Take seven women writers who have never met. Isolate them for four days and three nights. Provide them with comfortable accommodations, abundant good food, a bit of wine, and a goal. Watch what happens.
For the first hour they “make nice.” Then they begin to share their stories—fictional, non-fictional, and poetic. They have retreated to lovely Ossabaw Island, Georgia, to hone their skills and serve as each others’ sounding boards. Most already have publishing credits. All are passionate about their craft. All have at least one manuscript in progress.
They gather for work sessions, then withdraw to their rooms, to the porch, to the forest, where they can think and absorb and revise. As the days progress, egos are set aside and friendships blossom. A camera appears, and they pose for group photographs. A guitar appears, and someone starts to sing.
On the afternoon of the last day, email addresses are exchanged. And plans for future get-togethers. And hugs.
The full moon of the night before delays the rising tide, so the boat trip home must wait an extra half-hour. All the better. No one wants to leave anyway.
Who says women aren’t good at chemistry?
The full moon of the night before delays the rising tide, so the boat trip home must wait an extra half-hour. All the better. No one wants to leave anyway.
Who says women aren’t good at chemistry?
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