I don’t remember from whom I first heard about The Convent here in Cincinnati, I just remember hearing lots and lots and LOTS of good things.  And when I got on the website and read this about their week-long writing retreats, I was hooked:

I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Thomas Merton (1915-1968), the well-known Trappist monk and prolific author. One of the things that fascinates me most is the explosion of writing that erupted from his pen once he entered the monastery. He was bright, talented, and creative in his pre-monastic days but was also dissipated, unfocused, and unorganized. But all that changed at the Abbey of Gethsemani. It was as if the fire in him needed the “hearth” of monastic life in order to burn brightly: rising at the same time daily, participating in communal prayers at prescribed hours, doing manual labor between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m., and having the afternoons to write—day after day, week after week, and so on across the span of his life. Once the strong and steady rhythms of his day were were firmly established, his writing took off.

The “big idea” of this retreat is to help writers (aspiring and established) build momentum for their projects (books, essays, poetry, theses, dissertations) and move them toward completion. We’ll create a hearth for the fire: meals at set times, prayers (morning, midday, evening, night) and mutual encouragement. I’ll function as an abbot of sorts, orienting the group, leading the prayers, and being present at meals, and enjoying the open evening time with you. All you have to do is write, and if the thought of that brings tears to your eyes, you should probably sign up now.

And if the thought of that brings tears to your eyes, you should probably sign up now.  They didn’t have to tell me twice.  I grabbed a Kleenex, pulled out my calendar, and registered for the first available time.  My first retreat was last May, and I was not disappointed.  When I told someone I went to this quiet place and wrote for about 8-10 hours a day, she told me that sounded like torture.  I thought it was HEAVEN.  I easily (and eagerly) could have stayed another week.  Or two.  Or forever.  I can’t explain what it’s like to feel like you’ve finally come home when you weren’t ever really aware you had left in the first place.  Yet that’s exactly what I felt.  I’d come home.  And now, I’m back.

This week I am embarking on was a gracious, tear-inducing gift from some very, very dear people for my 40th birthday.  I feared, when Tom took his new job, that little extras like this were part of the many things we were being called to lay down.  Turns out, God wanted to do something different.  I am grateful beyond words for the gift these people are to me.

I am working, while I’m here, on the manuscript for More.  The ideal is to get four out of the five remaining chapters edited, which leaves me the month of May to finish the final chapter and the afterword.  My goal (slash desperate hope) is to have the rough draft finished and ready to give a few folks to critique by the end of May, when my children will finish the school year and my daytime writing window will close for a few months.  I am praying for clarity of mind, for creativity, for God to bring forth the story HE wants to tell, and for it to come with the ease and PEACE that only the Holy Spirit can bring.

Tomorrow morning will dawn bright and early with a minimum of eight glorious hours of writing ahead of me.  I cannot tell you how excited I am to be home.

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