Weekend in the Cowshed

I just got back from possibly the greatest weekend ever. Well, the greatest weekend since I arrived in England anyway. I know because I'm alternating between twirl-and-skip-inspired one minute and collapse-into-a-heap-exhausted the next.

On Friday, most of my classmates in the Writing for Young People program, as well as a handful of adult novelists and even a few poets, packed up our notebooks and imaginations and headed out into the English countryside for a Weekend Writer's Retreat.

We stayed at a nature preserve in Dorset (don't ask me to find it on a map) called Kingcombe. Apparently, someone told them I'm a country girl because they assigned me to "The Cowshed." Isn't that the perfect name?

The 'Cowshed'

The view from my writing nook in the Cowshed. Isn't it gorgeous?

We spent the weekend romping around in our Wellies, gazing at the stars, giggling like schoolchildren, and dreaming up characters and stories. There may have been a bottle (or twelve) of wine involved too.

The weekend was pure magic; a side effect of surrounding yourself with the brilliant, creative, and kind. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. And when I wasn't writing, I was talking about writing and listening to my incredibly talented classmates' work and ideas.

I'll tell you all about them -- my classmates, I mean -- as the year progresses. For now, all you need to know is somehow, in the span of 48 hours, they became my family here. And I can tell I'm already a better writer (and person) for it. 

PS If you're ever in the area, check out Kingcombe. It's a cozy little retreat tucked away into the gorgeous, lush English countryside.

{Images via Elizabeth Farrar for Bella Vita}