So not only did you teach me about writing memoir, you also taught me about reading and thinking about how others write memoir. Thank you so much! Rebecca

Accepting what is to come

You can’t change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails.
Showing posts with label Wildacres Retreat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wildacres Retreat. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 18, 2025

A New Writers Circle Around the Table for 2025

After my husband, Barry, died of cancer in 2009, I felt completely lost. I did not see how I could go on without him. We had spent the past year dealing with radiation, chemotherapy, his unimaginable pain, and my constant fear of losing him. After weeks and weeks in Emory Hospital where I was with him around the clock, I insisted he come home, not to our home in the mountains, but to my sister's and brother-in-law's house in Roswell, GA. It was evident that if he had more chemo, it would kill him. He had a heart condition already. It had been suggested to me by medical staff that unless I wanted him to have more chemo, I should call Hospice Care. That was my only recourse. When his body swelled horribly and he had to be sedated most of the time, I knew I had to do the hardest thing I had ever faced.

Barry and Glenda at Chimney Rock, NC 

With my loving family and our dear friends, I finally got through it all. I came home to an empty house except for our dog, really Barry's dog, Rocky, who grieved for his master. Our sweet canine kid, sat by the bedside for hours waiting for the man who would not come home again.

I had resigned from NCWN-West as Program Coordinator when Barry was diagnosed. I wanted nothing to interfere or need my attention other than his care. I did not go back to church after he died. I knew I could not face the kindnesses and sympathy I would find there. My tears were always on the surface and I didn't want to break down at church.

I lost interest in our writing groups. Nothing mattered to me anymore. Two months after he died, I had cataract surgery. I needed him to help me with the eye drops that were required, but I had to depend on myself now. I didn't eat anything that required cooking. What would I do with all the leftovers?


I had always wanted to attend Wildacres retreat in Little Switzerland, NC  the highlands of western NC Appalachians. I was accepted for a residency there in 2008, but in a couple of months, Barry was diagnosed. I refused the invitation. 

As I sat at home miserable and wondering what would become of me, I received a notice about the Wildacres Fall Gathering, a week for all artists, craftspeople, painters, or writers to spend time working on a project of their choice. I thought about going, but I felt so alone, and I would not know anyone there. I decided not to mention that my husband had just died. I would pretend all was well in my life.

Packing the car and driving alone for several hours was new to me. I had never gone off on a trip without him. For forty-five years, he drove the car when we traveled. He packed the car after I made everything ready to go. He was in charge of the route we took. I never looked at the map. I had confidence that Barry would get us there with no problems. 

Filled with excitement and anxiety, I found a parking place near the front door of the building where registration was going on. I entered a big room with a huge fireplace and chairs and sofas. It was the lobby of the main lodge, a large two-story building, wood no brick, if I remember. Inside I signed in and was given directions to my room and instructions about meals, place and times.

Since it was a little while before dinner, a cocktail party was happening between the two large buildings that would house us, and I meandered down to the area. I stopped to look at the view to my right. Wow, I thought. I am on top of the world. I could just sit out here, feast my eyes on the mountains, the sky, and not think about anything else. I didn't need people. I didn't need to talk to anyone. I could sit and drink in the everlasting vastness spread before me.

I did not reach out to anyone or try to start a conversation. They all seemed to know each other. My misgivings stirred inside me and I thought, Maybe I will just go into the main lodge and sit down. 

Just as I entered the door, an attractive woman with a sweet face, came to me and introduced herself. I relaxed and we struck up a conversation. I liked her. I learned she was the sister of the director of Wildacres. 

I brought my mother up here because I thought it might help her. She lost her husband, my father a few weeks ago, they had been married for over fifty years. She said to me.

That seemed to be a cue for me to say, "I just lost my husband a few months ago." So much for keeping that quiet. Well, it changed everything. 
(Names have been changed)

Kathleen told me she was a nurse. She had helped care for her father and was now looking after her mother.  Let me introduce you to Mother. She took my hand and walked me over to a small woman with gray hair talking and laughing with others. Helen did not appear to be mourning. She was enjoying the people, chatting and laughing. I wished I could do that, keep the pain and grief buried so I could talk, laugh, and not think about the huge void in my life. 
Throughout the week I spent time with Helen talking about losing our husbands and not knowing what to do with ourselves. The family made me feel welcome, and after that afternoon, I felt right at home.

When we went to dinner down the hill to the dining room, I sat with strangers because Kathleen and Helen sat with the director at a special round table out of sight of the guests. The round tables sat eight or ten people. Too big to talk across so I tried to engage with someone beside me. On one side sat a husband and wife who had their own private thing going on, but on the other side, a woman was more approachable. I met painters, quilters, potters, and other artists in the following days while eating family-style meals.

By the time I left Wildacres at the end of the week, I had become good friends with another writer. She was working on a memoir. We talked and shared our reasons for being there. We had an instant feeling of friendship. She was a Morman living in North Carolina. I found her to be most interesting. 

My major goal for being at the retreat was to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. 
I made lists. What did I really like to do? What did I not want to do?
I liked writing and taking writing classes. I liked being my own boss.

During that week at Wildacres, I devised a plan. I decided to make the basement level of my house a writing studio. Finally, I had a reason to be. I would help other writers and do something that I totally enjoyed. My mind went wild with plans.

I encountered some opposition from one of my best friends. She thought I was abandoning NCWN-West but I wasn't. I even asked if my studio could be a part of Netwest, but was told it would be best to do it as my own. With fresh paint on the walls and some simple decor, the daylight basement became my writing studio. Writers Circle Around the Table became synonymous with excellent teachers and pleasant classes. 

Today I am in new surroundings. I am teaching from home using Zoom. But my business is still Writers Circle Around the Table. I will continue to teach and ask good instructors to teach at reasonable prices just as I did in 2010 in Hayesville. Beginning writers will be comfortable in an encouraging non-competitive environment. With technology being what it is today, most people have learned how to study online. Even the John C. Campbell Folk School offers online instruction. I will help anyone who doubts their ability to participate.

For the past 2 years, I have taught memoir courses with three 2 hour sessions on Tuesday evenings. I will continue that format with classes on March 11, 18 and 25. We meet from 6:00 PM EST - 8:00 PM EST.  Many of my students register for each class I teach because they enjoy it so much and it helps motivate them to make writing a priority. As all writers know, few non-writers recognize your writing time as important. 

I look forward to my writer friends who teach holding classes at the new Writers Circle Around the Table.
If you want more information or wish to register for the March classes, email me: at gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com  Write "Writing classes" in the subject line.





Friday, October 12, 2018

I need a writers' retreat!

I would be happy to rent out my studio to a writer who wants a quiet place to write for a weekend. So why can't I use my studio to write the two articles I am working on right now? Because just when I get into a zone, when all the words are flowing well, the telephone rings, a friend or family member is calling or another VIP needs me, or my dog Lexie begins to bark and tells me a car is in the driveway.

I have to stop writing and take care of the calls, answer the door or at least check out what is driving my dog nuts. My thoughts are interrupted, and I can't get them back. I turn to one of the million other projects that need my attention. Clear the clutter from my tables in the studio, get the stink bugs off the windows and off the floor, feed the dog or maybe get myself a bite.

I have promised myself a weekend writing retreat for some time, but it seems such a waste of money when I live in a cabin in the woods in the mountains. I have no one around who needs my time or attention except Lexie and she is spoiled. My husband, Barry, never wanted to leave home after we moved here. He could not understand why I wanted to go anywhere. "We live in one of the prettiest places in the country," he would say. 

What he didn't understand was that as long as I was at home I had laundry to do, meals to prepare, all kinds of other household jobs that took my time. He, however, could sit on the deck, have a glass of wine, smoke his pipe and listen to the birds in the trees. 

I wish I could be like Doris Buchanan Smith, a wonderful writer of children's books, who lived here part-time. When she was working on a manuscript, she did not go anywhere or let anyone in her house. She didn't wash dishes or clean because she was working. Writing was the only thing that was important to her at that time.
First published book by Doris Buchanan Smith

I wish I had that discipline. I have tried to understand why I let other things interfere with my writing time. I will blame it on my parents. They had this strong work ethic. My father planned his days so he could be productive and earn a living for his family. Mother's job was to take care of the house and everything in it, including the children. She was not the best housekeeper and neither am I, but like her, I do my best. I feel it is my job.

The advice we writers are given is to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on our writing room and not let anyone interrupt us. I have no children or a husband to interrupt me. I interrupt myself when the guilt of leaving dishes in the sink or clothes in the washer overrides my determination to forget it and keep writing.

I promise myself that I am going to rent a small cabin far away from home where it is totally quiet except for the soft sound of leaves falling off the trees.
I will take only my laptop computer and some food, water and a few clothes with me. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

But when I think about it and how much it will cost - money that is not in my budget - my heart freezes with the fear that I will not be able to create, not be able to write a decent page, and that I will worry or be concerned about something at home. Then I will have wasted my time and money.

After Barry died, I found a great retreat in Little Switzerland, NC. Wildacres is the perfect place to be alone to write because you live in a small rustic room and all meals are prepared for you. Although the lodge is filled with other artists working on their projects, the halls are quiet and no one will bother you unless you want to let them in. That was the place I went three months after Barry's death to decide how to live the rest of my life. The people I met there when we all gathered to eat in the large dining hall became special to me. I will never forget them. 


Dining Hall at Wildacres Retreat in Little Switzerland, NC.
Maybe I am sitting at one of those round tables.

I had to stop going to Wildacres because unloading my car and reloading to go home became too much for me. Even the long walk down to eat was difficult at the time. Now I have learned that Mike, the director who was there, has resigned and a new person runs the place. I don't think it would be the same. Mike's sister and I became good friends. Marsha wouldn't be there now. It just wouldn't be the same. I have many happy memories of Wildacres and the people who were always there when I attended the Gathering in the spring or in the fall.

 Tara Lynne Groth gives good tips on planning a private writing retreat similar to what I dream about. 

I can have a writing retreat right here in my own home. Maybe I will do that this winter.
I just have to close out the rest of the world and put a Do Not Disturb sign on my brain.







Sunday, November 18, 2012

First Novel by a Mature Woman - Is it ever too late?

In September of this year, I attended the Table Rock Writers Workshop at Wildacres Retreat off the Parkway near Little Switzerland, NC. 
My favorite part of this type of writing experience is meeting other writers and hearing their stories. I am delighted to have met Anna Jean (A.J.) Mayhew at this workshop.
We talked a few minutes as we stood beside her car. I had claimed the handicap parking spot where her car had resided the first part of the week. Parking of any kind can be a challenge at Wildacres unless you have good legs and strong lungs to make the hike up and down the hills.

During the first few minutes of conversation A.J. confessed that she was on cloud nine. She had just received a call and learned her book, The Dry Grass of August, published in 2011, was in it’s ninth printing. No wonder her head was in the clouds. Mayhew’s first book was doing well and she had a contract for a second. 

I was impressed with this news. A.J. is a woman who has seen her seventieth birthday. We all know the publishing business is after the under 49 demographic. I could hardly believe the traditional publishing world would give a mature woman who was not already a successful writer, a two book contract

This novel is set in her hometown of Charlotte, NC back in the fifties. It was inspired by her memories of growing up in the segregated south of the United States. She hasn't lived in Charlotte since 1985, but discovered that all she wanted to write about was Charlotte.

I relate to her thinking. 
I now live in the beautiful mountains of NC, but I write from my memories of growing up and life in southwest Georgia. Even the best memories are not always complete, and we need to do research to get the feel of those days, to remind ourselves of how things were then. Whether writing fiction as A.J. Mayhew does, or writing memoir, we want our facts correct. See below how she researched her books.
This is a quote by A.J. from an interview on the Hambidge blog. 
Both for Dry Grass—set in 1954—and Tomorrow’s Bread—set in the mid 1960s—I’ve collected popular magazines of the time (Look, Life, Time, etc); browsing through them gives me a feel for life back then. I use many libraries, including the Carolina Room of the Charlotte Public Library, Perkins Library at Duke, Wilson at Carolina, etc. I’m leery of using the ’net, and I double-check everything I find there. However, the Internet has been incredibly valuable in leading me to sources.

We as writers should do as this author does and not depend on the Internet entirely, but use it to find sources we trust. 

Find A.J. Mayhew’s book, The Dry Grass of August, in your bookstores and online. I have seen nothing but good reviews. 

Sunday, July 15, 2012

I am going, Come along and enjoy with me.

For years  I have wanted to attend this workshop. I plan to go there in September. They have some places open. Register now.

POPULAR FALL WRITERS’ RETREATS NOW OPEN FOR REGISTRATION 
Writers of fiction, nonfiction, memoir, and music can now register for an annual workshop known for helping seasoned and beginning writers in one of North Carolina’s most glorious mountain settings.

Applications are being accepted on a first-come, first-served basis for this year’s Table Rock Writers Workshop, to be held Sept. 17 -21 at Wildacres Retreat, near Little Switzerland on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
SOLATIDO, a southern singer/songwriters’ workshop that runs concurrently is also open for registration.

Table Rock, originally known as the Duke University Writers’ Workshop, was reorganized in 2010 and continues with the same leadership and philosophy of support for writers of all genres and levels of experience.
Georgann Eubanks, who has directed the popular literary workshops for more than 20 years, also developed Solatido for songwriters. She is the author of the guidebook series, Literary Trails of North Carolina, a project of the NC Arts Council. The third volume, Literary Trails of Eastern North Carolina, comes out next spring from UNC Press. The books are all about the state’s many accomplished writers.
“Writing is a solitary occupation,” says Eubanks. “It helps once in a while to gather in the company of other writers and receive feedback and encouragement. The Table Rock and Solatido workshops avoid competition and focus on creativity and craft.” 

Eubanks says some registrants are returnees, but newcomers always infuse the weeklong sessions with fresh energy and ideas.
The instructors at Table Rock this year are North Carolina writers Abigail DeWitt, Darnell Arnoult, Anna Jean Mayhew and Scott Huler.  Participants can also choose to take advantage of a first-time Reader-in Residence, Dawn Shamp. Writers can submit parts of a manuscript in progress and Shamp will provide a detailed critique including structural and technical advice. 

Music producer and composer Richard Putnam leads this year’s Solatido workshop. The keyboardist and arranger is comfortable with all musical styles and has been a session player in the Southeast for 30 years.
For more information: http://tablerockwriters.com 

Contact Cindy Campbell, 919.923.8857, cincam02@gmail.com

Monday, June 28, 2010

Writing Your Spiritual Journey

Explore, write and share your reflections on the holiness of the ordinary in your life.
The past isn't over, it isn't even past. ~ William Faulkner

September 16 - 19, 2010
[Thursday dinner through Sunday morning]
Wildacres Retreat Center
Little Switzerland, NC 28749
http://www.wildacres.org/ Facilitator: Kathleen Moloney-Tarr 704-365-2112 or leaders@mindspring.com Cost: $295 - $310 includes 3 nights, 8 meals and program
Registration and additional information at http://kathleenmoloneytarr@blogspot.com

Thanks so much, Glenda!
Kathleen Moloney-Tarr
325 Hunter Lane Charlotte, NC 28211
PO Box 251 Little Switzerland, NC 28749