August 23, 2006
Every year, writers go on retreats for that extra dose of solitude and silence that finishing a book needs. I tell myself every year that I'm lucky not to have to shell out extra money and leave my house; I haven't got kids, my pets don't need to be fed more than once a week (gotta love reptiles) and we have a pretty quiet little street. Now I'm jealous I never went. The Sunday Book Review this week has a rather wry little essay about what people do on these little jaunts. Affairs? Rivalries? Writing the best novels of your life? Maybe I need to leave the state to finish this edit... Or, probably not.