Thoughts From My Recent Book-Writing Retreats
““I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.””
In order to turn in the best quality manuscript I can and also keep up with farming, homeschooling, and raising two daughters, my amazing husband has been carving out weekends for me to stay home on “writing retreats” while he takes our girls somewhere else fun. I’m so grateful for the ability to do this - one of my main concerns when I agreed to take the leap in writing a book is that I didn’t want them to suffer for it, and I didn’t want to compromise parenting or precious time with them. I’m usually with them all day/every day so this is a good tradeoff.
ICYMI, my manuscript is due this March, and the book will release next March 2022 with Harper Horizon. I know…a long while from now! When it’s all said and done, this entire process will end up being almost 3 years. I’m learning that the publishing industry moves slowly, and now I completely understand how authors feel like writing a book is like birthing a child. And I haven’t even finished writing mine.
At the beginning of my second writing retreat in November, I opened the next page in my new writing journal from ? This is the first line I wrote in it this time:
Trying to avoid pain is so exhausting.
Because I do feel that. And what I’ve realized through this writing process is that it makes you vulnerable and exposes fear and toxic thoughts that have been holding you back.
I think I’ve come to a breaking point of thinking that if I avoid painful situations and not face them, they’ll eventually go away.
When I’m faced with one that won’t go away, I realize that fear just follows me. Fear is relentless like that.
You know what also follows us, every single minute and second of our lives and never, ever harms us? Love. From God. There is NO FEAR in love. Freedom comes from love and courage in the face of fear or pain, not from avoiding it.
I’m done trying to keep pain at bay, and instead it’s time to accept it and see it for what it is. This is the only way I can find freedom. And honestly? It’s only through the struggle that we can grow and become more connected to our humanity and the way we have ALREADY BEEN rescued in Jesus. Only through the struggle.
~ ~ ~
For the rest of my November retreat, I left the side ponytail behind, listened to my instrumental “Focus” playlist and replayed “Freedom” by Jordan Critz on loop. At the end of the first evening, I took a hot epsom salts lavender bath while reading Kitchen Yarns by Ann Hood, which I got on a whim at the library and thoroughly enjoyed.
I still walked around the house in my underwear, although it was a little cold this time. I tried to coax Ginger the Adventure Cat (who really only comes inside the house in colder weather months) to sleep in the bed with me and the stuffed animals my girls graciously lent me for the night. We had Wish the unicorn, Red Panda, and Emmett the Panda. Ginger was not enthused. She took one look at the bed, mewed to voice her disagreement, and turned around to head for the living room, where she retired for the evening in the big chair.
I took a walk around the farm, but the zinnias are gone, and the butterflies have probably migrated to Mexico by now. I did stop and pull the row cover over the kale, cabbage, and broccoli in the field because it was supposed to dip down to 38 degrees.
The baby arugula sprouting in the greenhouse was looking mighty cute.
I had a simple, rustic dinner that was perfect for a cold, November night: muffins made with Simple Mills vanilla cupcake mix with coconut and pecans on top, and a random, really spicy and amazing chicken meatball curry soup my husband made. Score.
My first writing retreat in August was about, Can I really do this? I ended up writing almost 15,000 words and pushing through some serious fears.
This writing retreat in November was about, OK, I know I can do this, now it’s time to get down to business and start turning stuff in.
Turning chapters in for initial feedback from my editors takes a new kind of bravery. I absolutely love my editors though, and I’m looking forward to how I’ll learn and grow in this process.
By the morning of day 2, I was literally bouncing around the house, bouncing over to the coffee bar for another refill, skipping over to the door to let Ginger back in after she spent an hour terrorizing the other cat that keeps trying to make a home on our property.
I realized how much the writing is actually life-giving to me, and there is so much that needs and wants to come out. I have a lot to share with the world. At times I got teary-eyed while I was writing, feeling so proud of myself for doing this, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it or whatever reviews it eventually gets from readers. Because I’m doing the thing. I’m telling my story, the one that is unique to only me, the story I’ve lived.
Here’s one of my favorite quotes on writing, which I heard in a Hope*Writers podcast interview with memoir coach and author, Marion Roach Smith:
“Memoir is about the human pilot light and how we keep ours lit. We all have one, and under the worst of circumstances, we can keep our light lit. How did you keep your light lit? If I tell you a story of how I got through something, we’re sharing our humanity, and that’s what so beautiful.
It’s helpful to tell our stories. We tell our tales to each other because we feel a need to, but what we’re really doing is passing the light around. ‘Here, keep your little light lit, here’s some of mine. I’m gonna tell you what I did…maybe some of this will help you.’”
Goodness, that really moves me. We learn more about ourselves by hearing others’ stories. And whether or not you’re a writer, you can tell your stories, too. Sitting across the table from a single friend, any of us can each pass on our “pilot light” through telling about the moments and days and years we’ve lived and learned.
As I type this, I’m finishing up a third weekend writing retreat now in January to kick off 2021. My manuscript is due in 2 months, and I still have tons of work to do, but I’m continuing to chip it off little by little.
This time, I drank lots of matcha instead of coffee and took 3 brisk walks on our neighbor’s paved driveway across the street by Snow Creek to keep the blood flowing. I felt foggy-brained and rusty, but I kept typing and typing and typing, and at times, pulling the words out. It’s definitely work, even though it’s work I enjoy.
I’ll leave you with a little something I wrote this weekend…
Almost 13 years later from when my heart was first stirred to start supporting local farmers, I am now a farmer. Let this be an encouragement to you, my friend - don’t wait until the scenario is perfect and all the ducks are in a row. You can do something now to move in the direction of the passions bubbling up inside you. Something really unique and special can be created when you pursue your dreams in an environment of community and connection. It’s what makes us human. It’s what makes us come alive.
