Sorry I didn't write. I would have, but I didn't want to.

Bubble Time: Six boundaries for a DIY writing retreat.

If you find something that strikes you, please share this newsletter with your reinventing, resilient, slightly rebellious friends. 

Until last week’s miss, I’d been diligently posting to Substack weekly, but struggling to focus on my book writing. Life intervenes, sure— family, Felix, house projects, snow removal, and binging old episodes of The Mindy Project—but why aren’t I making more progress on my memoir?

What am I committed to?

I put this question to the life wizard ten months before quitting my job—when I was in a hurry to start my next chapter. “If I want to write, why aren’t I writing?”

“What if you had no job, no deadlines?” she challenged. Diane, my life wizard, described a vacuum world without external distractions, comparing it to the inside of a bubble. “All your identities—partner, manager, goal-getter—are outside the bubble. Whatever you think you should be or must do can’t penetrate the dome.

“But I do—still—have a job,” I said, out of breath from climbing the stairs to my home office.

She wanted me to imagine floating freely inside this bubble, but I pictured the kind I blew from a tiny plastic wand as a kid. Sparkling spheres floated toward the sky, then—POP—left wet rings on the sidewalk.

“We are trying to make an environmental shift here,” the wizard pointed out. “If you can’t commit to self-care, how the hell can you commit to the next meaningful thing?”

Skeptical, I gave bubble time a whirl while at yoga practice and while walking the dog, but I didn’t truly understand it until this weekend when I stepped back into the bubble for a DIY writing retreat.

The bubble means boundaries

There are all kinds of writing retreats—from prestigious programs to wild-women weekend getaways. But traveling and spending money isn’t necessary. All you need is space and time, she said, as though that were easy. And, don’t forget the most challenging element—commitment.

I’m lucky. I do not have a full-time job, small children, or much drama to manage. I also live in the sticks, though this isn’t necessarily a guarantee of focus—the nearest Target may be a 90-minute drive, but the Internet is at my fingertips.

Step 1: Block your calendar. Cancel plans. Say no.

Step 2: Switch off WIFI and leave your phone in the other room.

Step 3: Let go of the reins.

Whoa, Nelly! This is a hard one for control freaks like me. But do this: advise whoever you usually support that you will be unreliable.

I told Felix to feed and entertain himself and our pets and keep the house clean. Then <GULP> I let him do those things his way.

Lists stay outside

If you’ve been following along, you know how I like to plan, but there isn’t room for lists in the bubble.

Step 4: Set an intention—only one.

I intended to move my memoir forward. That’s it—no daily word count goals. No checklists.

I would do that at my own pace, with my butt in the chair—or on my foam roller or pacing around the room. I would think about what I wanted to write, why I wanted to write it, and otherwise wrestle my story to the ground.

(Almost) no one gets in

During my MFA program (held in a pandemic-era ZOOM bubble) and subsequent workshops, I’ve received a wealth of well-meaning and meaningful feedback that helped me grow as a writer. But, as I attempted to turn my early essays into a memoir, every comment I ever received was living rent-free and making a racket in my brain.

One person called my project a #metoo about sexism in the workplace, another said it’s a social commentary on social media, and yet another said it wants to be a memoir plus and I should research more Edith Wharton.

The chorus went on: “Chronology is your friend.” “Workplace memoirs are unique.” “Publishers hate prologues.” And the most dreaded,¹ “This narrator is detached from her feelings,” said nearly everyone.

Step 5: Find your version of the story. Fight for your narrator.

I internalized everything, even though my early work was not ready for critique, and I didn’t yet know what story I wanted to tell. I needed to turn the volume down on the voices inside my head. So, I did something that I’d never done before.

I listened to music while working. Somewhere between Noah Kahan and Vivaldi, the voices that had been drowning out MY voice disappeared. In two days, I felt better about my work than I had in two years.

Bubbles are fun

On day two, I hung an 8-foot sheet of banner paper on the guest room wall to help me visualize the storyline. I borrowed from Save the Cat and Memoir Blueprint to create a hybrid outline – proposal- manifesto. There are, @Jennie Nash wrote recently “many different kinds of decisions a memoir writer needs to make about the very nature of their book,” and I had to explore every avenue to find my answers.

Step 6: Do it your way.

I put loose thoughts on index cards and a heating pad on my back. I took the dog for walks and did yoga after breakfast. At lunch, I read @Jami Attenburg’s 1,000 Words, and when I got back to my desk, if I wasn’t ready to count, I just kept going anyway.

Bubble time is a state of mind.

These past few days in the bubble have helped me remove uncertainty from my schedule, helping me write more and more freely.

There was no will I write today and for how long? No, I should work out, but we need eggs, and when was the last time I took a shower?

When I started working later than planned or less than hoped or when the ideas were wrapping themselves into knots, I watched my usual negative self-talk and judgment bounce off the unpoppable shiny shell of my bubble.

I revised, reformatted, printed, stapled, scribbled, taped, cut and pasted. I set a reminder to stretch and drink water. I ate dinner and got back to work.

And when I got tired, I poured a glass of red wine and watched Mindy.

Optional: DIY writing retreat tips from others

• Start a fire. This, according to Top Writer

  Alec McNayr
  . He says of his DIY writing retreat, “I was a needy little writer, but I witnessed a crackling fire 16 hours a day, which always makes (I was told) the writing come easier.”

• “Don’t forget a brolly.” That’s tip six from

  Hayley J. Dunlop
  —I think it’s UK for umbrella? As a parent who writes, she’s assembled a list of ten tips for DIY writing retreats.

• This one’s for bloggers and newsletter writers: I didn’t think I’d be missed for one week, but if you want to inform your readers,

  On Substack
  has assembled great advice on taking time off.

Work hard. Be Brave. Believe.

Catherine

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1. Memoir writers, am I right?