When I arrived at the John Hay Writing Studio, I was shown a book where those who used the space could write about their experiences. My entry on day 4 was short. Apologies.

While I understand how wonderful it is to have something written in a writer’s hand, I also have to admit that the only reason that I’m a writer today is that I can type. In elementary school I refused to write cursive, and beyond that my printing always looked like a fourth grader’s efforts. My brain has never been wired for spelling, and so spell check has saved my life. And yet, I have been compelled to write from second grade on, and the computer has made it possible for me to call myself a writer from 1990 until today. I’ve had eight books published, totally because of word processing and spell check.

And the more I type, the less I write, so much so that I often forget how to put pen to paper!  No, I am not bemoaning the loss of cursive writing, or the move from pad and pen to keyboard. I am celebrating it! We just need to be sure that future writer’s studios are equipped with a joint blog where those who use that space can post their thoughts and notes of appreciation. That would not only serve poor penmanship people like me, but it would make those writers’ notes available to the public.

Additionally, a John Hay Writer’s Studio Blog would allow for photographs. Despite how much we value words and writing, it’s also a visual world. As I demonstrate here.

Day 1, September 9

I arrive with all of my expectations and preconceptions. How can there be a writers’ retreat where there is no bathroom, and you can’t stay the night? I tell people that I’ve been invited to have a week in this studio and when they say, “Congratulations!” I respond, “Well maybe not…there is no bathroom, and I have to go home by 5.” Maybe it’s TMI, but I’m a person who could go all afternoon without using a toilet but in the morning, I might need the bathroom every half hour.

Yet in the first hour the place starts to seduce me. It’s the homemade, plywood desk where John had his typewriter and pile of papers, and the photo nearby of him working at that same location.  I can’t hear any traffic noise, which is rare for Cape Cod; the only sound is the wind in the trees.

On this first day I have to take care of some normal business, and although I make a start on writing my book on Hydrangeas, I understand that the true value of a writer’s retreat is being flexible, and willing to let the time and experience speak to me.

I decide that John Hay must have been able to walk outside when he needed to urinate, unzip, and pee in the woods.

Day 2,  September 10

I bring my dog this morning. He’s whining to get out when we pull into the parking lot, and I put him on the retractable leash. We go out onto the trails for a long walk before unloading my computer and lunch from the car. I walk the dog back to the studio and open the cabin door. The dog will absolutely not come near. I try and tempt him with food, and soothing talk but he will have none of it. He will not come into the cabin. It could be a trap! It could be THE VET!!!

Nothing convinces him, so finally I call Dan, who hasn’t left for WHOI yet, and we arrange to meet at the Burger King on Route 6 so I can give Sparky to him. So much for my fantasy of writing with my loyal dog at my feet.

After dealing with Mr. Canine Suspicious, I get back to the cabin, and try to focus on Hydrangeas. The NYT’s games distract me: Letter Boxed, Connections, Wordle. I’m thinking that John Hay was fortunate not to have the internet connection in this writing studio. Yet, as I look at the photo of him at this very same desk where I am working, I see piles of books and papers. Those would clearly have been both sources of information for him, and distractions. Is this a case of  “the more things change the more they stay the same?”

Day 3 September 11

Today I come to woods around the cabin determined to listen to what it has to say, and it almost immediately starts speaking about drought. Before I left home this morning, I set the sprinklers up to water some of our gardens. In general, we only water about a third of our property, but this wild areas reminds me that nature has ways of coping with dry weather without irrigation.

Many of the plants are already shedding their leaves in preparation for winter, going dormant in the dry soils.  It’s ironic that one of the things I came here to do is to work on a book about Hydrangeas, some of the more thirsty plants we can grow.

Day 4 and beyond

There are several things to learn from being on a “Writer’s Retreat,” or from being a Writer in Residence at a location that’s not your normal place to work. First, there are opportunities to listen to other voices and move in different directions. Getting out of our usual routines is good for the creative process.

On the other hand, wherever you go, there you are. If I’m prone to distractions at home, I’m equally prone to diversions in a writer’s studio. Being open to the creative process requires the discipline not to fall back on old habits. Letter Boxed, Connections, and Wordle pull me back in daily.

But the woods continue to speak to me. I’m a total fan of vision quests: going out into the landscape and asking for useful information. We can do this in our backyards, on walks at the beach, or in places like the Brewster Conservation Lands. The key is to know that everything is connected to everything else. This is true in our gardens, in the wild places, and on the planet Earth as a whole.

When you walk in nature seeking information, you go without expectations. You go aiming for a quiet mind and open eyes. This is tough for us humans, especially in the time when the internet has made us all ADD.

Still, the walks around the John Hay Writing Studio told me one thing, loud and clear. Seeds are everywhere. This is true in the natural world, and true in life.   

To writers who use this studio, and those who are, like me, trying not to be constantly distracted, this time in Brewster has left me with this: At every moment there is something that is waiting to germinate and grow, be it in the woods, inside me, or in you.