If you haven’t read Part Two you can find it here.
Stone Monoliths
Each day was similar: breakfast, write, classes, write, lunch, write, social hour, write, dinner and dessert, reading and feedback. The day officially started at 8am and didn’t end until 10pm…or 11pm. And perhaps if I’d been able to sleep better, if my insomnia hadn’t been in charge, I’d have handled the schedule better. As it was I was up every morning by 6am or sooner and not able to fall asleep until nearly midnight.
It was exhausting and wonderful. I didn’t have to plan, cook, or shop for food. I didn’t have to check social media every hour, I didn’t want to either even if the schedule had allowed it.
Steamy Pond
I’d walk the property in the early hours enjoying the steam coming off the many ponds, arriving back to the lodge feet soaked, but blood warm and flowing, ready to write in my journal listening to the sound of cooking in the kitchen.
Secret Garden
My walks along the property every morning and every afternoon after dinner were grounding and enervating. I’d come across a new structure and wonder at it’s purpose aside from the obvious beauty. I slowly realized how much more I was getting from this retreat than the validation I’d initially sought, the crafted learning I’d been lacking, the nourishing food I hadn’t expected to be such a delight.
Labyrinths
What surprised me most was the energy of the place. I live only a few hours away and have visited the area many times. But Montana is Montana, I thought, how different can it be. Only it was, different. There’s an intense energetic pulse to the place, a seeking and a soothing, a pushing and an untangling. I wondered if everyone else felt it, too.
I’d been working for so long, so many years of being ignored, unappreciated, passed over…and for what? So that I could come in on my birthday and be told I was being let go? That’s some shit. And I’d worked my ass off for that company. Literally, no ass left. They called me “Mark, no ass.” Okay, well, maybe not. But seriously, I did weekend and I did evenings and I swear to god when the boss came up and said shit like, “I’m gonna need you to come in on Saturday,” I was all over it. Sure, boss! Not a problem. That was me.
But not anymore. Fuck that shit. Cause now I’ve learned, haven’t I. It doesn’t matter how much you bleed on the capitalist corporate community, they want more. They’ll bleed you fucking dry, man. So now, now I’m the Disciplined Half-Ass. But no one calls me that to my face. I’ve made a job out of being just good enough not to get fired. Just good enough not to be noticed. Just good enough that no one needs me on evenings or weekends and no one pays attention to me when it’s time for layoffs either. I’m like the fly on the wall, but without the buzzing, cause that shit would draw attention. And that ain’t me. Not anymore.
Because here’s the thing, we all want to be loved and appreciated and told that we make a difference, that we matter. But that’s the stuff you save for your personal life, your private life. You don’t need that shit from your j-o-b and if that’s where you’re getting it you are fucked. And I mean capital F Fucked!
The world is your playground man, go have fun! Meet the people who will bring you joy and who you can bring joy to. Th
5 Minute Stretch Exercises are a creation of Laura Munson and were learned at Haven Writing Retreats. Write for five minutes, no corrections or stopping. This prompt was taken from Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert.
Did you get a copy of my Inaugural Newsletter: Sunday’s Scrips? It sent on July 7, 2023 and may have gone to your spam *boo*
Take a look here and be sure to share with anyone who might be interested.
I’m still working out the kinks, like why didn’t it show my mailing address? Why isn’t there an easy way to post it here without giving a link? It’s like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop: the world may never know. But I’m gonna do my best to find out!
He’d always considered himself a learned man, well read, going deep into topics he found interesting, a jack-of-all-trades and ignoring the master-of-none. His insight was always welcomed in the circle he travelled, for everyone in them knew he was a man who knew things, “a man of wide reading,” they’d say. And he consumed their adoration like air, like water, their adoration the thing keeping him alive. It’s not easy, however, to be a man of wide reading. It requires time, patience, and the ability to remain curious about anythin and everything. This would seem appear, but it truly is not. For how is one to be curious about something like a stubbed toe, an egg that doesn’t hatch, or a lost set of keys. And yet…. It was only as he leaned into the things he’d previously ignored, only when he picked up the medical book he’d been avoiding based solely on it’s recommendation by someone whose tastes he found basic that he discovered a stubbed toe could be interesting, could actually be so much more, could be related to spinal chord injuries, brain injuries
5 Minute Stretch Exercises are a creation of Laura Munson and were learned at Haven Writing Retreats. Write for five minutes, no corrections or stopping. This prompt was taken from The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick.
Huge blue door oh what a bore makes me want to snore who lives there? a big giant? I don’t care. maybe a king? Who’s really quite something? or it’s a secret To another land far away oh how Grand Huge blue door maybe I adore if i just turn the knob And believe in such lore Huge blue door You lead me to more I see the wine pour and fire roar
Stacy Hodo has lived in the mountains of San Diego most of her life. She loves being a single mom, teacher, creative dreamer, and spiritual warrior.
Despite the comfortable bed, I struggled with sleep. It was my first night in a new space and my insomnia is ever at hand. I woke repeatedly to hear the Great Horned Owl talking outside, and sometime around 3:30am I gave up and quietly turned on a light to read and write. It was finally light enough outside to go for a walk at 5am, and I quietly slipped out of the bunkhouse. I chose a walking path and let my body move, the blood flowing, the aches soothing out.
Echo Chamber Entry
I startled ducks onto the pond, and songbirds out of song. There was evidence deer had been through but I didn’t see the deer themselves. I could hear the wild turkeys but found only a feather. The rock structures were amazing and everywhere. I’d walk til I came to one that needed photographing and then I’d move on. I went to the echo chamber, modeled after one in Scotland, I’m told. It was stunning, fascinating, and it worked.
Echo Chamber Center
I stood inside on the central stone and whispered my gratitude, listening to the hundreds of me’s saying “thank you.”
Fire
By the time I hiked back my boots were soaked through. They’re the most comfortable work boots I’ve ever had and I wear them for everything, but apparently they’re water resistant, not water proof. I grabbed my notebook from my room and went over to the Lodge where smoke was coming from the chimney. I sat by the fire, took off my boots and socks to let them dry, and I wrote.
The ever amazing staff said “good morning,” let me know when coffee was ready, asked how I’d slept. I was overwhelmed by the kindness, thoughtfulness, and care. “Thank you,” I said, over and over, an echo chamber myself.
The coffee was perfect, the fire was fantastic, and I wrote and wrote and wrote, stopping when breakfast was announced. The other women slowly trickled in, all in various stages of morning, grabbing cups of coffee, grabbing plates filled with food, all of us congregating at the table. I don’t remember what we spoke about aside from the general panic when it was determined we were supposed to be in the school house in ten minutes. The rush as women took their plates to the bussing station, called their thanks into the kitchen, grabbed a bit more coffee on their way out.
Schoolhouse
Every building felt like my favorite, but the schoolhouse: with the bell-pull on the right and the bathrooms in the back, the light streaming in from all sides…I could live in it happily for all my days. There were snacks laid out and more coffee and water, but it was evident these things were here as fuel: we’d come to work. We ran exercises, learned several writing lessons, ran more exercises. When we finally broke for lunch it felt like we’d been there the entire day already, although part of this feeling could be attributed to my lack of sleep, I’m sure.
Every meal was phenomenal although I can’t recall what we ate. After lunch I put my things away because I was heading off-site to the ranch of a horse whisperer. I met Bobbi at her cute little VW Bug which whipped us through the traffic of Whitefish in no time flat. The ranch was a sea of horses, all out in three or four pastures, all out in enormous herds. We discussed how to see through the eyes of another, how to claim our energy and space, how to communicate with movement.
Horse
It was fascinating and overwhelming and I found myself having multiple epiphanies about how I exist in this world, how I show up or don’t, how my mixed signals confuse more than just myself. I met several horses and the one in the photo is the one who reminded me I don’t have to acquiesce.
Bobbi raced me back to the retreat in time to wash my hands before social hour, a mandatory event that I would have skipped if it weren’t because I needed to work on my piece for that night and because I’d much rather be an introvert. I would be reading a piece that night along with one other writer, and my piece needed to be cut in half and still make sense, still be emotionally moving. I had all of ten minutes to pull it off, and with the exception of one little hitch, something I likely would have taken out if given a bit more time and opportunity, the piece went well.
The feedback that night was phenomenal, it was all the things I wanted to get from a roomful of peers.
“You won’t fool anybody, dressed like that,” he sneered. “They’re all gonna know you’re trash.”
She considered pausing, the application of her lipstick almost complete, but didn’t. She finished out the bottom lip, pursed her lips together, grabbed a tissue and put it between her lips. A gentle press, the tissue rolled up and thrown away. She was slipping into her shoes, the ones from the thrift store that looked brand new but had cost her “only” three precious dollars.
“They all gonna know the minute you open your mouth and them bitchy little words start falling out.”
She had slipped the shoes on now, they fit her right foot perfectly but the one on the left was slightly too large. It had been a problem her whole life and she always tried to by a half-size bigger and let her right foot swim a little. But beggars can’t be choosers, or so she’d been told. She grabbed the same purse she’d been using
5 Minute Stretch Exercises are a creation of Laura Munson and were learned at Haven Writing Retreats. Write for five minutes, no corrections or stopping. This prompt was taken from Making a Literary Life by Carolyn See.
Sunday Dutro, Author - Official Site 