If you missed Part Three, you can read it here.

Based on everything I’d ever heard or read about writing retreats, I expected to have a room to write in, food made available three times a day, the end. I expected to be at a retreat for x number of days writing. Then go home. Honestly, with two little boys and two dogs and five cats and four chickens and a husband…a few days of being left entirely alone to write and being fed sounds quite lovely. But that’s not what Haven is.

It’s not what it isn’t either. There’s tons of writing at Haven. You write for hours in the morning class, and in the afternoons in your “free” time. And if you’re like me, you woke up early and wrote before class and again in the evening at the end of the day. There was one day where the writing from morning class extended into an outdoor workshop of more writing and reading. There was no shortage of writing happening at Haven.

Some afternoons before dinner we’d sit outside and take turns reading poetry or letters. There was as much reading at Haven as writing. A thing I’d not expected but am grateful for.

And yes, I got to meet live and in person, multiple New York Times Bestselling author Laura Munson, which is a fabulous honor. She taught me some amazing practices, alerted me to some phenomenal ways of seeing, and is solely responsible for my turning a short story into a memoir. I will always be grateful for all of that.

But the reason I went to Haven, the reason I got so much out of the experience, the reason I still can’t stop thinking about it is: the women. The women I worked with at Haven and continue to meet with weekly to discuss our work, are absolutely phenomenal.

I’d gone to Haven thinking I needed the experience to define me as a writer. If I got feedback that what I was doing was good, then I’d keep going and try to make a living out of it.

I’d gone to Haven thinking I needed the validation of having attended a retreat to define me as a writer. If I’ve never gone to a writing retreat how can I possibly call myself a writer?

I’d gone to Haven thinking that if I was really lucky, I’d get a group of writer friends to help discuss all the writerly things with. If I didn’t have a writers group to commiserate with, I wasn’t a writer.

All of that is bullshit.

It turns out that while I got an education at Haven I never could have gotten anywhere else, the most important thing I got from attending are these friends. We call ourselves the Haven Mavens and we meet weekly via Zoom to discuss all things writing. They are the women I contact when I’m excited about a grant I’m applying for or a short story I submitted for publication or I’m frustrated and stuck with my work in progress.

I went to Haven for unnecessary and ridiculous validation. I left Haven with a tribe.

If you haven’t read Part Two you can find it here.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Read the final part “The Takeaway” here.

Last month I was lucky enough to attend Haven I Writing Retreat, and while I posted several pictures from the retreat on Facebook, I’ve received many requests for additional information. The pictures are stunning and certainly tell part of the story, but not all of it. These requests for more information have felt a bit invasive, even as I understand them. I, too, would be asking for more if the roles were reversed. I haven’t quite been ready to discuss it, I suppose. It was all a bit overwhelming: emotionally, mentally, and physically too. Sometimes we just need to sit with our experiences awhile, marinate in them, before we have the words to express what they were and what they meant to us. Let’s see if I’ve marinated long enough.

Before attending Haven Writing Retreat, each applicant goes through an hour long phone call with Laura Munson, the multiple New York Times Best-Selling author and leader of the Retreat. For this reason alone, I almost didn’t attend. Silly? Maybe. I have two children, four and seven, and getting them to be silent for five seconds let alone one hour is an impossible task. My anxiety over being able to hear properly over a phone even without the kids around is high as we have pockets in our home where the connection gets lost or fuzzy and those pockets aren’t the same from day-to-day. The very idea that I may be asked something I don’t properly hear or understand is mildly terrifying, and the idea that I may say something that ought to have remained a thought (a very real concern) was almost more than I could stomach. But a few months ago a writer friend had instilled in me a need to go to a retreat and I would therefore attempt walking across water if that’s what was asked of me.

My hour long phone call became nearly three hours during which I cried (a lot), the emotions surrounding putting myself out there for my writing, truly claiming my writing as mine and what I want to do with my life, a thing I thought I’d already done, was soul opening. Meeting Laura on the phone was fascinating because I hadn’t yet read her books or anything else she’d published, I had no idea who she was other than the pictures I’d seen on the Haven website. I was a bit awed by her writer status (of course! An NYT B-S Author!! *swoon*) and to find that she was also a kind and thoughtful real-live person who reminds me quite a bit of myself…it was all a bit overwhelming. By the time the call was over I needed to do three things: pee, write a Haven Scholarship Application Letter, and find patrons/donors to cover the remainder of my fees.

The ensuing weeks were a blur of tears. A lot of emotions were coming up and out over this: “saying I’m a writer and actually going to a writing retreat are two different things,” “writing a monthly article for my paper is one thing, but going to a retreat with actual writers is another,” “going to this retreat means buckling down and writing a book, am I really doing this?,” “this retreat will legitimize me to the publishing industry as well as to anyone finding my page or following my Facebook,” “I’m about to find out from real live people that aren’t my friends or family whether or not I have a chance at doing this writing thing, whether or not there’s any there there.” Could I put any more pressure and expectation on this retreat? By the time I got myself packed and said my goodbyes to my family and hit the road, I was an exhausted and excited mess.

I’m lucky to live a short two hour drive from where the Retreat is held so I had plenty of time to decompress from the role of mother and wife and enter into the role of student and writer. As I approached the Retreat, the first thing I saw was a monolith of stone, a structure both organic and obviously man-made. There are tons of these throughout the Dancing Spirit Ranch, and I would spend the next few days stumbling onto most, if not all, of them.

Parking the car I went to the office to check-in and was given a quick tour of the bunkhouse (a gorgeous structure that deserves a much more sophisticated name), my room (adorable little cubby of rest), and shown where I would need to be and when.

I had about two hours before the other attendees and I would be meeting: two hours to do whatever I wanted. I went back to the car and grabbed my things: a backpack with my laptop and tons of pens and notebooks and reading books, and my duffel bag of clothes and toiletries. I dropped everything unceremoniously in my room, grabbed my journal, pen, and water bottle, and took off toward the Adirondack chairs by the pond.

No one else had arrived yet. I had acres of land to myself and so much I wanted to explore, I’d also been sitting for two hours already to get here. But I needed to write. I needed to put down for myself the story of the journey, the reveal of the Dancing Spirit Ranch, the anticipation and hope I had for what the next few days would bring. I needed to ground myself in the fact that I was actually there: this thing, attending a writing retreat, had become a reality. It was Day One of the rest of my writing life…there have been many Day One’s and I hope that never changes…but that’s another blog post.

The other writers began to arrive and I’d hear voices floating over to me or hear footsteps off to my right and look up to see someone attempting cell reception or taking photos of Glacier National Park in the distance. Beauty was everywhere you looked and the collective anticipation of the day was palpable. Everyone was here hoping to form a writing group, everyone was here hoping to find out they were on the right track. For that first night, the energy was buoying.

We all met in the Lodge for drinks and appetizers. We’d been introduced via email but especially as I was a late addition to the cast I had no real idea who anyone was aside from names. I was nervous and excited and terrified of what might come out of my mouth. I needn’t have been.

Continue the journey with Part Two here.