I hear the door to my room open. “What the–”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” My Muse slumps into a chair in a corner of the room. He’s disheveled, and has a grass stain on a shoulder of his rugby shirt. His cargo shorts are wet on one side, and his tennis shoes look like he’s been slogging through puddles.
“I was already up. Where have you been?”
He pulls a flashlight from a pocket and sets it on the small table beside him. “Scavenger hunt.”
Okay, let me think about that for a minute. “Weren’t you out with the other Muses?”
He leans his head back. “Yep.”
“Sooo, how does scavenger hunt fit in? New drinking game?”
“Sort of. A couple Muses aren’t exactly beings, human or otherwise. Couldn’t include them unless we got creative.” He groans. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“You don’t get old. How did you come up with the scavenger hunt?”
“Well, one Muse is a library card catalog, and one is Nature. What else do you do?”
Good point. “Like beer pong? Every time you find a clue you get a drink?”
He nods. “Some of those gals are fast. It was like playing rugby.”
“Hence the grass stain and wet. And I’m sure it was torture to play ‘chase the treasure’ with those women. You’re the only male Muse in the group, aren’t you?”
He stretches, rubs his eyes. “C’mon, love, it’s too damn early for this. Let me rest.”
And so ends a glorious weekend with my Writing Sisters. This year we stayed at a bed and breakfast in a mansion. What a gorgeous house! And a lot of places we could gather in a group. We brainstormed, critiqued, caught up on news, and yes, enjoyed cheese, fine chocolate, and wine.
The local town Square (yes, an actual Towne Square) was about a mile walking distance from the B&B. Good food, reasonable prices, and they didn’t mind a group of 6 writers showing up without reservations.
Will we stay here again next year? Maybe. Or maybe we’ll try a different venue. In any case, we will get together again. We just have too much fun creating and conversing to stop our annual tradition. We’ve got a new writer in the group who fits in just fine, and by next year one of our other Sisters should be back in the Midwest.
If you’ve never experienced a weekend with other writers, try it. If you have a few writing friends you met online or at a conference, and you keep in touch, try gathering for a day or a weekend someplace–a B&B, a hotel with suites that have nice “living rooms”, or a convent or other retreat facility where you can gather together and work. I use the term “work”, because as writers, even brainstorming on tangents is considered working.
This weekend consisted of critiques, suggestions, and brainstorming plots for our writing mentor’s next Fudge Shop Mystery.
Today is our farewell until next time. Next time never seems to come soon enough!