Writing Love on Cadillac Mountain

For the past two years I have been fortunate enough to have my writing retreats planned for me through my graduate program. This January I left Pittsburgh, where my graduate school is located, knowing I would not have another one of these residences/writing retreats so neatly packaged and placed in my hands. I also knew I had a manuscript to finish before I could graduate, and for a few months I had been struggling to move forward with it. I couldn't even find an appropriate beginning to my book. I would need to plan my own writing retreat.

I had hoped to travel abroad, but for various reasons I knew this year I had to choose something within driving distance. I chose Acadia National Park in Maine. I had never been to Maine before, and after hearing many stories and details from a coworker who travels to Maine often with her family, I knew it would be right for me. So I reserved a site at a campground, packed my tent and hiking boots, and drove to The Pine Tree State to search for writing inspiration. I imagined I would arrive at my campground and write straight through the seven days, only stopping to sip my beer or hike a mountain for further inspiration. I was quick to find that Maine in May is cold and wet. It rained every night for the week I was there, but I was fortunate enough to have mostly sunny weather through a few of the days. I did some hiking and sight-seeing, but most of my time was spent writing, huddled inside of my stuffy, damp tent, or sitting in my car (I forgot to pack my canopy like a rookie).

I found myself staring at that infuriating blinking line on the white page far too often. This was my week for writing. I had to write. I had to get it on the page. No excuses. I was putting so much pressure on myself to finish my manuscript that I wasn't producing anything, let alone anything of quality. On my third day in Maine I became so fed up with my lack of progress that I decided to head to Cadillac Mountain. My coworker told me this was one of her favorite places in the state, and it was right down the road from my campground. So, I charged my laptop, threw on my hiking boots and backpack, and went for it. When I reached the top of Cadillac Mountain, I knew this would be the place to give me inspiration. I could see far across the park from the top, and the landscape was stunning--green and blue layers of forest and water that seemed to have no end. But I still couldn't write the chapters of my book that I needed to write.

I realized that all of the inspiration in the world wasn't going to help me if I continued to force myself. So, I stuffed my thin laptop into my

backpack and pulled out a small notebook and pen. I decided to write about the first thing that came to my mind, even if it wasn't for the manuscript, and just go with it. I took a deep breath and a long glance across Acadia Park, then pressed my pen to the page. I was not surprised that the first thing I thought of was her.

I don't write about romance. I write about home and family and relationships, but rarely about romantic relationships. Yet here, on Cadillac Mountain, hours away from home and all things familiar, I could still smell her perfume, and hear her voice, and see her smile. I let those thoughts fall onto the paper organically, even if they felt silly, even if they didn't make sense, even though I wanted to divert my energy back to the book. I just wrote.

The wind threw my wavy hair across my face as I scribbled page after page. I could hear other tourists somewhere behind me, but I didn't lift my pen. I could see a few raindrops patter across the ink leaving smudges, but I didn't pack away my notebook. Soon I realized two things: First, I hadn't yet taken the time to observe how deep my feelings were for this woman. I hadn't questioned them enough or written them down at all. I had avoided a huge piece of myself that was begging to be written about. The more I wrote about her, the more thoughts I had to write about everything. Ideas tumbled out of me. Second, I realized I did not need to drive over 600 miles and climb a mountain to find inspiration. That's not how inspiration works. A person can't pinpoint it on a map, drive there, and wait for it to arrive like a dinner guest. I also didn't have to threaten myself with not graduating if I didn't finish this manuscript, or try to force myself to write one particular thing in one particular way. I just had to put my pen to the paper, and write.

My manuscript is not about her, but I've learned again and again from my time as a student that sometimes you just have to write, and let the stories come to you. That's what I did in writing about her. I did eventually find my way back to the manuscript. Stories about her helped me make connections, and led me in the right direction just like the paths I took to the top of Cadillac Mountain.

I still feel that writing retreats are necessary. Being isolated and giving myself the chance to focus was crucial. But now I know that I can't force myself in one direction. Sure, I'll always be hopeful to find a little inspiration wherever I travel, but I will also be aware of the inspiration I carry with me. Most importantly, I'll let go of all mental barriers and just let myself write.

As I left Cadillac Mountain that day, I knelt beside a small cairn that marked the nearby hiking path, and I took a picture of it with the landscape in the background. It not only identified the physical path I took to reach this alluring summit. But for me, it also marked progress. I didn't come here to write about love, but realizing it was what I needed to write about, and allowing myself to do so opened up an entire chamber inside of me full of stories and ideas. I left Maine that week with a beginning to my manuscript, and maybe even an idea for an ending. The funny part is, I brought them with me when I arrived. I just didn't know it yet.