Ask anyone who knows me. I am not an active person. Bench pressing the remote control is a thing of stealth. My husband asks me to go hiking and I reply, “I would rather cut off my own legs.”
Now this is not to say I do not like the outdoors, after all I am from Montana. I would just rather be reclining in them instead of making some sort of physical movement. I love nature. I can camp. I can shit in the woods with the best of them.
So naturally I drug the husband along on a hippie retreat last weekend to a little place called Spirit Falls in Pine, AZ. If the name of this cabin doesn’t conjure pictures of machete-wielding strangers and teenagers screaming then I am sad for you. (P.S. I heartily recommend these little cabins for a retreat. Uber-awesomeness).
However, this little cabin in the woods was a gem. Owned by a lovely man named Bodhi Heart (Swoon, AMIRIGHT?) he made us feel at home. He kindly explained the surrounding property and introduced us to the RV-type toilet where all our craps would gather in a little basin at the bottom and then he would “collect the contents” at the end of our stay.
Now this is not the point of the story – the point of the story is one of the main reasons I wanted to get away. To clear my fried mind. To read. And especially to write.
Writing was a bit daunting because (to be honest) I have a hard time performing – ahem – a hard time writing in other spaces other than my office. I can’t get the groove; feel the beat, so to speak. So this was kind of like a test.
Which I frickin’ passed.
The Husband went into town leaving me alone with a laptop, a horse head, some wine, and my iPod. I put on Coconut Records, danced some jigs and I really wrote.
Along with the 4th of July Incident of 1999, this memory will be engrained in my mind for as long as I live. As writers we all know the feeling of when we dig out of that rut, grab another experience and are able to JUST WRITE. It’s a big deal for me. I’ve never been that person who can load up the laptop and head to the Starbucks. I must write in my chair. At my desk. Cat asleep on my lap. It’s my element. It’s maybe a bad habit but I think I broke it…just a little bit.
Being able to write at Spirit Falls was like popping my writer-ly cherry. I got down and got copacetic with my bad self. Came up with some great scenes for my work-in-progress. Along with chasing squirrels, it was the highlight of my trip.