|Posted on August 20, 2019 at 3:00 PM|
I promised...many posts. They're coming, I swear. My brain is a mite disheveled.
Rather than catching you up chronologically, I figure posting equally haphazardly is just as good.
Last month I met with a few of my fellow scribes for a retreat, then spent the night in a nearby B&B to write. I do that now and then; the complete change of venue and lack of obligations clears the mind.
It was the perfect place for a writer to escape: dead quiet, coffee available 24 hours a day, perfect size/height table and chairs for typing 'til all hours, wifi, and a lovely porch that overlooked the woods, with a gazebo and picnic tables nestled within. I would have loved sitting out there late into the night, writing by the light of my laptop and a few citronella candles; in fact, that was part of the allure. I brought my traditional 4-pack of tiny chardonnay bottles and was all set to get down to business, until I saw the humidity rise to 100%. Did I mention the beauty of the room and the coffee in the lobby?
I only neglect to reveal the name of this utopia because it may be haunted. I moved a lap tray off the bed and saw this.
It appears the alleged ghosts did nothing but look over my shoulder and laugh, so I gave the B&B a good review. Any ghoulies who can respect the process are cool by me.