This weekend, I was lucky enough to spend three days in beautiful Dumas Bay with book people. I woke today wondering how to capture the SCBWI-WWA retreat in a blog post.
A run in the rain.
Cookies and whisky.
Feeling like a giantess in my tiny convent room.
Hilarity and sand dollars.
How could I give this to you, I wondered, in a wrapping of words that captured falling leaves and infinite mud flats and the way sound carries over water?
The answer? It is so simple. Kindness. Walking toward the outstretched hand and taking it. Holding out your own.
In one of the sessions this weekend, Sara Crowe, talked about the characteristics of career authors. One of them was to be kind, to reach out your hand to the editors and the assistants, to the published and the not-yet-published, to all you meet along the way. And while he might not have realized it, Andrew Karre reminded us to be kind to ourselves, to shut out the noise of reviews and the market, the expectations of genre, and the general cacophony that gets in the way of turning the multitude of wonders in our cupboard into story.
So this is what I want to tell you about my weekend: It was replete with kindess.
- The kindness of Sara and Andrew when they talked about their authors and their books written and unwritten.
- The kindness of critique partners who saw strength in the craft of others and named it.
- The kindness of writers who shared the stories of their hearts with me and who, in turn, listened to my own.
- The kindness of laughing together (and leaving no one behind on the mud flats).
- The kindness of every moment that honored both the gifts and challenges of this thing we do, this thing we share, the way we strive to bring forth the story only we know.