Away at a Writing Retreat on San Juan Island, Chance to Rethink My Manuscript and My State of Mind

At a Writing Retreat on San Juan Island, a Chance to Rethink my Manuscript and State of Mind

Thank goodness for writing residencies! I’d been in a bit of a funk lately, and what I really needed was a chance to change my focus (I almost wrote foxus, and you’ll see why later) and think about my project in a new way. The residency is at a marine wildlife center in Friday Harbor on San Juan Island (WA). There’s no television or radio (or guarantee of electricity all the time), but it’s right on the harbor and perfect as a place to write. In fact, I wrote two new poems, sent out two submissions, and reconsidered my next manuscript in a way that I hope will make it much better. But it wasn’t really about productivity—it was about not listening to the news but listening to the ocean—not looking at screens but looking into fields for foxes—about paying attention to the light instead of listening to my anxieties.

Dancing foxes

Besides spending time in nature, I ended up talking to people on trails, nature photographer hobbyists like me, grandmother-aged skinny dippers. Besides leaving me wishing for more zoom on my shots (almost everyone there had a more expensive, better zoom lens than I did, which allowed them to get better fox pictures! Jealous!), I felt like I was part of a community. Loving nature is something I had in common with these people—all so joyous. And I got to witness the coolest thing ever—fox dancing! A black fox and a red fox both got up on their hind legs, put their paws together, and twirled around for about four minutes. My pic isn’t spectacular, but you have to realize it was so amazing to see.

In the five days or so I was away, I took a look at my manuscript not poem by poem, but the big picture—how do the sections hang together? what’s the trajectory of the book? what’s the story behind the story? Turns out it was time for some reshuffling, some deletions, some additions, and focusing on the story. And also, something about taking photographs—and waiting for the light—got me thinking about the right timing in books, the right light, so to speak. It takes time to see your own books—the shifts in tone, the difference in cadences—in the right light.

California quail

I was also thinking of the changes I’ve seen on San Juan Island over the last 20 years I’ve been visiting. In some ways, more dramatic than those in my neighborhood in Woodinville. This year, for the first time ever, I saw two gigantic bevy of quail. Like, 13 or 14 at a time. The rabbits—nearly non-existent in 2021 due to a disease that killed many—have recovered to numbers I hadn’t seen in ten years. The deer were fewer. The foxes were shyer but looked healthier—which meant they weren’t begging humans for food due to starvation, which was good. (Although I miss having foxes that came right up to me, I’d much rather they be healthy.) Besides the fox dancing behavior, I also learned that the black fox mutation in red foxes, pretty rare in nature, is really prevalent here. So just like me, the black fox is a mutant! Some distant pics below. But on the whole, taking this break helped my outlook, and reminded me of why I bother to write and fight for my health despite setbacks. With even limited internet and phone service, it was also a break from a constant stream of media, mostly negative.

So, we had a lovely boat ride home, but we were pretty exhausted by the time we got back. One thing we didn’t see on the island…any pumpkin farms or U-pick apple farms, which since the island is covered in farms (including an alpaca farm!), seemed like a missed opportunity. Good thing the Sunflower Festival started at the pumpkin farm in Woodinville. I’ll post about that in the next post! Hope you are all well, and wishing you a happy mid-October.

Also, there are still some spots left for my upcoming class with Kelli Russell Agodon: The Thinning Veil: Writing Poems Where Natural and Supernatural Worlds Meet. Don’t forget to register here.