Retreat
I am taking a week-long writing retreat in Provincetown—the goal of which is to revise my novel manuscript, The Side Door. Gizmo is here with me.
The whole idea sounded vaguely romantic when I thought it up. But now, two and one half days into the retreat, I see the pitfalls.
At first, all was going well. I had a plan. I zipped through the first 25 pages, and I thought—this is great. But by page 50 (the original draft is 220 pages) I simply felt lost, without a center.
The following list is meant to be funny, not dramatic—only to say—this is how my mind is working right now:
1) A strange spot on my neck convinces me I have skin cancer.
2) Gizmo does not like it here. He wants to go home. Therefore, we should just go home.
3) I feel feverish—perhaps I am getting ill.
4) I have lost the ability to write anything that anyone anywhere cares about.
5) I can’t sleep.
How’s that for a romantic retreat? Here’s hoping Wednesday is better than Tuesday.
Signing off.
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