Not A Writing Retreat by Annette Dashofy

Most of us writers love attending a writing retreat. Someplace with easy access to food and coffee. Free wifi. No household chores to distract us. Heaven, right? 

I have always enjoyed retreats, even without wifi, but the other day I experienced the kind of writing retreat I’d rather avoid. 

A good friend of mine needed to have minor (we thought) outpatient surgery. We’ve been through this before. I pick her up at her house, deposit her at the hospital, and then set up shop at a nearby Panera. I have my preferred table with an electrical outlet beneath it, since my laptop doesn’t hold the 8-hour charge it once did. I got my cup of coffee (free refills) and my cup for water and started with a Greek yogurt parfait. Then I opened the file I was working on and settled in, figuring I had about three hours of uninterrupted writing time. 

Except there were two older gents sitting at a nearby table, who apparently thought I chose my seat to be close to them rather than because of the electrical outlet. They started chatting me up. I responded with a polite good morning and a comment about the weather. One offered to buy me a pastry. Is this how 80-year-olds flirt? I declined and focused on my writing. Thankfully, they took the hint and didn’t address me further. They did, however, discuss everything under the sun. Loudly. (Hard of hearing, perhaps?) And they were only the early arrivals. Within a half hour, eight more folks joined their coffee klatch. 

I know a lot of writers do their writing at coffee shops. The surrounding conversations don’t bother them. Me? I write in my home office. No TV. No radio. No distractions other than Kensi’s occasional demands to be fed. Even my now-retired husband knows enough to leave me alone when I’m working. 

So, the endless chatter was a challenge. Part of me enjoys people-watching as well as a little eavesdropping. I’ve discovered great lines of dialogue that way. Today, though, I considered it a lesson in focus. Ignore the discussions going on around me. Pay attention to the words on the page and nothing else. 

To my great surprise, I succeeded. By early afternoon (and a bagel and cream cheese later), I reached my goal for the day. 

Things went slightly sideways about then because my friend’s minor surgery ended up being delayed and then took much longer than anticipated. At most retreats, you can retreat to your room for a nap, but such was not the case. My expected three hours turned into seven. I spent the last few in my car with the seat reclined. Thankfully, the surgery, while long, was successful. My retreat, while distracting, was productive. 

Note to self: next time I have to take a friend to the hospital for outpatient surgery, just go home and wait there, despite the 15-mile-each-way trip. 

Fellow writers, do you prefer a coffee shop, a library, or your quiet home office for writing? And readers, have you ever been in a coffee shop and seen a writer-in-the-wild huddled in a corner with his or her laptop?