A Writing Retreat of My Own
From learning from illness to deciding to form a habit in nine days
The Illness
It was a cold unlike any other cold.
That’s how I rationalize the nine days I spent mostly in bed. Also, contemplating one’s own mortality is healthy.
In the midst of the illness, I wrote and drew the following.
Being sick for a week forces me into a position from which I must apologize in advance for the rambling incoherence that is to come, nay, that is already here in this sentence. My brain doesn’t work properly when I’m sick and I at once cannot answer simple questions such as, “is this your home address?”1 and I concoct such questions as, “did hominids accidentally gargle sea water and discover the sore-throat healing properties of salt water or did they not even suffer the common cold?” which if you look into the state of current anthropological research is sure to be a field-changing question.
I’ve already digressed. A nasty common cold, for which my expensive health-care providers provided no help except “treat the symptoms” after exonerating worse viruses with their tests, has taken me out of commission for a week now. I have been, as the symptoms march by as if in a carefully orchestrated parade. (Does it have to be so militaristic? No.) They march by and hang around as if by stage direction. First fatigue, joint aches, and the most painful sore throat. The sore throats have organized themselves into a chorus line that won’t get off the stage, even when they trip over the fatigues who are laying helplessly on the floor. Aches did exit after a short nap with the fatigues; presumably they left only to allow me to comprehend fully that aching and fatigue are not to be confused with each other. Coughing entered on the third day, er, third scene and phlegm only in the fourth scene, creeping in so stealthily that only by the fifth scene was the nose affected.
And then the big surprise finale! Conjunctivitis enters from both stage left and stage right. It was probably the finale only because then I went back to the health-providers and was prescribed the real remedies.
I treated these symptoms with over-the-counter remedies but the nurse-line nurse unwittingly prescribed popsicles, naps, and Netflix, for when the eyes wouldn’t close but the brain wouldn’t function. I drew the symptoms to put them into perspective. I paid attention to what I was doing, because the number of hours I could be out of bed and the number of steps I could take in a day were limited. They are always in fact limited, but the illness showed the wisdom of deliberate action, routines, and taking breaks to think about what to do next, about what is actually important. Every day I made an effort to see if the cardinals had arrived at sunset to get their last meal of the day. As a result, I got a few photos of astonishing colors. The illness taught the benefit of recuperation, of taking sick days and not pretending like your job is so precarious, so easy, so something-it’s-not that you cannot be away from it, especially when incapable of answering the simplest questions. Take care of yourself when you’re sick—that’s your only job.
Ande, naturally, played a crucial role in recovery. Never underestimate the power of a dog’s love.
The illness was bookended by two re-readings which led to a revelation.
Extracurricular Reading during Sabbatical
I finished rereading Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl just before the illness arrived. I first read it in high school at the recommendation of a teacher. I will not bore you with the cliches about how reading a book during different life stages reveals different aspects of the book or about how “when the student is ready, the teacher shows up.” If you are a self-reflective human being, you know this.
Frankl’s style is straightforward and to the point. Hardly any extraneous words. He may repeat himself in different parts of the book, but the different parts serve different purposes so he only repeats what is necessary to make his point.
A detail struck me this time reading it: he wrote the book (at least the first half of the book, the part most pay attention to) in nine days immediately after the war.
…I just spent nine days doing zilch…well, next to zilch…
In the last few days, when beginning to reach a stage resembling health, I sat down and read How to Write a Lot: A Practical Guide to Productive Academic Writing (2nd edition) by Paul J. Silvia in two sittings.2 Reading a book without interruption is a wonderful feeling. Luckily Silvia’s style is entertaining and punctuated with tables that summarize the real meat of the points he was making. His points are nothing I haven’t heard before, sometimes in more poetic form such as from Pressfield,3 but sitting and reading the book was a kick in the pants, coming right after I recovered from the illness, when it doubled-up with a feeling of great gratitude for having energy again.
Silvia’s (and others’) main point is to treat writing like a scheduled meeting or a scheduled class. I never cancel class unless I am so sick that I might collapse or I know I’m contagious and getting others sick wouldn’t be worth it. This advice may finally stick.
Nine Days to Form a Habit: A Writing Retreat
I hope that after nine days of doing the same schedule, writing will become routine. That’s advice I hear over and over from authors and academics: writing needs to be prioritized or it will get kicked into the corner. I hope that by the end of this sabbatical, writing will have become so ingrained into my daily routine, it will cause me pain to go back to teaching classes, and I like teaching classes!
Spending time and money to relocate feels like too much effort, especially after the illness, so I’m staying home for this retreat.
“Do you suppose that you alone have had this experience? Are you surprised, as if it were a novelty, that after such long travel and so many changes of scene you have not been able to shake off the gloom and heaviness of your mind? You need a change of soul rather than a change of climate.” -Seneca4
I will work on myself, pretend my home is A Good Spot, the sanctuary for animals and humans (in this case, Ande and myself). I have hopes that A Good Spot will be able to host writing and other creativity retreats. This nine-day retreat may redirect my thinking toward writing-as-routine as well as instill motivation to keep plodding toward creating A Good Spot. Bottomline, this retreat has to re-instill my sense of discipline for my discipline.
Retreat Rules
Since the retreat is in my home, rules rather than geography or novelty will be the foundation for inspiration.
Rule #1: social media and phone use will be limited to one hour per day, during dinner. (The phone will be silenced except for notifications from two people.)
Rule #2: follow the schedule.
Rule #3: follow Rules #1 and #2.
The Schedule
5-8 a.m. Do morning routine and chores, the highlight of which is a walk with Ande.
8-11 a.m. Writing.
11-12 p.m. Lunch. Watch one episode of One Piece.
12-1 p.m. Errands.
1-3 p.m. Writing/Research.
3-4 p.m. Walk Ande.
4-5 p.m. Weightlifting.
5-6 p.m. Dinner (social media + texting allowed).
6-bedtime. Relax: Read, Draw, or Paint.
No worries, Ande’s life will not change. As an elderly gal, she’s earned her daily routine and comforts. Therefore, “Errands” will undoubtedly include the after-lunch snuggles to which she has become accustomed and the hours after dinner and before bed will include her minimum-three snacks and playtime, if she so chooses.
Accountability
I prefer writing about things that have been done rather than intentions. Writing about the past is more certain than writing about the future. Yet in this case I’m seeking to be held to accountability for this nine-day retreat, and my goal is to write 2,025 words at a minimum. That’s 225 words a day. It may not seem like much, but there’s plenty of reading and research to do every day as well.
So I’ll be back in two weeks to report on my very own writing retreat. See you on the other side!
In grad school this happened to me in a library and luckily my friend standing next to me could answer on my behalf.
After I finished reading it, I went to my bibliographical file of index cards and learned that I had already read this book—in one sitting—in 2021. So, this was a re-read as well.
Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles (Black Irish Entertainment, LLC, 2002).
Glad you are on the mend. I especially admire how you turned your reflections and time away into a course of action. Best wishes as you put this into practice.
Be well, and next production, send out the call for soup.