As you can probably guess from the silence + the jug of WEIRD LIQUOR, I have been on writing retreat; That is cherry moonshine, which made me feel very TILTED WORLDy. (That’s a reference to a novel about moonshiners called THE TILTED WORLD. I do NOT mean I drank it until I fell over, JUST TO BE CLEAR.)
The moonshine was FULL of these absolutely MURDEROUS looking cherries. They’d been soaking in what amounted to rubbing alcohol since time immemorial, and when we purchased this mason jar of liver-death, the ABC store owner shook the jar so the cherries wobbled threateningly in the oily liquid.
“Eat the FRUIT!“ he told us conspiratorially. “That’s what really gets you all tore up.”
They also had strawberry flavor, but let me tell you, STRAWBERRIES that have been sitting in jugs of alcohol? *shudder* They fuzz over and de-seed themselves until they look like SPLEENS. We eyed them and thought they were strawberries in ‘shine. But MAYBE it was a jar full of lumpulous organs from Dexter’s basement.
We went with lovely, symmetrical, spherical CHERRIES, which at least looked like they had once long ago been a style of food instead of medical waste.
I am happy to report that 46 is VERY different from 26, in that we declined to eat the fruit and “get tore up.” We did ingest moonshine in tiny, fortifying sips, plain over ice, in the evenings when the work was done and we needed to shut our clicky-clacking brain-trains down and go to sleep.
It was not unpleasant.
I got to dovetail the retreat into a couple of events with Quartermoon Books, a righteous Indie over in Topsail, North Carolina. The store let me stay in a beach house ALL WEEK and I got SO MUCH BOOK done.
I squatted with five other writers, also in for the events. Here is us, in order, Lydia Netzer, Me, Barbara Claypole White, Ariel Lawhon, Kathleen McCleary, and Ann Ipock.
Most of us were on deadline, and when we were not at bookstore events, we holed up in pajamas in our rooms, eating all our meals in our respective beds in front of laptops, making the sheets all gritty and dank and feverish with crumbs and art-sweat.
There were some brief spurts where we frolicked about and had mad joyful abandonings: the book store wine and cheese party , the bookstore luncheon, the OSCARS—-mostly for dress porn and to see if Lupita won, Spoiler: SHE DID YAY! And one day 5,000 dogs appeared on the beach and we ran down to kiss their faces and miss our own dogs.
And two of us, I will not say who, may have had a passionate, Moonshine-fueled duel over a super hawt pirate. AHHHH WRITING RETREAT, thou bastion of indiscriminate drinking and torid, hook-handed love. COME FOR ME AGAIN SOON.
What did you do this week? I MISSED YOU, oh my best beloveds, and wanted to blog just to GET COMMENTS. But instead I wrote book, like a good monkey.