A DIY Writing Retreat

Tips for making a short getaway into something magical

Earlier this month, I treated myself to a pre-Mother’s Day gift: a solo writing retreat at a cabin in the woods. There’s a project I’ve been wanting to work on (a new novel, wheeee!), but I found myself incredibly intimidated whenever I thought about actually starting on it.

Frankly, I was also a little scared. It’s been a long time since I’ve started a brand new piece of fiction, and I was worried that I’d lost my touch. That I wouldn’t be able to find the spark again. But also, that I would find it and it wouldn’t let go. Though there’s nothing quite like the thrill of discovering a story, it’s also exhausting to see a novel through to completion. Plus, as I’ve mentioned, I don’t want to abandon Cracking the Walnut but have a hard time juggling multiple projects. 

Still, the story idea kept tugging at me. And so did a listing for The Writer’s Refuge, a small cabin on Whidbey Island specifically intended for solo writing retreats (very grateful for the tip, UK!). So after some hemming and hawing and can-we-afford-this and can-everyone-get-where-they-need-to-go-without-the-family-car, I decided to give myself the gift of solitude and writing time, and booked a 3-night stay.

Oh how I miss this sweet little cabin

It’s always hard for me to justify taking time away for such a “frivolous” pursuit. Even if I hadn’t had a writing goal and just needed to get away to refill the hollow husk the world seems to want us all to become, I would’ve had a hard time justifying that too. But I knew I needed it (we ALL need it!) and I’m really glad I took that time, because retreating into the quiet peace of a lush forest was exactly what I needed to allow the space for this new thing to start bubbling up.

Because it was such a big deal for me to step away like this, I did a lot of up-front planning and kept careful notes throughout the process. So I thought I’d share a few of my takeaways. If you’ve been thinking about retreating, let this be gentle encouragement to take the plunge. Or, if such things are out of reach for you right now, perhaps this will spark something you can use in your everyday life to tap into the retreat mindset, even if you can’t physically get away.

Keep Care at the Center

There’s a famous writing retreat center, Hedgebrook, on the same island where I stayed. I’ve always dreamed of doing a writing residency there. The tantalizing detail that immediately sold me? Meals are delivered to each writer’s cabin IN LITTLE BASKETS. Ah, the luxury!

Did I consider packing myself an aesthetic lunch in a basket and leaving it on my doorstep for me to “discover”? Yes, I did. Did I follow through on that slightly-absurd plan? No, I did not. But I kept this image in mind, and as I planned for the retreat, I thought about present-me caring for and giving gifts to future-me.

The act of planning, in itself, was one of these gifts. I tend to spin my wheels and feel a bit lost when faced with too many decisions, so I knew that a “just go with the flow” attitude would not be satisfying for me unless I laid certain groundwork. I did want to leave some room for spontaneity, but it is not desirable for me to make a spontaneous decision about every little thing! Dealing with the mental load of decision-making up front was a way of giving future-me a gift. 

As I planned, I took care not to be overly rigid. I came up with a flexible menu of meal and snack options that didn’t require a ton of cooking time or cleanup (I also did a lot of prep beforehand). I developed a loose itinerary that divided the day into chunks (Waking, Writing, Exploring, and Unwinding) instead of going with my initial impulse to put a timestamp on everything. I also compiled links to specific yoga videos, made music playlists, and jotted down a list of things to do in the evenings or during breaks that I could pick and choose from. 

Breakfast time on the screened porch

Honestly, it was a bit strange keeping care at the center of all my decisions. Almost like planning a romantic getaway for a loved one, except the loved one was… me?! For someone who has told herself a lot of stories about not being deserving of such love, this was a pretty radical mindset shift indeed! 

So if you’re planning a retreat of your own, ask: what does it look like to care for myself? What do I need to feel comfortable and supported? What kinds of gifts can I give future-me? These can be hard questions to answer if you are not accustomed to them, so don’t be discouraged if you can’t think of anything at first—just keep them in the back of your mind and see what comes up. Even if the answer is “idk, Twizzlers?” (ah, how I love those waxy vines!), don’t judge it for being stupid or wrong. Just bring a pack along and enjoy every bite.

Do A Digital Cleanup 

This is probably the most important thing I did in order to bring a sense of focus during my retreat. Before I left, I cleaned up my laptop’s desktop so that it wasn’t scattered with random files or reminders of things that stressed me out. I also have a weird habit of using three different browsers for different tasks, and usually have a bunch of tabs open on each: articles I want to read, word puzzles I want to do, forms I need to fill out but haven’t gotten around to, etc. etc…

So I took a few hours to actually read those articles, do those puzzles, and fill out those forms… or close things I didn’t have time to get around to. Then I shut down my browsers and made sure that my working documents were the only open files.

I also took a moment to create a new desktop background just for the retreat. I wanted to open my laptop up and have that subconscious trigger: “Oh, this is different! Normal routines and habits do not apply!” I found that, for me, this visual reminder and the uncluttered workspace helped me focus a lot better than I would have otherwise.

Frustration is Inevitable, So Have a Plan for Dealing With It

Before leaving, I really built this retreat up in my mind: I was going to get so much done! I would step into the cabin and instantly shed the weight of the world, freeing myself up to let the inspiration pour effortlessly through me. 

Yeah. Not quite how it worked in reality.

The first full day, I struggled to get into the writing groove. Everything felt a lot more effortful than I’d hoped it would be. Plus there were some annoying intrusions from the real world that had to be dealt with. (Let’s just say, trying to buy concert tickets for a hugely popular artist while at a remote cabin is ridiculously difficult when Ticketmaster decides that you’re a bot, and you can’t convince it otherwise.) It all left me feeling frustrated and frazzled and… well, angry.

I was very tempted to tell myself the story: Well, today was a bust. I barely accomplished anything and even though I worked SO HARD to clear my plate before I left, that whole debacle took away my attention all afternoon and now my day is ruined. 

But by now I have a nice menu of options that I rely on in situations like this. For starters, I reminded myself that I was the one who got to decide whether my day was ruined. Oh, sure, I was very tempted to linger inside that oddly satisfying woe-is-me story, to point blaming fingers (Ticketmaster, do I have words for you!!! And I love you, Billie, but why did you have to choose that day to open up the general sale??). Ultimately, though, wallowing there for too long is unhelpful and disempowering. 

So I allowed myself to be angry for a bit. I let the rage burn through me as I stepped outside into the forest. Then I walked barefoot in slow circles through the mossy grass until I felt myself settling. That made it a lot easier to put things into perspective, and to let the situation be what it was: an annoyance, yes, but not a day-ruining one. In the grand scheme of things, it was small beans.

After dark I cranked up Cowboy Carter (good lord, has there ever been a more delicious genre-bending bop than “Tyrant”??) and danced out all the stress. I went to bed that night feeling much better. And I wrote so many words the next day that my brain practically shorted out by the evening—so in the end, I did manage to make good progress on my new project.

Still, it’s really helpful to know what works for you when things don’t turn out as expected, because it’s never going to be the perfect ideal.

Make it Magical

Truly, it’s a privilege to be able to get away like this. And, let’s be real, it greatly inconvenienced my kids and spouse in multiple ways. So I wanted to honor those sacrifices by making the most of my time away, and pay tribute to its specialness by adding a bit of ceremony.

The view I woke up to in the mornings: a tangle of forest through an open window

At first I had grand plans for designing opening and closing ceremonies to mark the bridges between “normal life” and “retreat life.” These would be beautiful, cohesive rituals that invoked the elements of water and fire. They would include breathwork and journaling and meditation and song and altar-building and oracle-card-pulling and… pretty much all the witchy things I always want to do when I have a quiet moment in the house, yet so rarely get around to. But, with all the other prep and digital cleanup and packing that I had to do before leaving (along with all my normal work/life routines), I just never got the time to really sketch something out. 

And you know what? That was okay. Because it helped me remember something I know to be true (but often forget): it’s not what you do, it’s how you do it. The smallest acts of gratitude and devotion can go a long way when they are done with intention, attention, and great love. I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to be fully present for long stretches of time. If I’d ended up plotting a complex ritual, I probably would’ve been constantly thinking about the next step, or stressing about doing everything “right”... so in retrospect what I actually needed were some very simple, scaled down ways to mark the portals to and from retreat-land. 

In the end, my opening ceremony involved building a simple altar (complete with a tiny bouquet of local blooms) and making my offerings of song and poem to the muses. This retreat was about reconnecting with my creativity and strengthening my relationship with sources of inspiration, so that felt just right. The closing ceremony was its inverse: packing away the altar (and pressing the bouquet as a souvenir) and thanking the muses.

Another important part of my closing ceremony was to think about how I was going to carry the retreat mindset into my normal life. It’s not like I can skip town every time I want to work on this new thing! So I made a promise to myself to write at least 30 minutes a day in the new project. It’s not ideal, sure, but I knew it would be doable, which is much more important than waiting for ideal conditions that only come rarely. Also I know from experience that big projects only get finished through diligent, consistent work. Bite-sized pieces that eventually add up into a much larger whole. 

After I disassembled my altar and sang my goodbyes to the cabin and the nettles and the cedars, I paused to inhale the fresh morning air and thought about how that breath—that oxygen from the peaceful forest—would become part of me. How I would carry a bit of stillness from that place deep inside, even after I’d left. 

So now, even though I’m back in the “real” world, I can reach for that memory whenever I need a brief mental return to that mossy glen. And in this way, I hope that—even amidst all the distractions of normal life—I’ll be able to keep the spirit of the retreat alive.