In a world dominated by rejections, victory is all the sweeter.  When the email arrived, informing me that my piece “Late Arrival” had been accepted for Northland College’s WritersRead event, my heart danced.  As a writer, I celebrate any success, no matter how small.  Even seeing my work linger longer than usual in the “In Process” status of a publication’s submission process constitutes a win in my book.

I’d heard that the event was “a hoot.”  A friend who has read several times described it as “the best party for writers and readers anywhere.”  I was excited for both the opportunity and the entertainment.  But I woefully underestimated the impact of being a participant.

Nineteen pieces were selected for reading at the late January event.  Eight of us were from Duluth.  Sheer distance precluded our attending the scheduled rehearsal, and we were encouraged to arrange our own.  Little did I suspect that would set the stage for reaping the true value of the event.

As a group, we descended on the Spoken Word Open Mic night at Beaner’s Central Coffeehouse.  It was packed, due to an earlier political rally, and it was a long time before any of our names were called.  But one by one, we made our way up to the small stage, took a deep breath and read our pieces to an audience.  Just knowing there were friendly faces among the crowd was a boost, and certainly having live listeners was good preparation for the real thing.  I admired the quality of the work in our group, and relished their comments afterwards.

Just for good measure, a smaller group of us gathered in the black box theater at UMD about a week later.  This time we were reading only for ourselves, with the benefit of immediate feedback, discussion and do-overs.  I was beginning to get a feel for the generosity of these seasoned writers, and the unending support they gave one another – including me, the neophyte.

The evening of the event, participants gathered beforehand in the stainless-steel kingdom of the college kitchen.  While being treated to fresh pizzas made on the spot and sipping wine, we mingled.  In the quirky informal space it was easy to feel the spontaneous camaraderie among this collection of writers.

As promised, the event attracted a good crowd.  I marveled at the enthusiastic support for writers in the small northern communities along Lake Superior.  They were a lively and receptive audience as we each got up and read our piece.  Being second on the program quickly dispelled my nerves and I could settle in and enjoy the remainder of the readings.  The genres covered nonfiction, sudden fiction, micro-fiction, twitterature and poetry.  Each reader brought something unique to the event’s theme, “Gut Instinct,” rendered through humor, wit, poignancy and suspense.  I felt honored to be among the talent represented there.

The Duluth contingent heartily congratulated each reader from its numbers.  At the conclusion of the deliveries, we naturally clustered together.  Relishing the experience, snapping group photos, recalling snippets of the stories to savor, we ended the evening on a high note.

By pure happenstance, I met up with the bulk of the Duluth writers at breakfast the next morning at Café Coco in Washburn.  We swarmed a long table and spent the next two hours talking writing.  The spontaneous and genuine conversation was encouraging, supportive and friendly.  Despite my novice status, I felt a sense of belonging.  These people were here for me, as I was for them.  We all had something to share.  We all had something to give one another.

I drove home filled with inspiration, ambition and gratitude.  Being selected to read, what I considered my “win” was only the beginning.  I felt like a writer.  I felt like I belonged.  I had a new source of support for the lonely act of writing.  I couldn’t wait to write more, work harder and submit more.  Even if it meant more rejections.

Note: Wisconsin Public Radio recorded the WritersRead event, and aired it in two installments.  Click here to listen online or download the recording for the first hour.
(Shameless plug – my reading is 8:48 into this recording)  Click here for the second hour of readings.

The snow crunches under the wheels of my car as I move slowly down the drive.  Pulling up in front of a rustic building, I exit my car to find chickens pecking the frozen ground and horses neighing across the way.  Surrounded by crisp cold air, I hurry into the office to confirm my reservation and pick up keys to the Tree Lodge.

The cluttered office and scruffy environs matter little.  This is a retreat after all, and I intend to install myself in the cabin for some serious progress on writing my book.  I am soon joined by Kristina, and we quickly make ourselves at home in the two story dwelling.

Billed as a place to retreat from the busy world, Shire in the Woods hosts 7 cabins in a square mile of woodlands in central Minnesota.  Although it’s possible to see bits of the other cabins through the leafless trees in winter, the environs exude seclusion.  We are self-sufficient with the food and supplies we have brought, and stock the cabin with firewood to fend off the winter chill.

It doesn’t take us long to get down to work.  Despite the simplicity of the place we welcome the modern wifi, plugging in laptops and tapping away on our keyboards.  Kristina graciously helps me navigate the murkiness of my material, teasing out themes and probing my purpose to help me organize my stories about bicycle touring.  In time, my premise statement evolves – an elusive concept I have been pursuing for months.

Kristina pursues her own project, finding an agent for her heart-tugging book for infants and nursing mothers, Sweet Moments: Celebrating the Bond of Breastfeeding.  It’s amazing to find we can work in isolation right across the table from one another.  The camaraderie furthers our work, rather than inhibiting.  Warm meals of whole foods and sharing our passions flavor the progress.

Morning brings clear skies, below zero temperatures and restorative sunshine.  Huddled by the fire, sipping tea and coffee, we labor on.  Keystrokes are punctuated by periodic conversation, questions and diversions.  When my work drifts off course, Kristina gently guides me back into focus.

Noontime takes us out for fresh air and an explore.  Totally confused by the hand drawn map of the trails, we strike out for ourselves choosing the most obvious straight path.  When it becomes as twisted and convoluted as the map, we just go with the flow.  The sun warms our faces and the blue sky outlines the tall trees that make wispy shadows on the new dusting of snow.

Kristina’s departure to meet the afternoon school bus and resume her motherly role leaves the cabin empty and quiet.  So I bury myself in continuing the work I started.  Soon I am plunking down post-it notes on a poster board, positioning and moving them around to find order among the chapters.

I’ve never spent time alone in a cabin in the woods before.  Not even our own cabin.  I tend the fire, listen to the clock tick, eat my dinner while perusing other peoples’ memoirs and sip my cold white wine.  The wifi is just strong enough to allow me to listen to Pandora music, with periodic pauses to buffer.

My final morning is cozy and warm.  I have finally mastered the wood stove and heat pumps out faster than my work.  Still I putter with my storyboard, certain that I have not yet found the right flow.  But I’m infinitely farther along than I was two days ago.  I haven’t written a single word, but I’m finding the glue.

I have Rich to thank for this writing interlude.  He found the Shire and presented it to me for Christmas.  Perhaps he sensed I was losing my way on this book.  I haven’t solved all its mysteries, but I’m ready for forward momentum again.  Taking time out to retreat from the world with the help of the right writing partner has put me back on my path.