Last week, I packed my bags (filled mostly with
provisions and books) and headed for a land I have not visited in a very long
while … the Land of No Responsibility. I was accepted for a residency at the
Dorland Mountain Arts Colony in Temecula, California, where for one whole week,
I would do nothing more than write. As it turned out, I wrote, read, wrote, researched,
wrote, hiked, wrote, attempted to bake bread (failure!), wrote, stared at
sunsets, wrote and basked in the luxury of giving over my entire mind to my new novel.
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| My cabin at the Dorland Mountain Arts Colony |
Dorland dates back to the 1930s and sits on a beautiful,
sprawling nature preserve. Due to a massive wildfire in 2004, Dorland today
consists of just two brand new cabins (with more in the works) – with one
artist per cabin. I attended with a close friend who is a writer and musician.
Our idea was that we would work during the days and discuss what we were
working on over dinner each night. In fact, I was so absorbed in my writing
that we met only three of the seven nights that we were there, hiked a couple
times in order to clear our heads, but otherwise kept to ourselves. After all,
how often in an adult’s life can she retreat in full from the world?
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| Every sunset view from my front porch was captivating |
No internet. No TV. Just the necessities: electricity for
my laptop, a well-designed mini-kitchen, expansive views over the valley, a
large writing desk, more tables for writing wherever I felt like situating
myself at any given time, and a wood stove, with wood provided by the caretakers
(also artists-in-residence), Robert and Janice. The couple greeted us upon
arrival, to let us know they were there if we needed them, but otherwise, our
privacy would be respected and our solitude ensured. True to their word, they
revealed themselves only once … halfway through the week Robert came down to
check on my stock of firewood and at the same time deliver a slice of homemade
apple pie—tart and flavorful and perfect.
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| Rain & writing midway through the week |
The first morning of the residency, I felt a bit
disoriented. I did not have to check my emails. I did not have to check a clock
to figure out how much time I had to write before I needed to start work or
take care of countless other daily commitments. As I got started, I could feel
myself writing as if with a harness on. I eased in on my beloved Smith-Corona
Coronet, because the sound of the keys always gives me a boost. Then I
transitioned to my computer, and as the chapter I was working on began to head
in a new, exciting direction, I could feel the restraints falling away. I could
also feel myself being watched.
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| Room with a view ... of my daily muse! |
I looked up, and there outside my window, just a few feet
from my desk, was a deer, checking up on me before leaning down to nuzzle a
patch of grass. Two more joined in the feast, and in a moment that can only be
described as spiritual, a weight lifted off me. I love my life, but it’s a busy
life, and throughout my week at Dorland I learned how to untangle myself from
the restrictions on my writing that I’d become too accustomed to and slip into
a rhythm in which I could write at any time, at any hour, for as long or as
short a stretch as I wanted. And when I was not writing, I learned that I did not have to give my
mind over to anything else.
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| Another day, another gorgeous sunset |
Upon arrival at Dorland, I felt a kind of euphoria. The
morning I had to leave, I sat down in my rocking chair in front of my beautiful
view and sobbed. Not because I was sad to go, but because writing with such
freedom for a whole week had been cathartic. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed
it. Allowing myself that kind of unfettered liberty had been a way of believing
in myself as a “real writer.” Funny how someone who has had a novel published
by a major publisher doesn’t come to that belief naturally. I realized that
attending a colony such as this one was about more than setting aside time to
work. It was about creating a balance of
external and internal space. It was about giving myself permission to take
myself seriously. It was about returning to the reason I started writing in the
first place: it gives me so much pleasure.
