My assignment at 7 p.m. last night was to sleep for a few hours then awake and post here.
It’s 4:30 a.m.
Ahem.…that’s a little later than planned. Yet, the last 9.5 hours marked my best sleep of the past two weeks. And I’m still groggy. As in my body’s not done with its 40 winks tonight/this morning.
There’s a message here: my body needs a major rest. Two stimulating weeks involving a 1300-mile road trip and an hyper-invigorating writing retreat will cry out for good sleep at some point. That point came last night.
But…it’s my turn to post on RoadBroads. I promised Ellen.
I arise out of commitment, devotion, and frustration. Continued sleep will elude until the third necessary is answered.
Thus, dear reader, I offer preliminary pictures from yesterday’s Denver excursion. They provide partial explanation for the good-tired.
Tattered Cover in Denver: more stacks than any reader can count.Take a guess: how many new books are stuffed in this one sack?Done lingering, aunt and niece head to the ice cream stand, walking toward Denver’s handsome skyline.Olinger mortuary become Linger restaurant when new owners blacked out the “O.”
Linger Restaurant was a must-stop for a pair of ladies with a Memphis funeral business in the family heritage. We refilled our water from brown bottles once used for organ storage and ordered drinks from an old metal patient chart. Toe tags used to mark the drinks but they were gone yesterday. Too macabre a memory for some? I missed that part of the adventure.
It’s back to bed I go, the call of duty answered, potential guilt assuaged.
The CPAP lets a snore machine sleep well.
Tomorrow — oops, make that today’s — post will focus on my learnings from a writing retreat. First is how to manage this ongoing body-mind hum.
I had my last and final meeting with Max for this year’s writers retreat. Sniff, Sniff. At least we met once again in the beautiful Dushanbe Teahouse.
It was a good meeting. We reviewed much of what had been covered during the retreat classes. We discussed both of my writing projects and the kind of writing structure I would maintain once I return to Houston.
In addition to learning and practicing new writing craft skills, I have the following takeaways from this 10 day adventure:
The craft of writing is a life-long endeavor. During this retreat, I read things I wrote several years ago and I can see where I have grown and evolved with craft skills.
Community really does enrich a writer’s life. Whether it is attending a retreat, attending a class back in Houston at the Spectrum Center, or just getting together at a coffee shop or in someone’s home, writers can really encourage and help each other.
I have learned how to truly live as a writer. My hobby has now been elevated to a passion. The next year is going to be great fun.
After I finished my meeting with Max, I got a table and sat down for a tasty lunch. The entire inside of Dushanbe Teahouse is a work of art. Here is the statue that I had the honor of sitting next to as I ate:
After lunch, I strolled once again down Pearl Street and did a little shopping. Since I had an elephant as one of my writing prompts here at the retreat, I found an onyx one in a local store. That along with two rose quartz hearts completed my purchase. Now I have an elephant totem and pieces of the heart of Boulder to take back with me to Houston.
Tomorrow will be a special day. I get to visit with my niece who lives in Denver. We have not seen each other since she graduated from high school. At this point she has been out of college for several years. I am looking forward to catching up with her.
NOTE: For a fun change of pace, we invited several of our fellow retreat writers to write guest posts for our blog.
Here’s the first such post. It comes courtesy of our dear friend and fellow writer, Dorothy Van Soest. She has written three novels and is actively writing her fourth. Check out her work at dorothyvansoest.com. In a previous life, Dorothy chaired the Department of Social Work at the University of Washington in Seattle.
Thank you, Dorothy, for joining our RoadBroads team today!
With trademark focus and determination, Dorothy Van Soest updates the ongoing Sylvia saga.
To subscribe to the RoadBroads blog, check each box that has a storefront in it. Check. Check. Check.
I click on the continue icon. The words “try again” pop up on my computer screen. What? How could I have failed such a simple test? I try again.
This time the instructions are different. Check each box that has a road sign in it. Sounds easy enough. But I’m nervous. What if I fail again?
I click on a box that clearly has a street sign on it. No problem. But what about the box with only a partial street sign on it. Does that count? Should I check it? I take the chance. A few more checks and I hold my breath, then click the continue button. I passed! I’m in!
I go to the blog and start reading. Trust me, it is worth it!
What a delight to join the trek of two women across three states, from Houston to Boulder.
What a grand accounting of their experiences in Boulder, the taste of the town, the challenges and joys of being here, what it’s like to be in community with fellow writers of which I am honored to be a member.
What a delight it is to open an email every morning that directs me to their latest adventures.
Thank you, Melanie and Ellen, for bringing us all into your lives and experiences.
And for those of you who are thinking of subscribing, believe me it’s worth it, even if you have to try…and try again.
Here is my daily picture of the Flatirons. I just can’t get enough of those mountains.
I took this picture last night at the Chautauqua Park here in Boulder. I had a wonderful dinner there with friends. It was cool enough to sit outside and enjoy a fresh breeze. Some of us drank champagne to toast ourselves as writers. I also had a chocolate martini.…chocolate, yes, a theme that will carry through all day today.
This morning I was back at the Boulder Bookstore bright and early for my last small group meeting of this writing retreat. I knew this time would fly by so fast. My great American novel is not finished yet. We had a very good class today as we discussed where we go from here. I am pleased with where I am. Like I wrote earlier, I feel like I have my arms around this project and a timeline for completing it by the end of the year.
To reward myself for what I have accomplished since June 1st, I decide that tonight I can take some time off from the book project and write a short story. Usually when I write short stories, I am working on developing a character who just happens to be a grim reaper. This is more in the genre of Science Fiction or Fantasy. I may or may not ever publish these short stories, but they amuse me.
After class I wandered once more around the Pearl Street Mall. I found a most wonderful shop called “Peace, Love and Chocolate”. Oh my! There I had a 4 ounce cup of dark sipping chocolate. Magnificent!
That was 4 ounces of pure heaven. I sipped slowly. I watched other tourists come in and purchase their chocolate delights. Never had I enjoyed such a simple treat as what I found in this cup. The way the light shows up in this picture, it almost seems as though the gods and goddesses are smiling down on my brief afternoon respite. I hope to visit this miraculous spot again before I leave Boulder.
I drag myself away from chocolate heaven and return to the townhouse. Now I will sit down with my favorite non-fiction character, the grim reaper, and see what kind of tale I can weave tonight.
Allergy: Welcome to the yellow pollen and white wispys now attacking Boulder. Even my car has taken on new hues.
A new ‘do for old wheels: yellow highlights orange. Or does it?
I call them “white whispys” because they don’t stay still for photos. Instead, these feathery bits float around in the air like ephemeral angels (devils?), unnoticed until the sneezing and red eye begin. I thought they were pretty. Until Thursday morning.
It was my fifth morning of four mile walks. A speedwalk on Elmer’s 2 Mile Path devolved into sudden paroxysms of sneezing. Why am I sneezing? Then the teary gushers with itchy red eye began. On my return to the townhouse, I noticed the yellow pollen blanketing my orange car. When I caught me in the bathroom mirror, even I was afraid.
The delightful millenial barista at the Pekoe Sip House proclaimed similar agonies when I explained my junkie eyes. She said blame the oaks for the yellow pollen then curse the dogwoods for the white whispys.
The why of the what matters less than the cure. First, it’s load up on tissues, nose sprays, and eye drops. Second, it’s leave town to head south where after 34 years, my body is well-acclimated to Houston’s tree floaties.
Auto: My Subaru Forrester died in traffic only hours after the allergy attack. It took Magic Max of our Summer Writing Retreat fame only minutes to get the car (and its two women travelers) safely out of rush hour traffic and parked back at the townhouse.
I met my two BNF’s, as in Best New Friends, this morning: Eric from Triple A who linked with Phil of Hoshi Motors, Yes, that’s two bald commercial endorsements. How many mechanics have you met who will build a list of best gas stations in town to help you avoid another misadventure?
Phil in the Hood, triple-checking battery connections.
Everything checked out: battery, starter, alternator, transmission, blah-blah-blah. Even my homeboy mechanic was perplexed, and he did a thorough car check pre-road-trip. Best guess of these three mechanics? Bad gas from an off-brand service station and a quirky car unused to mountain driving in summer temperatures.
Two learnings emerged from today’s RoadBroad misadventure. If you’re a woman, both can help you.
Don’t buy gasoline from off-brand stations, especially when you’re on the road. Brand means the major oil companies such as Conoco, Exxon, Shell, etc. What’s four cents a gallon saved today when the engine quits tomorrow?
If you’re stuck in traffic with a malfunctioning car engine, try these Magic Max tricks, in this order:
1. Turn off the engine.
2. Pump the gas pedal twice (or more, but don’t flood the engine).
3. Turn on the engine until it “catches.”
4. Rev the engine for several minutes.
5. Your car should be drivable now. If not, your car has a different problem.
Thank you, Max Regan!
Aspergas: The morning’s car drama preceded our regular two-hour small group writing class. Only at 12 noon did I realized I had not eaten since consuming a mango popsicle at our Thursday night salon. At a quirky Pearl Street restaurant, I ordered an egg white fritatta.
Arugula tops green squash and egg whites — with a surprise veggie hidden in between.
What you don’t see is the surprise vegetable sandwiched amid the gorgeous arugula that tops the crepe-style egg white underneath.
You know this vegetable as asparagus.
I call it Aspergas. It should be regulated by the E.P.A. as a toxic substance. It is the most awful vegetable known to sentient beings. This truth has something to do with my mother’s inability to undercook it, causing aspergas fumes to permeate our entire house. For days. As a result: I. Do. Not. Eat. Aspergas. Or Asparagus.
Only after I bit into a thick wad of arugula on my fork did I taste the Aspergas. But it tasted different, and it was OMG good. I left nothing on the plate.
I reported the experience to DH. He was stunned. A first. After 34 years.
Art: Whlle eating my Aspergas surprise, I made art.
When I had entered the restaurant, I noticed a crayon basket on the table behind the restaurant hostess. I asked for two crayons, plus a puzzle page. She did a double-take. Not many 61-year-olds request art time while dining?
When Crayon Art meets a hungry RoadBroad.
I thought of Pat Clark, my dear writer friend who taught me about how art can heal during rough times. I needed ease after my allergy/auto misadventure. Pat’s clever Kindergarten Art morphed into my Crayon Art today.
I felt so much better when I finished.
Thank you, Pat!
Aspergas and Art.
A healing combination after Allergies and Autos.
P.S. My longest post as a RoadBroad. Forgive the windy! I hope you’ve enjoyed this read, even as you’ve learned something. That’s our goal.
There is nothing like the weather and scenery of Boulder to provide inspiring places for meeting and getting inspired about writing. I have already written about the Boulder Bookstore.
Now I have had a meeting with my writing coach on the patio of the Dushanbe Teahouse sipping fresh brewed teas while surrounded by beautiful roses.
What isn’t inspirational in that kind of a setting? Of course it helps that I finally have a solid story outline, I know where the story begins, where it ends, and what has to happen in between. Now all l have to do is start filling in all of the spaces and ideas I have outlined. It is very energizing to get to this point. Before this, my story was just this amorphous blob of an idea that sat in my mind without a good form. On with the first draft!
After my meeting at the Teahouse, I could not help but walk along the park and soak in the beautiful Boulder surroundings.
I keep taking pictures of the Flatirons as if I am afraid that they will disappear before I have admired them enough. It also helps that once I leave the park I know I am welcomed in Boulder because they have special crossing signs just for people like me. The good news is not everyone in Boulder is 20-something and climbing mountains every day. Some of us just want to go for a walk in the park and cross the street safely.
Tonight I did get my chance at reading at the salon. I picked out a selection that I wrote several years ago. I dusted it off, re-wrote, and edited several spots. The good news is that when I look at pieces I wrote several years ago, I can see that I have in fact grown as a writer. I have had a wonderful teacher in Max Regan and a wonderful writing support group in Houston. I felt good about my reading tonight and I received some very good feedback from the other attendees. It all inspires me to keep moving forward with my creative work.
But first, I need another good night of sleep and I have been sleeping really great in all of this clean mountain air!
Late yesterday, I learned an essay I wrote is a finalist in a national Creative NonFiction Essay contest. From more than 200 submissions, 37 entries were chosen finalists. Oh yeah, friend, it’s major buzz time.
Finalist notification letter about Boulder-based essay
It gets better. Call it the woo-woo factor.
The essay in question involves an incident that occurred in Boulder, at a Max Regan writing retreat, seven years ago this week.
Add that I learned the news while in Boulder, at a Max Regan writing retreat, only one day after visiting the location where the essay unfolded. I shiver.
Imagine a traumatized golden retriever in this picture.
Do you remember the blog mention two days ago of my search at the Trident Cafe? My search centered around an abused dog, an old lady, and a coward.
Seven years ago, cobalt blue draped everything in an eerie blanket of communal color: bands, straps, leashes, and booties engulfing Dylan the golden retriever.
Only two days ago did I notice the cobalt blue of the awning, the Trident logo, and, in a softer blue — always, the sky.
Besides weird timing, I’ve relearned several other things about the writing life in the past 24 hours.
One is, foremost, persistence.
I’ve worked on this essay for seven long years. It’s been through more drafts and readings than I will admit publicly. It’s been rejected by magazines (both on- and off-line) multiple times.
But I kept polishing this essay because it felt important, universal. Such bigness demands a big audience, I believed. What writers’ essays demand, I learned, is persistent effort. And patience.
Secondly, I’ve learned that what I experienced in my broadcast news days also applies to the writing life. You’ve got to start small, gain your chops, and work your way up the publishing ladder. That’s rarely the truth any writer — young, old, or in-between — wants to hear, especially in our get-it-now-or-get-lost culture. Slow down, writers, and learn your craft. And, always — be easy on yourself. Max preaches the same. Now, I’m listening. In a new way.
If nothing more develops of this particular essay — as in I end up #37 on the finalist list for this contest — I carry away the call for continued persistence and slow-small-steady progress. The simplicity of the message is sweet. And easy to pursue.
I celebrated today’s news with a dear friend, a tasty lunch, and a shopping trip to the Tennyson neighborhood of Denver. For the first time, RoadBroad’s chauffeur became a passenger — nice!
Today became mix-it-up day. We had no retreat classes, by design. Why not try a different city, different restaurants, different bookstores — an altogether different approach? BookBar whispered, thanks to a writer friend’s recommendation. Its theme says buy a book, drink a vino.
I did neither. Instead I bought a clever set of writer notecards plus a pair of map earrings. Do you hear the RoadBroads clapping? After my purchase, I turned around and left. Leaving the writer notecards on the counter.
BookBar bookstore: for books and wine, in that order (for some of us).Little maps of tiny towns cover quirky earrings. Perfect for a RoadBroad!
Oh, no! Guess who now must return to the BookBar? Who knows what else she can buy? Books maybe?
Of course, she’ll be wearing her new pair of RoadBroads earrings.
This morning I sat in the room on the upper floor of the Boulder Bookstore gazing out of the window. From where I was sitting I could see the tip of the flatirons. While that may not make for historic news in this town, for someone who lives in Houston where the landscape is quite flat, this is magnificent. The picture below was taken when I was just standing on Pearl Street Mall. Everywhere I look I see these wonderful mountains.
And then I am reminded why I am here and that is to write. I look away from the mountains and back into myself to see where my mind and creativity are headed.
My thoughts move to the serious arena today as I am reminded that this is the anniversary of the assassination of Bobby Kennedy when he was running for President back in 1968. I was 11 years old at the time and remember being awakened by my mother with the sad announcement. We watched the television news reports. We were saddened. Since I was living in Memphis, Tennessee at the time, we were still recovering from the assassination of Martin Luther King earlier in the year. So many memories of sadness that year.
As a current resident of Houston, Texas, I am also reminded that this is the anniversary of Tropical Storm Allison back in 2001. So much of the Houston area flooded, people were killed in the flood waters, so much property destroyed. Up until Hurricane Harvey last year, this had been the worst local flooding in recent history. It was the first time as a local government employee that I was assigned to help with recovery activities.
These are definitely part of the tapestry that make up my life. They have both helped shape who I am today and what I feel drawn to write about.
Then as I left my writing class and head back for home, I learn of the suicide of Kate Spade. Don’t get me wrong, I am no expert on fashion and do not think I ever owned one of her namesake purses. However, she was a creative and successful woman. She was a mother. She was only 55 years old. There is so much need for good mental health services in this country. Sadly, sometimes even those who can afford good quality health care, cannot escape the hellish depths of depression.
Back at the townhouse, I refocus on my writing. I am preparing to read some of my work at the salon that will take place Thursday evening. I hope I can do justice to the world I see around me and try to make it a better place. Having dinner prepared by two wonderful roommates definitely helps.
As I reflect at the end of this day, I am reminded of a quote by George Bernard Shaw that was borrowed by John, Robert and Edward Kennedy:
“There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why.….I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?”
Off for a good night’s sleep and more writing tomorrow.
Today was about the dogs. They showed up twice in 20 minutes.
The first dog sighting came in a quick stop on a goat hunt. Ellen swears Diana and I resemble bouncing mountain goats. Have you seen them? They’re the Internet-famous baby goats hopping around an Alpian farm. When I heard of Boulder’s Laughing Goats cafe, I had to find out if I fit in. Plus get a picture of the goats for Ellen. Maybe I could hop and laugh?
Dogs like goats? Or is it only a water thing?
Instead, I found this.
The dog bowl would seem a disappointment. Instead, I saw a thread.
Writers are, among other things, seamstresses. We search for threads with which to sew a story. Sometimes those threads come from multiple places.
After the Laughing Goat, I had one more thread to find.
I walked to the Trident Cafe in search of a real-life dog.
In 2011, I witnessed the heroic Dylan. That’s what I dubbed the golden retriever mix who stumbled down the sidewalk then stopped in front of the Trident Cafe. Make that “was stopped at the cafe.” Dylan was draped in a complicated contraption of leashes, harnesses, collars, and dog boots–all colored a cruel cobalt blue. I watched for several painful minutes as his master tugged, dragged, and yanked her dog down the sidewalk before shoving him against the Trident’s outside wall. Dylan laid against the brick building and baked in the sun as his owner went inside the cafe. I watched, horrified. Then walked away. Seven years later, the images — and my choice — haunt.
In planning this writing retreat, I had an odd mission to look for Dylan. Call it one of those things. This time, I’d do the right thing.
The Trident today held no Dylan, of course. Waiting instead was cobalt blue:
Cobalt blue haunts Trident Cafe dog.
Logo. Awning. Sky.
I am glad Dylan was gone. I pray he’s out of pain, no longer defined by cobalt blue.
The Dylan story and all this rambling about dogs and goats in a writer’s life must strike you as weird. If so, I am glad. Because that’s the job of a writer. To make others uncomfortable. Stories do that as we novelists and essayists and others of the writing life gather threads to create stories that impact your life somehow.
Interesting that this shirt chose me this morning. Upon awakening, I lacked full understanding of the importance surrounding today’s mission. The t‑shirt’s words best explain this seamstress metaphor.
Weird People. Writers. Artists. Dreamers. Outsiders. Pretty Special People. Can I say that?
I only sought a goat and a dog, never knowing I’d end up with two dogs and a blog post. And a really strange tale about the writing life.
Sherlock would be delighted my dedicated efforts at observation.
A pocket watch, a turtle, and an elephant walk into a bar.…..wait, that’s not right.
What do a pocket watch, a turtle, and an elephant have in common? I have no idea…yet…but I am using them as writing prompts.
So goes the beginning of our writing retreat which meets in the wonderful Boulder Bookstore.
After our first meeting on Saturday, I spend Sunday morning at the townhouse getting inspired by my three prompts. Finally, the words begin to flow and I am ready for class this afternoon. I also work on story outlines and plot points. I am ready to head out to class.
My roommates already left for their class. Everyone at the retreat is divided into three groups. Melanie and Diana are in the same group (maybe I am a little jealous not to be with them?). Oh well, we will be in some of the same writing groups when we return to Houston.
I enjoyed the few hours I have by myself at the townhouse. I am finally beginning to adjust to both the Boulder altitude and sharing house with two roommates. All three of us have been friends for a while now but have never roomed together before. Three strong, independent, assertive women. We all know what we want and how we want the universe to revolve. It is inspiring to see us adjust to each other. We are dedicated to our writing and to supporting other women writers. The room may be too cold for one or too hot for the other, but we don’t lose focus on why we are here. RoadBroads Unite!
I Uber to the bookstore. Now I’ve Ubered twice in two days. That makes me a pro. I even tipped Howard, the driver.
I walk along the Pearl Street Mall enjoying the shops and all the people. Each block seems to have its own street performer. Guitar players, drum players, even one guy standing on top of a ladder while juggling. The day felt festive.
I stop at one of the many coffee shops to get coffee and water to take with me to class. Then I enter the bookstore, walk up the stairs to the second floor and make my way back to our meeting spot in the middle of the religious/spiritual book section.
Max Regan lectures on different aspects of writing. Several of us read our writing assignments and get good solid feedback. The two hours fly by quickly and class is over.
It is now time to head out for dinner and our first salon. I walk the four blocks to the location of the salon to find a wonderful spread of salad, breads, cheeses, sliced veggies and more. There was fruit for dessert which included some of the best fresh mango I have had in a long time.
We will have several of these salon meetings during the retreat so that every writer shares some of their work with the entire group. Melanie read tonight and did a masterful job. I take a turn at reading next Thursday. I hope I can be as good as Melanie. She has set the bar very high.
Now back at the townhouse, the day is over. I am exhausted but pleased with that I have accomplished today.
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