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After visiting half a dozen artists colonies and retreats, I have finally figured out what makes a successful retreat and what makes a for a dud.  Like romance, part of it is physical and the rest in in your head.  Let me explain.

I have been a guest at a whole range of retreats– from full service pamerfests like MacDowell (New Hampshire) where they bring you your lunch in a basket, to Gilbraltar Pointe Center (Toronto) that was a repurposed elementary school, to my recent stay at La Muse in Southern France.  I spent three weeks in Switzerland in 2004 in a set up that was kind of like The Real World, International Nerd Edition.  I’ve slept in a haunted mansion, I’ve written in a converted barn.  Sometimes I wrote like a maniac and other times I didn’t accomplish a gosh darn thing.  And finally, finally, I think I understand what went right and what went wrong.

The physical space matters:  I write best when I am in a tidy room with a lot of light.  I need a large desk to spread all my stuff out and I need a comfortable chair.  And I need not to feel cold.   I prefer to write in a different room than the one I sleep in.  So, basically, I know myself. I know what I like.  Things will go better if I’m comfortable.  When you get an acceptance to a colony, mention this to the people and they may be able to accommodate you.

The physical space matters even more when your head is not together.  There have been times in my life when the story was just bursting out of me.  I wrote sentences on napkins, I woke up in the middle of the night with ideas. (I wrote my first novel in a closet!)  When I am in The Zone, all I want from an artist colony is for people to leave me the hell alone so I can do my thing.  But when I am not already in a creative frenzy, when the story is not cooperating, I need the environment to woo my muse. I need the creative equivalent of candlelight and Luther Vandross.

The retreat should take up less energy than being at home.  Now THIS is the major issue. I have noticed that the fewer services a retreat provides, the more women tend to be in attendance.  I think this is because for a lot of women, just being away from their kids is a luxury.  (A good friend I met at a colony that I didn’t love, answered all my complaints with “have you noticed that my kids are not here? I’m golden!”) A retreat that is “self catering” (that means no food provided) is fine because because many women find cooking only to feed themselves to be such a treat.  I could go on and on, but you get the idea.  I was recently at a self-catering retreat in France and between the cooking, hanging my laundry on the line, fetching water from the spring, constantly keeping the fire lit and living in a communal situation, I was wiped out from effort of just staying alive.  In my real life, I live in New York, alone.  When I am hungry, there is take out.  There is drop off laundry service.  I have a writing room in my home with an excellent desk and chair.  Nobody has keys to this apartment but me. So, the retreat wasn’t so retreaty because it was so hectic.  But consider if I was on this retreat five years ago when I was used to working way more hours and I had a lot of personal obligations that were eating up my time.  I would have been delighted to live the “simple life” in southern France is it meant I could actually hear myself think, and I would have written up a storm.  You gotta a) know yourself and b) know what you’re getting into.

You have to push yourself even when the circumstances are not ideal.  This is not my strong suit.  I am capable of spending a lot of time and energy being mad.  I can get mad because my room is not up to par.  I can get mad because, over wine one of the colonist said something jaw-droppingly offensive. (Oh the stories I could tell! You wouldn’t believe it.)  But at the end of the retreat, if you don’t get anything done, only YOU suffer, so you must try and push through whatever isn’t working, just like in real life… but that doesn’t sound like much of a retreat, does it?

Tomorrow, I am heading to Ucross, a writers residency in Wyoming.  All my friends who have been insist that it is the pamperfest I have been waiting for.  The food has been described as “spectacular”.  The grounds “gorgeous.” I’m all packed and I think that I am in a good place in terms of being ready to write.  I don’t think I am at the phase where all I need to peace and quiet, but I won’t pitch a conniption about scratchy towels.

Watch this space.  I’ll report back with pictures and updates.  This next month is really the home stretch for the novel. I need to write “THE END” by Christmas.  I’ve let too much time slip away.  It’s time to do this thing.

For the next three weeks I am going to be living in the village of Labastide in southern France enjoying the La Muse artist’s retreat.  Although I have been to several artist’s residencies in the past, this is a new experience for me.  Here’s my report from my first few days.

To get to La Muse, I traveled by train from Paris.  The ride was about six hours total, and I had to change trains in the middle.  Trains in Europe are very comfortable– especially the ride from from Paris to Bordeaux.  Even the sandwiches in the cafe car were delicious.  I was apprehensive about the journey because I speak next to no French, but it worked out just fine.  People speak a little English and I had researched the trip thoroughly, so I knew what to expect and where to go.  Once I arrived at the train station in Carcasonne, a representative from the retreat took me to the grocery store and then up the mountain to the house.

La Muse is run by John and Kerry two New York writers who bought the house– built in 1100 AD (!)- basically on their credit cards.  They live in a part of the house and the rest is occupied by writers who come for three week retreats.

I have been to many writer’s residencies, but never to a retreat.  La Muse is not like visiting an artist colony like MacDowell or Yaddo where there is a large staff dedicated to keeping the writers fed and watered.  La Muse is more like visiting your country home.  It’s in a beautiful location– you should see the view from my window!  The writers themselves are responsible for their own cooking and basic upkeep.  It has been nice so far taking care of myself.  In my regular life, I eat a LOT of New York take out, so it has been sort of relaxing to prepare my own meals in the evening with the fresh vegetables we bought at the supermarket. (Does anyone have a nice recipe for duck breast?  I bought one, but don’t know what to do with it!)  There are also opportunities to buy eggs, chickens, honey, tomatoes, etc that are raised and sold by the neighbors.  It’s really old world living.

As a retreat, rather than a residency, the writers simply rent rooms like you would do in a hotel.  I was attracted this because I was tired of soliciting letters of recommendations and anxiously awaiting a letter of acceptance.  With a retreat– you pay then you show up.  I chose a suite of rooms called “Calliope” because I like to sleep and write in different spaces.  But there are very nice rooms that have both the bed and writing table.  The house is about a thousand years old, so there are little quirks, but it’s very pretty and John and Kerry appear to be renovating it, one room at a time.  (My bathroom, for example, is dreamy!)

The up-side to the DIY-ness of the retreat is that you just eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re dry.  There is no need to go to the dining room at any appointed time, possibly interrupting your writing groove.  But of course this is the downside as well.  If you want to eat, you’ve got to fix it and to plan it.  This morning, I had to get up from my writing table to meet the bread delivery man who brings the baguettes. But the upside is fresh baguette, warm from the oven!

In the afternoons we take long walks through windy mountain roads.  There is a spigot that offers crystal clear spring water where we fill our bottles.   Once a week, we go on an outing in John and Kerry’s car.  On the last day, we’ll get gussied up and go to a restaurant about 30 miles away that boasts of a Michelin star. (Yes, I’m into that.)

But the real pleasure of being here is the time to write and think.  When I arrived here, I had a little bit of work on my plate– letters of recommendation to write, novels to blurb, etc.  But I’ve put all those babies to bed, and now I can just sit here are spend some quality time with my characters.  I’ve been having a hard time writing lately– but over the last few days, I have felt the writing return.

I don’t have my typewriters, but pen and paper are working out just fine.