at lunch Friday. “Would you help me?” Dressed for Erie’s bitter outside cold, a young woman held a bag in each hand. “I can’t open my door.” She led me to a door with a colorful sign reading “Yvonne.”

 

Saturday, I slid my homemade chicken pot pie into the oven to reheat for supper, and a lady attending another retreat stopped in the doorway. “Do you know where garbage bags are?” She raised a pair of boots she clutched in her hand. “I don’t want to put them down on the floor.” I opened every drawer and cupboard door until I found a garbage bag for her. 

 

When I ate the heated pie, Chris, a writer of short stories with intriguing twists, carried a small pizza box into the kitchen. He’d ordered the pizza because the dining hall offered only “so many choices for vegetarians.” He stuffed his leftover pizza into the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Labatt Blue. He sipped. I ate. We chatted about writing, our families, and life.

 

Other writers stopped by too. With all the visitors, the guest kitchen felt welcoming.

 

Love,

Janet

View of Kitchen from Table

Workshop Seating in the Garden Room

Dear Marlene,

 

I hope you did something special to celebrate your birthday on January 20.

 

Ten days later I indulged myself by attending a writer’s retreat at Mt. Saint Benedict in Erie. The writer in residence, Timons Esaias, wrote the panda pillow story I’d suggested for Seth. 

 

Timons is as kind and helpful as that panda pillow. He held workshops in the monastery’s garden room. With spider plants and a Norfolk Island pine soaking up sunshine by the windows at his back, Timons sat at the head of the table. He stroked his silver beard, told stories, and led exercises—all the while sprinkling nuggets of wisdom for writers. 

 

Sheila, a nurse who writes mysteries, sat across from me at the first workshop. Halfway through she needed to borrow a pen. She’d been writing so much that her new pen had run out of ink. Though she was in charge of hospitality, I didn’t see much of her. I’m not a night owl so skipped the late night pizza party. Because of my food sensitivities, I brought my own food instead of eating with the others in the dining room. Nor did I, like Sheila, respond to the bells ringing in the tower and attend mass with the nuns.

 

I saw more of Timons during two individual conferences. He offered advice on developing characters, eliminating needless words and—best of all—approaching my second collection of short stories. He told me to write one scene or one story. Don’t think about the whole book. “Do one thing at a time. Don’t worry. Just have fun.” 

 

Good advice for life.

 

Love,

Janet

Mount Saint Benedict's Bell Tower

 

If you want to see all six postcards in the Writer’s Retreat at Mount Saint Benedict Postcard Journal, use this link: https://sites.google.com/site/wellswoodpa/vacations/writers-retreat