275 Writers Retreat Into the Woods...
Also, an update on the closing of Mercy Hospice House.
I just got back from four days in Okoboji where I attended the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat, organized by Iowa Writers’ Collaborative founder, Julie Gammack. It’s essentially three days of learning, community and, well, writing. It’s for all skill levels, really, but even seasoned vets like myself come away from it with new tools in their toolkit.
This was my second year at the Retreat. I first learned about it in 2021 shortly after its inaugural run. Friends and former colleagues from The Des Moines Register raved about it so much so that I made sure not to miss registration, adding it to my calendar nearly six months in advance.
I’ve been a writer, both paid and unpaid, most all of my life. When I’m not writing at my day job, I’m doing it for fun (see: this Substack). I love the written word, I’m obsessed with it, really. It has served me in ways I can’t even begin to detail. That’s why it’s such an incredible gift to be able to spend time with folks who are eager to share their passion in writing. I spend a couple days talking about writing, learning new tricks and I leave with big ideas and even bigger plans.
Case in point: At last year’s Retreat, Julie convinced me to join the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. I’d not heard much about Substack before the Retreat but quickly learned the ropes and was off the races, so to speak. Honestly, Julie is hard to say no to. Her enthusiasm and energy is infectious, as most Retreat goers can attest. She’s the first person to greet you in the morning and the last person to wave goodbye at the end of the day. She’s the Energizer Bunny. I’m convinced she doesn’t sleep.
I’m not the only writer she’s convinced to expand their horizons. There are myriad success stories to come out of the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat. In fact, several writers have published books, written manuscripts and many have seen their names in print for the first time because of the Retreat. It’s encouraging when you don’t feel like your words matter.
This year, I had reservations about attending. I’m busier than I’ve ever been with three kids in high school, work, school and about a dozen other commitments. I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to take on one more thing. I didn’t pack until the morning of and I ended up leaving much later than I had planned. Once I arrived, it seemed as if every little thing was going wrong. My hotel room lacked a desk, phone and WiFi, I’d forgotten toothpaste, my tire was going flat, I was too late for the cookout and left a charger for my second laptop at home.
As I complained to my fiancee on the phone that night, I vowed to make the best of things the next day. If I’d learned anything the year before, I would bring home a wealth of knowledge and a notebook full of great ideas no matter what. And I did. I threw my whole self into it. I dabbled in flash fiction, started writing my obituary (it’s not morbid at all, I swear), learned how to inject power into my words and started outlining a plan for a memoir. I met the friendliest folks from all over the place, ate some fantastic food and sat and listened to the sounds of the lake for far longer than I care to admit. It was exactly what I needed and I regretted thinking that it wasn’t just days earlier.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, I didn’t want to go home. I’d immersed myself in the one thing I loved doing and it was sad to see it come to an end. Still, I’d said my goodbyes and “Hope to see you next years” to friends I’d made and headed out. On the long drive home, I thought a lot about my next move as a writer. I’d been contemplating this for a while and after three days of focus, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I’m not quite ready to share just yet but hope that by this time next year, the project will be well on its way toward reality. Stay tuned.
An Update…
A few months ago, I told you all about my dad and his brick at Mercy Hospice House in His Final Resting Place. Hospice was closing and with it, the closing of the Healing Garden where hundreds of memorial bricks lined the terrace. I’d purchased a brick there in memory of my dad when he passed in 2013. I’d visited the garden often to clean up the area around his brick and to just sit with the memory of my dad.
I’m happy to report that many months later, his brick has been retrieved from the garden. We picked it up last week. I have no idea what to do with it now but want to make sure it finds a resting place that will be worthy of my dad’s memory. What would you do with it? Share your ideas in the comments. And thanks, in advance, for your help.
What Inspires Me?
This video of a motorist being pulled over who just needed a hug. The 11-year-old Michael McDonald superfan who finally met her musical idol. Oh, and Michelle Cowan’s story about losing her husband and how she became “Better Not Bitter” by journaling her way through grief. Michelle is an alum of the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat and credits her experience there for helping her to publish her story.
The Iowa Writers’ Collaborative
I’m proud to be a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. We are a group of professional writers producing columns on the Substack platform of interest to an Iowa audience. To receive a weekly roundup of our columnist links each Sunday morning, subscribe here: Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Our roster of talented writers is as follows:
Jody....I love reading your words....a nice flow and interesting read💕