I am fortunate to belong to the Whidbey Island Writers Association, which sponsors a number of writing retreats and workshops on Whidbey Island through the year, including the Whidbey Island Writers Conference, the premier writers conference in the nation.  Being on the Board of the conference has been such a gift to me as I have not only had the opportunity to be a part of this fantasic event from the ground floor, but also because of the relationships I have developed with the fantastically talented members of the Board.

Recently, the members of the Board were treated to a mini-retreat "just for us".  We met at the Whidbey Institute, on the Chinook lands, in Clinton (about 5 minutes from my home).  This magical place is 100 acres of deep woods and sunny hills, with several facilities.  We stayed at "the Farmhouse", a lovely old home which sleeps 11.  The Institute includes "Granny's House", which sleeps 10, and several single cabins and a campground.

While at this mini-retreat, the Board was able to spend relaxing time with one another, which we don't get to do often.  Our meetings are usually intense, and casual conversation only occurs when we happen upon one another at the grocery store or on occasional one-on-one lunches.  In addition to sharing great food and fellowship, we engaged in a number of writing exercises.  One exercise, led by Marian Blue, was held deep in the woods.  We focused on something we saw -- a leaf, a fern, a pile of rocks, a flower, the labyrinth, the trees -- and wrote about it for 2 minutes.  Then we focused on something else for 2 minutes, etc.  What follows are some of my "quickie" writings from that exercise.

The Labyrinth

Labyrinth calls me to enter
to stop
to muse
to stand unthinking but thinking of my task
to seek a presence
a guide
a force
a direction.

I enter, unsure of the way.
I stop and go back.
Failure.
I enter and proceed with purpose along the path
looking at my feet
thinking only of the next step.

The Center.

Now what?

Stink

My keen sense picked it up.
I almost sat in it, unseeing.
I must look more carefully before
I sit in the woods.

Weeds

It is acceptable to have weeks in the woods.
I wish I lived in the woods.

Statues

Statues standing tall in the darkened hall.  Our footsteps softly echo on the cushioned floor.
We stand, awestruck in their presence.
Their arms of aged majesty enfold us as we raise our eyes to their wisdom.
They whisper to us and we listen.

Evergreens -- ever there.

Sounds

Surrounded by the green of the majestic firs
huge ferns holding the grassy carpet in their arms
mud paths
vines
the purples and whites and yellows of the wildflowers
rocks stacked high
rocks creating the labyrinth
insects buzzing around our heads
the serenade of birds
the whispering wind.

I miss water sounds.

The Temple

What sits inside this pile of blue rocks?  The beehive shape must conceal a treasure.  Smaller rocks, a shell, a torn peice of cloth, driftwood, a fir branch, a pinecone, a railroad spike have been added to this temple.  What diety lives within?

Another exercise we had was to put ourselves into a location with our character and describe what our character focuses in on and is thinking.  Again, we wrote for only a few minutes:

A good place to disappear.  Empty cars, disappearing workers, tourists focusing on the seagulls, the mountains, the water.  Easy to slip out of the car and move quietly into the restroom.  Even if someone sees, they won't see anything but a woman with a large bag going to the toilet.

Reappearing ten minutes later as someone else:  different hair, clothes, bag.  Even if the same person sees you, enough time has passed to cloud their memory.  Is it the same person?  No, too much time has passed.  No, the hair/clothes/bag are different.  We just didn't see this woman enter.