It’s a long story.
Yesterday evening over whiskey, white wine, and pints of pear cider I consulted a favorite Writer – one of our soul tribe’s finest – with great concern. My concern was expressed something like:
“I can’t fucking believe we have a five day weekend and I have NO plans! Seriously?”
So you can imagine my glee when the response I received was, “Really? Oh thank God! I thought I was the only one!”
Take two ink spilling sisters, add one super long weekend, toss in local vineyards and lush hinterland…
In two weeks-ish I am whisking away for a weekend of words. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with fish bowl glasses to splash local flavors in. Somewhere that my vision can’t contain anything beyond miles of rolling hills and blue-grey sky. A place where for two days I’ll watch the sun rise and set while talking about stories and travels and spirits and space in between cackles, clanging cups, and whatever else mischief Rijn Collins and I find.
Because when we gather… magical things happen…
Plop us in the middle of the forest for 48 hours…
I’m counting the days.