Writers have times where the day-to-day drill of adulting can impede the progress of a work in progress. Dishes, cooking, housecleaning, errands, bills, car repairs, and so much more eat your time. Often, when you’re done adulting for the day, the words refuse to emerge, or what does emerge is dreck as you think about juggling which bill in order to pay for fixing the car or getting a new water heater.

Sometimes you need to retreat from the battle of adulting, and if you’re a writer, a writer’s retreat can work wonders. You’re still within four walls, but they’re not your four walls. You still have to feed yourself but sometimes only yourself. You park your car, unpack, and create without a care in the world, provided, of course, your family agrees to contact you only in a bona fide emergency, like, I don’t know. The house burned down or was swept away by a hurricane.

I prefer retreats with writers I know, because for an extrovert like me coming together over meals and for a critique session enhances the experience and makes it worth whatever you paid.

I’m writing this blog post at Porches in Nelson County, Virginia, forty minutes or so south of Charlottesville. Porches is a restored, 19th century farmhouse, two levels, each with a porch, hence . . . The view from my window is nothing but trees. Birds of many varieties chirp their hearts out, a pleasant sound except for the two crowing roosters one writer has dubbed “Dueling Bantams.” The James River isn’t far away, and at night we’re treated to other animal calls and the occasional train. Even that has a lulling effect because the trees muffle the worst of the noise.

We are me, a writer of historical espionage fiction and mysteries; two epic fantasy writers, one of whom is also a poet; a memoirist; and a writer of YA dystopian fiction. You’d think we’d have nothing in common, but we mesh perfectly, not to mention love each other’s work. We’re also foodies, so each night we’re there, we prepare a special dinner. And, well, because we’re five writers with Irish DNA, we drink whiskey, appropriately called “Writer’s Tears.”

Most of all, we get a lot of work done. I and another writer are editing; our focus is cutting words. Another is working on book two of an epic fantasy series and has written a few thousand words. The memoirist is finding insights that eluded her. The YA writer is penning a dark, intricate, and intriguing tale of life going on after a global disaster.

After dinner, we read aloud a bit of what we’ve worked on, followed by a critique of what we’ve heard. Critique, not criticism. These are meaningful comments, and we ask each other questions, i.e., “Did this makes sense to you?” “Is this dialogue or just mindless prattle?” “How should I . . .?”

It’s an experience I look forward to every year, but the absolute best, ultimate takeaways are the friendships that have been forged. No. The family that we’ve made.

We are the Porches Clan, in every sense of the word.

For information about your own, self-designed writing retreat at Porches, click HERE.