Patricia Young - A Scene
Writing may have brought me to Haven, but I wasn’t a writer until I left.
When people ask how long I’ve been writing, it makes me smile because, to be honest, I can’t remember when writing wasn’t a part of my life. From little diaries with tiny locks and keys to copying lyrics from songs to sing alone. Nature journaling, short stories to poetry. It never occurred to me that writing would become something more than a personal place of comfort, musing, or heartache about the boy in school who never looked at me, but I loved him nonetheless.
There were comments from teachers who saw that there was more in the weaving of my words then a homework assignment. But I never felt worthy to even consider revealing my work to the public or undertake writing a book. Seriously? A book? You must be kidding.
It wasn’t until a lonely night in 2013 that the realization of the trouble we were in held me tight, that I automatically turned to writing for help, guidance or a pearl of wisdom. My husband and I had lost our jobs within three months of one another. Our bank lost paperwork, had us re-do documents more than a half dozen times as we desperately fought to keep our home. Numb hope sat beside me as I aimless searched for remedies on the Internet. From stretching a dime to preparing recipes that would stretch the groceries.
When I look back, I’m not sure what I entered that brought up Haven. My now favorite photo of Laura, wrapped in a shawl leaning on a door frame, a silent welcoming to come inside gently written in her smile. She spoke of being a seeker. Well that was exactly what I was at that moment. I didn’t take time to read the entire page but sent a message and explained, in a nutshell, that I wasn’t asking for a handout. But things were pretty bleak right now, and a direction, a beacon, a pearl of wisdom would be very much appreciated. Who was I kidding? There was little chance of a response, but I pressed send, closed my laptop and went to bed to stare at the ceiling until morning.
The next day I logged on to find a letter from Laura. Not once did she ask for anything, not to buy her book or purchase tea grown in Montana to promote proper grammar, she just connected. She had actually read my thoughts, and the pearl she gave me has become a mantra. Do the work. If you want something if you have a goal if you are in darkness and need to find the light. Do the work it takes to get there.
Two months later I was at the Walking Lightly Ranch. I had never traveled that far alone before. It was scary and exciting all at the same time. It was also the day a deluge of rain took aim at the US Open literally flooding the streets at LaGuardia! Flights were canceled, and the airport was packed with soggy passengers. My morning flight did not board until midnight. I was diverted to Minneapolis and spent the night in a luxury hotel on Delta’s dime. It was a glorious, a sign, if not an exhausting way to start an adventure.
Once home I started my monthly blog Touched By Words. It is my tiny platform. My work was published in local magazines. But it was not until the following year I attempted NaNoWriMo. That is where my book was born. From that point on, I took the bones of my manuscript and built a novel. There were workshops, DVDs, writing circles, courses at the Writing Institute, connections with other writers, authors, and editors. There were some awful, terrible experiences, there were more wonderful, positive ones as I began to really understand the craft of writing. The process of writing. The art of writing.
Now, several years, many drafts, along with a multitude of people who support and encourage me. I finished my first novel. Publication requriers a completely different set of rules and skill set. Developing the query letter was harder for me than writing fifteen chapters. There are many, many people for a fee who will promise you they can help you write. And some can, but then they are silent when it comes to promising you publication. You are on your own. You have no choice but to do the work.
As for me, I have a burn now to take the traditional path and see it through. If it doesn’t happen, I’ve lost nothing but gained knowledge. Either way that is something to celebrate. Which will be another scene I will write about.
Rebecca Deslauriers - Writing as Living
I was suddenly panic stricken, my breath shallow, hands sweating as I stood in line to check out of the Bellagio Hotel where my corporation had just completed its annual meeting. Too much pressure, too many deadlines, the anvil was waiting to fall and my immediate thought was, escape.
I truly do not recall the flight home, or the ride from the airport to my front door. It’s as though that day was dragging me to the depths of an ugly place and I had a choice to climb out of the sink hole or be swallowed, never to return to be the wife, mother, friend I had been.
Months passed from that fateful day, the brink of my demise. As the anxiety and depression began to lift, I felt a new fear. Who am I now? I’m not a corporate physician/hospital administrator, I can’t go back to working in the clinical setting either. What will I do? How do I define myself now? Questions whirred in my brain for weeks.
The month was July, a beautifully new ordinary one. No time commitments, meetings, emails or being on call at the whim of my CEO. My corporate slave days were blessedly behind me. My husband and I wrote a new set of daily rules. First was to make time for myself, which I gratefully did everyday by sleeping in, often sitting outside to enjoy my coffee, read or putter in the yard. I allowed myself to go to lunch with friends, happily enjoying the freeness to nap or ride my bike. The stress had taken a hike. Emptying my soul and ravaged mind was like taking out the garbage and filling the body-can with only goodness and joy. Those experiences filled my tank, however my gut felt empty. I didn’t miss the cloak of anxiety on my back, but I missed using my brain. What could I do? Find a new career, take a language course, volunteer at the local food bank? Yes, I tried a brief foray into improving my French and spent time helping my church fill boxes for needy children. I couldn’t put my finger on the missing puzzle piece.
July 5th, I decided I would finally clean out my home office. Opening the door, taking a breath, I walked in and began to box the endless papers and pamphlets that were strewn across the weathered white desk that sat below the photos of turtles in the South Pacific, swimming in the clear blue water. Those pictures were my daydream visuals knowing I would someday spend time snorkeling aside these amazing creatures. Glancing to the right of my desk top computer sat my long dormant lap top. It drew me to its dusty sliver top as if an unseen hand took my arm moving it like a marionette. I blew off the dust, plugged it in to charge, completed a brief cleaning and walked out to the living room to the oversized Pottery Barn chair, threw on the blanket for the pups and plopped down with the lap top. I opened the lid, pulled up a blank page and began to write. I had written multiple papers for my education but this was different, this was heart pouring words, spilling like a cascading waterfall onto the pages. Words of grief, joy, hate and revenge. They flew across my fingers as fast as I could type. Words that were feelings, desires, needing to tell a story, a dark story but I frantically wrote for hours. I didn’t stop from that moment, except to eat, shower and perform the essentials. It became a compulsion to finish my story. So I wrote for several months and finished the book. I was elated, relieved, nervous and felt like I had discovered a newly flavored candy. This was it, my gut relaxed and I realized I am new someone, a writer.
That initial burning need to write has never left me over these last four years. I have a hope, a relief valve, all within myself that I can release and let fly. If my words are never shared then so be it, but my purpose is filled, there is life after a career in medicine and I’m enjoying every minute of it.
If you are on the fence…read these lovely testimonials from recent
Haven Writing Retreat alums!
“Laura’s gifts are many. She has a way of pulling the story from the writer. She begins with a warming of the hive and by the end of Haven, she has drawn each person’s sweet honey out for all to taste! All good things come to those who wait. It took me years of watching Laura’s Haven retreats from a distance to get to a yes for myself. Thank God I got to a yes! This was by far the best money I have ever spent on a workshop for my career and I’m deeply grateful. The writing instruction was epic and I left with a renewed love for the craft of writing. The thing that surprised me was the high level of skill Laura has as a facilitator for both the individual and the group. I have been facilitating groups for years and it is something that takes often hard earned skill, insight, passion and a touch of magic. Laura has an abundance of each and made a full-day, learning- packed workshop truly feel like a retreat! Brava Laura! 10,000 Thank you’s for sending me home better at everything I do, especially writing!
I can’t wait to come back for Haven II!”–Kathleen, San Luis Obispo, CA (Occupational Therapist)
“If you are reading this testimonial, you were like I was: desperately searching for evidence that I should or shouldn’t go, trying to decide if I was or wasn’t a writer. If you are that person in that place, I would like to speak directly to you: go to Haven. If you have found Haven, if you have found this page, life is giving you a gift. It is up to you to take it. Haven changed my life and my writing in all of the ways it needed to change. Laura is brilliant in a way that is difficult to put into words, but she has a superpower: she helps you shed all of the writers that you are not, and helps you leap into the beautiful writer that you are. If you aren’t sure of your voice, Laura will help you find it, and BELIEVE in it. She’s the writing fairy-godmother that I always wanted and now have. Get there. Jump the hurdles, bypass the doubt, walk through the fear, and get there.”
— Amy, Missoula, MT (Singer-songwriter)
“This is the power of Haven: For one year, I hadn’t written a word. Not a one. I was stuck in a place in my manuscript, couldn’t figure my way out, and signed up for Haven in a last ditch effort to find the problem before I threw out the whole thing. But on Day 3 of Haven, after working one on one with Laura, I went out into the Montana wilderness with my computer and typed out 600 new words that unlocked the problem in my book. I’ve been back home for four days now, and am 10,000 words into a new draft with no sign of slowing down.”– Brooke, Vancouver, BC (Speaker. Writer. Coach. Chef.)