On Friday, I took a vacation day and checked into a hotel to write.
Go to a coffee shop, suggested more than one friend when I spent the better part of last month complaining about how being at home distracts me, how there's always someone around needing me or wanting something from me, always a pile of laundry that needs folded and put away, always something domestic to tug at my consciousness.
I can work in coffee shops. I can email, write blog posts, schedule social media shares, create marketing images, and generally run my business. I can take an afternoon out of my day job office and get things done with an audio backdrop of hustle and bustle, the whirring of espresso machines, and the occasional blast of cold air from the front door while I sit cozy with a dirty chai and some ill-advised baked good.
But not when I'm writing creatively.
When I'm in a generative mode of writing, my needs are many. I need to be able to stand up and walk around, to fidget. I need to be able to talk to myself. I need to be able to lie down on the floor and pull my knees into my chest while out-loud working through a memory. I need to make coffee the way I like it. I need to not stop for lunch. I need to spread my drafts out on the floor and tiptoe around them looking for themes.
So I checked into a hotel. I had pre-arranged for an early check-in so I could arrive at 9 AM, fix a plate of continental breakfast to take back to my room, and get right to work. I set up my mini Keurig to brew a cup of Columbian, turned the heat up, and grabbed a cheese omlette and blueberry yogurt from the buffet. I put on the Do Not Disturb sign and opened up my laptop.
I'm about to murder this blank Word doc, I texted to a friend. When she replied with <3<3<3, I put my phone aside and got to work.
I wrote from 9:30 AM until noon, then took a break to stretch and enjoy the free-upgrade jacuzzi tub in my room. Decadence. I was out and back to work by 12:30 and went straight until 3 PM. Then I ordered a chapbook manuscript I've been meaning to submit to a contest before its late fall deadline passes me by.
When I checked out at 4 PM, the woman who gave me my key earlier that morning looked surprised to see me.
Heading out already? she asked.
I'm all set, I told her.
I spent $94, taxes included, to write 6,000 words, order and edit a manuscript in progress, and take a magnificent bath in a tub I didn't have to scrub first. And I have no regrets. Not one.
Have you ever taken a mini retreat? I'll be doing it again soon, I can tell you that much!
