O.C. Writers

By Kristy Tate // 

I hesitate to tell this story because it makes me look more than a little inept. Believe me, I’m usually very good at navigating life and being an adult, even if this experience would argue otherwise.

Last month, I was blessed to be able to attend a writers’ retreat. The lodge slept forty and there were about thirty of us. One woman spearheaded our three daily meals, but we were each assigned kitchen duties. There was a large table of treats everyone contributed to that was open for 24-hour grazing. (This will be important to my tale later.)

Five days. No internet. No cell service. No life interruptions.

I had two main goals.

Number one: Make friends so when I attend a conference held by the same organization in September where I’ll pitch my novel to editors and agents (because after ten years as an indie author, I’m willing to give traditional publishing another thought) I won’t feel as awkward, weird, and lonely as I am wont to do in a crowd.

Number two: Finish my Kindle Vella story.

I left home at 6:30 a.m. By 7:30, L.A. traffic was behind me and I was in the desert. I arrived at a friend’s in Mesa, AZ in time for her to feed me lunch and remind me of how lucky I am to know her. 3 hours later, I’m back on the road, surprised by the empty, barren landscape. I miss the last gas station. Start to get nervous. No cell service. No internet. The GPS is an arrow on a blank screen. Ride for several miles on an empty tank. I see a sign promising gas three miles off the main road. I chase after it, only to find the shack of a shop only has diesel. The proprietor tells me she can no longer afford to provide gas, but there’s a station eight miles away (further from my destination.) I come to a small town with a library, post office, school, and something called a pumpkin depot. No gas. A local promises me there’s gas another mile south. My car is now running on fumes and I’m rolling down hills at every opportunity and praying on the inclines. I find the gas pumps adjacent to another mom-and-pop store. I fill the tank and offer prayers of thanksgiving. (At this point, I would have paid a thousand dollars a gallon. I hesitated to even look at the cost, but, even though I was in the back of beyond, the gas was still cheaper than in Orange County.)

Back on the road, every other vehicle I pass is a giant truck driven by a man wearing a cowboy hat. I arrive in Payson to find it woodsy and much cooler than Mesa. I follow the road out of town and now, with a full tank of gas, can climb the hills without fear. Although, I was frantic to get to my destination before dark. Twenty miles of dirt road and the instructions which seemed so inadequate before, start to make sense. Turn at the house…if you pass the creek, you’ve gone too far…look for the green pipe…pass the red and brown cabin. At 6:30, I arrive at the lodge where thirty other writers are mingling. My car is covered in orange dust, but I’m ready to write. I’m nearly the last to arrive.

Boy howdy was I ever productive! My main goal was to finish my Kindle Vella story, The Cocoa Concoction–which happened on the first day. It turns out that without family and friends, internet, cell service, and household chores beckoning me, I can be wildly productive. I finished that story. Edited two others, and read through a third. By Saturday, I had run out of things to do. Not wanting to start a new project, I decided to head home a day early.

I was saying goodbye and loading up my car when I realized I had locked my purse in my trunk. Inside my purse were my phone, my glasses, and my keys. I desperately needed help. A few of my new friends were able to get cell service, but without my glasses, I couldn’t read any numbers. A circle of my new friends was looking things up and making calls. We tried a few locksmiths, but no one wanted to drive twenty miles down a dirt road to help.

I went to the neighbor to see if they knew anyone with the right sort of tools and know-how. She didn’t know anyone personally, but she pointed at a group of people playing in the creek at the edge of the property and suggested I ask them. They said they thought they could do it.

There were three men, two women, and four little kids. The kids and women came back with me to the house while the men hiked back to their campsite to get their trucks and tools. I fed the kids with snacks my writer friends donated from the before-mentioned treat table and tried to keep the moms and kids happy.

The men were able to break into the car pretty easily, but as soon as they did, the car—knowing it was being broken into—went into panic mode. The alarm went off, and worse, the button to open the trunk and the latch to fold down the back seats to access the trunk were both frozen. Three hours later, thanks to YouTube, the men with their tools dissembled the car’s alarm system. While they were breaking into my car, I’m tossing out candy and treats and trying to keep everyone happy. The men were throwing out cuss words just as liberally. (Did I mention this was a group of Mormon women writers?)

Remember my first goal? To make friends? EVERYONE there knew who I was by the time I left. I was the weirdo with the screaming car who interrupted writing time by bringing a gang using colorful language to the retreat.

When I went away to college, after living in a small town for my whole life and graduating from high school with the same kids who had been in my kindergarten class, (No lie. My best friends in high school were also in my kindergarten class) my dad told me the best way to make friends is to ask for help then double repay the favor. I guess I got half of the equation right, and I now owe a lot of favors. I like to think I have thirty new friends.

Still, I came home with a finished story, two completely edited books, and the realization of what I can accomplish without interruptions. Also, I added a bunch of new friends on social media. The whole experience was a win, even if it had its moments of terror and frustration.

For pictures, check out my blog. https://kristystories.blogspot.com/2022/06/marketing-mayhem-writer-retreats.html

 

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KRISTY TATE is the Social Media Director for O.C. Writers and a USA Today bestselling author. To date, her newsletter subscriber list is edging toward 15,000. www.KristyTate.com.