--SYNERGIA RANCH, SANTA FE, NM, May, 2019

It’s a tricky thing, sharing the same air, in close proximity, day after day, in sometimes raw and emotional settings, with people you vaguely know or may just be meeting for the first time. 

It’s tricky, yes, but it’s also fantastic.

For instance, you might wonder how vulnerable you should be, how verbal or engaged, how transparent.

You might also wonder why you can’t write like her or him--dense, layered prose that somehow manages to pull off the Happy Ending with a flourish that isn’t trite whatsoever.

But then, you realize, this a Bending Genres writer’s retreat. You realize you’re with like-minded people who make you feel safe, as close friends or family do.  You realize quite quickly, that you don’t have to write like anybody, same as you realize that no one has your exact voice.

It’s been a week now since the Bending Genres retreat ended… a week, though it feels like a lifetime ago.  I miss the experience and I miss those wonderful people terribly.

Being the kind of guy (wimpy, mostly) who hates goodbyes, I hung out in a field as the parting hugs went around on the final day.

Why?  Because my heart hurt.  My head was still spinning.  The week had felt like being continually water-boarded, if you can be water-boarded with love, wonder and creativity.

Each morning began with Robert Vaughan and Meg Tuite feeding us hand-picked flash or poetry.  It was the kind of writing filled with nitroglycerin, the type that blows the back of your head off.  We did our best to parse and coddle what the authors were saying.  We became students and apprentices.

From there, we had all sorts of exercises meant to open up our imaginations.  Sometimes we did so wearing goofy costumes. 

Then it was time to write.  Synergia ranch is a secluded piece of property on the outskirts of Santa Fe, NM, replete with one-of-a-kind adobe housing units.  All around are hills and cacti and the occasional peregrine falcon swooping by.  It’s quite easy to write in an environment like that.

Mid-afternoon we gathered to share our words with each other, to see what our new friends thought worked or didn’t work.  It was always done in love, with kindness, and it was always illuminating.

Nights became a raucous bonfire, or a makeshift party, usually in my room, always with gut-busting tear-streaming laughter which, I’m certain, made the nearby coyotes jealous.

It was a week of prodigious productivity.  A wonderful week of fellowship with people I adore and will adore till I die.  It was  miraculous and unforgettable.

The only thing missing was you.