Life has a way of isolating certain times in our life and giving us back a snapshot in a can- you-have-ever-imagined kind of way. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be heading out alone, in the open road, in a bright sunshine-yellow beetle bug, taking myself to a 10 day novel writing retreat I would have thought they were insane. But here I am, sitting outside at the retreat, one of the most pretty isolated on a hill places I have ever seen, with 10 days of freedom to work on my novel under great mentorship in a workshop of 5 other equally thrilled to be here novelists. When you allow yourself time to dream I do think that dreams do come true, small ones along with big ones with only you as the only judge. I, like most people I know work very hard and we get so self-involved in the frenzy of day to day life that we are all guilty of not taking the time to be alone, be with one ‘self’ and be creative, no matter what your talent or passion. Writers are a typically bad bunch for not getting around to being creative. We let too many things get in our way of physically and mentally sitting down to write. There is always something that takes priority over writing and as writers we also often feed that bad attitude that writing is not really a job anyway. There are many closet writers for that very reason, as they do not want the flaky stigma that often comes with the mystique of a writing lifestyle. I had to work very hard, professionally to juggle being gone from my self-employed life for almost three weeks in the busiest of summer seasons. I also had to work very hard personally to let go of all the things that give me excuses, or reasons as I like to call them, to not be writing as much as I should or not writing what I really want to write. Taking this time to firstly pull together the application and a manuscript in progress worthy of a coveted half dozen spots in a highly respected writing workshop was a feat all in itself. But surprisingly writers will always typically find a way to be not deserving of accolades or accomplishments. Upon gaining entry I constantly second guessed the notification letter to the point of almost not attending. When I got over that personal hurdle I then decided I simply could not justify the expense of the adventure. That too passed. I am a writer by profession and came to that role the long hard way through a career change or two along the way and have had the privilege of covering many a great story in magazines and journals over the years but finally the next ten days will be a long awaited chance to at last be what I have wanted to be my entire life as far back as I can remember – a fiction novelist. Even the word fiction is exciting to me. I have very few childhood memories as mostly they are stashed so deep buried under the rubble of too many hard ones but one I do distinctly recall is the day in second grade when the teacher explained the difference between fiction and non-fiction and even then at only barely seven years old I instantly had a place I knew I belonged in. I knew even back then that young that my brain ran a constant reel of stories and observations that I dared not share with anyone but after that single moment in class that it now had a real place to belong – I knew I was a fiction writer! I copied the word off the blackboard and later that night, secretly under the covers I printed the words over and over and over on a piece of paper adding my name after each line and secretly stared at it for days. One day when I was afraid my brothers would find it and tease me tore it up in tiny little pieces and buried the scraps it in the earth and I remember saying to myself out loud – “there! Now no one can steal that from me – I AM a “fiction novel writer” just like the teacher taught us about. It is afternoon one of ten more to come and I am already feeling a world away from my hectic life and a stone’s throw from my writing life that I have missed so dearly. I am breathing the most amazing fresh air in perfect temperatures and lovely sunshine and the novel characters that have been trapped behind a busy life in my multitasking brain are dancing around with joy and excited to be able to finally come out and play. It seems that it was only days ago not decades ago that I came to realize I am a fiction writer …. at least for the next ten days!