Life After Djerassi

Combine this feeling of family in the workshops, and in the evenings over delicious dinners prepared by an award-winning chef, with the serene and unique beauty of the landscape, which held hints of both Australia and Norway—making me feel instantly at home—and it’s a recipe for wanting to chain yourself to the desk at the end of the week and simply refuse to leave.

When we arrived, there was so much fog I had to get by on a promise that the barn and main house were actually there. My little studio, one of four purpose-built writer’s residences, sat off to one side of the barn, and all I could see was a path disappearing into the mist—I promise there’s a house up there, said Judy, who generously drove all the way to San Francisco to pick me up. Never one to jump into unknown social situations, I hid in my studio until dinner time, telling myself I needed to get set up for the work ahead.

To my horror, when I finally steeled myself to go out in the fog and mud up to the main house, I quickly realised most of the attendees knew each other from other courses and events they had been on together. I worried, as I always do, that this would be one of those clique-ish events where I would be, and remain, an outsider. I did my best to talk to everyone, to find someone I meshed with, but by the time I crawled back to my room and succumbed to the jetlag, I was still nervous—a victim of my own fear.

The next morning, we began our workshop with readings of the first pages of the novels we’d be workshopping throughout the coming week. This simple activity formed the inner part of our critique nest, lined with soft down made of words of appreciation and admiration. It might have been worrying—what if this was going to be one of those things where no one can bring themselves to say anything constructive and we just sit around complimenting each other all week? Or, worse, what if it was getting all the kindness out of the way before they all said what they really thought? But, to my surprise, I was afraid of neither of these outcomes; though complimentary, the comments were considered, and relevant. Nothing was intended purely to ingratiate. This was genuine admiration, and it formed the best kind of foundation for the whole week.

From there, everything was suddenly so easy. People I’d known for less than twenty four hours already felt like good friends. That afternoon, during our free writing time, I revised 30,000 words of my work in progress, and became more ready to move forward with it than I’d been in almost half a year.