I’ve gone on two writing retreats in 2020.

The first, in February 2020, was an experiment. I stayed at the Constance Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts near Ithaca, New York, for a weekend. Could I concentrate for 36 hours on writing one story? Sort of; I was on my computer a lot. However, much of that time was spent checking in on the live stream of the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials. Some more of that time was spent doing a run myself, pretending that I was running in the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials. At least I was using my imagination.

The story I tried to finish that weekend was a flop. Part of a collection, it’s on the back burner for now and I will re-write it soon. Even though I didn’t focus very well at Saltonstall, I did get some ideas out, and early drafts are important.

This weekend, I tried the writing retreat again, renting a friend’s lake house for two nights. I’m happy to say I got more words on the page than I did during my first attempt in February.

Between the two retreats, I’ve learned a few things about myself and my approach to dedicated writing time. I also learned (or was reminded of) the ways I deal with solitude.

Here are five pointers I will follow the next time I go away for a weekend writing retreat:

I will set one writing goal.

Both weekends, I packed my backpack heavy with notebooks, a how-to-write-plot book, novels, short story collections. I also made lists of multiple projects to confront: one story to draft, another to revise. Maybe a blog post or two. This weekend, however, I actually worked on only one story—and the single focus was a relief. It was also a relief to have no wifi. Well, kinda…

I will turn off the Internet.

This weekend, my friend’s cabin did have wifi, but I could not get it to work on my laptop. And on Friday night, I tried embarrassingly hard to get the password to work. It was a blessing in the long run to not have easy Internet access. I did skitter to my phone for Facebook and Twitter when I hit writing challenges at points. But the phone format for social media and email bugs me, so my time online—and in communication with other people—was limited. To the ultimate benefit of my story.

I will connect with myself.

This weekend pointed out to me how I am connected with people. All. The. Time. This was no monastic year of solitude: I was 30 minutes’ drive away from my home for less than two days. Still, I started to feel disconnected and therefore uncertain within a few hours of unplugging. Writing is an art of communication, BUT I personally need to forget what readers, editors, and fellow writers are thinking, doing, and writing in order to create any honest work. In other words, I need to stop giving a f*** about what other people think in order to get my ideas on the page. Maybe this is easier for other writers. But I know my weaknesses. Hello, self. It’s been a while since we’ve had quiet time together.

I will recreate

My mind doesn’t concentrate until my body, like an over-active sheep dog, has gotten its daily fill of hard physical romping. Therefore, I know a writing retreat isn’t going to go very well unless I plan a run or hike. This weekend, I was staying a few miles from a state park I know well and some back roads I want to know better. On Saturday, after a few hours of writing, I took a break to go for a run and really explore my familiar-yet-new surroundings. I enjoyed the run, let my body improvise the way I wanted my imagination to, and got some good ideas—a few lines of dialogue, an insight into a character—while I was on the trail. I was back at the writing table ready for another session before lunch. And in the evening, my husband showed up (with take-out dinner) to do a hike at the state park and bring my day of writing to a close.

I will remember that I like my routine.

I loved getting away to write this weekend. I got words on the page–thousands of them. I made progress. I also realized that my usual mode of writing—about an hour a day before the sun comes up—suits me. Endless time to write is a lot of pressure. But 60 minutes a day? I got this.

Tomorrow, Monday, it’s back to the story, back to the daily routine. And I can’t wait.