I’ve long pined for a residency. An exquisite amount of time devoted only to my creative pursuits. A room of my own. Like MacDowell, where you sit in your own perfect cabin in the New England woods and someone brings you bespoke picnic baskets with hand-crafted lunches but doesn’t disturb your artistic genius. Even if that artistic genius is laying on the floor in your soft pants, downing Pirate’s Booty while you contemplate the funniest way to say, “Hoo-Hah”.
But residencies take time to apply to, which is that thing that I don’t have. They also often take a level of establishment in your field that I… haven’t had the time to amass. Finally, “Residency” sounds v. big deal and pretentious, so obviously I gravitated to that term because I love being a pretentious big deal, but in truth, I’m just a frumpy lady who enjoys a diet coke from the can on occasion, so let’s call it what it is: A retreat. And since I didn’t feel like I had access to one already in existence, I decided to build one myself.
Why I’m Making this Post & What You’ll Find Here:
As a creative person living under the reign of capitalism, I’m constantly looking at the creative output of others and thinking “How did they find the time/funding/patience/ability to do that?” I’m always wondering what people’s day jobs are, how they’re managing their time and taking care of their mental health while they make good art, and what all their secrets are (is it that their parents have lots of money? Because that’s cool, I just wanna know so I’m not feeling like a schmuck for not owning my own home and premiering on Broadway before I was thirty). Because of my own curiosity, I wanted to share all the details of how I planned a retreat for myself while working around my day job, my budget, my needs, and how it all came together.
*A note about privilege: In addition to paid time off, I have an (annoying) job in which I’m sufficiently certain that taking four days off is not the equivalent of fucking over my future self, nor anyone I work with. It may go without saying, but I feel it’s important to reiterate: many many people do not have these luxuries. As an art-making human, I’ve made money in many ways— the gig economy, contract work, six part-time jobs at once— all of it— and I would never have been able to make this retreat happen without my current working situation (though, not to boast, but my mental health may be worse than it’s ever been— that’s what the health insurance is for).
The Plan:
The plan started as simply: “I want more time to write”, and funny enough, I did not physically write much on this retreat. I read through everything I’d written in the last two years, pulling out things that I liked or stuck with me, and I interrogated what’s working and what’s not working in my current daily writing practice. It was exactly what I needed.
Lancaster, PA is where I landed because it has that perfect alchemy of being just far enough away from home to cut me off from distraction while being close enough that I could get to and from without losing a lot of time.
I created three goals: the bare bones that I wanted to get through (read it all), a somewhat realistic expectation (read everything and let it inspire and motivate me), and the ultimate fantasy of what I wanted to accomplish (read through everything, identify themes, pull topics and tidbits for essays and longer pieces, consider what my writing practice looks like moving forward). I used this handy article from the recently shuttered Catapult.co as a reference.
What it Cost Me:
AirBnb: This spot was not for everyone, but it worked great for me. On the third floor of an old house, the front door was up an iron staircase of questionable integrity. There was only one entrance/exit and all kitchen appliances (a mini fridge, microwave and an electric hotplate) were plugged into a single power strip that may or may not have been grounded— I did not have the courage to check.
Transportation: The train tickets to and from my house were $21 each way. I was recently given an Amtrak gift card (an incredible gift, 10/10, would receive again) so that money doesn’t really come out of my budget. I took a taxi home from the train station when I got back to Philly to appease my cranky back.
Groceries: I spent more money than I had anticipated on groceries because I love to eat like the bougiest mother fucker you’ve every seen. Nine dollar pepper jack from Weis Market? Don’t mind if I DO. My first grocery run came in at $54 and my second (yes— SECOND for just three days! Drag me! See what I care! I love berries and cheese!) was just over $30.
Dinner Out: I had a celebratory dinner out on my last evening. It was pouring rain and I almost didn’t go, but I wanted to get some fresh (if wet) air and I love being a stranger at a bar more than anything. I ordered an app, a beer, and tipped well. $30.72.
Guilt Purchase: I am physically incapable of entering a locally owned business and not purchasing anything. I visited a local bookshop that was lovely, but having no space in my luggage for an additional book, I purchased a card to prove I’m a Very Good Person. $5.30
AirBnb: $464.42 - Checked in on Tuesday afternoon and out on a Saturday morning.
Grocery trips: $84.96
Transportation: $54.40
Dinner Out: $30.72
Bookshop Stop-in: $5.30
The total for those 4 nights comes to $639.80. ($597.80 if you calculate for the Amtrak gift card). In 2019, I would have called that number “rent” but given inflation, taxes and other things I’m not 100% sure my landlord is being honest about, I now call it, “A little less than rent.” (New York and Bay Area folks, please eat your heart out at Philadelphia rental prices). I don’t know what other folks’ finances look like (but I’m dying to. Please tell me everything about how you manage your finances— I think it’s FASCINATING. And financial transparency will eventually free us all, comrades) but that’s not an easy amount of money for me to part with. And for me, it was worth every penny.
What it Gave Me:
Time! Time! Time!
There’s a lot of advice out there about writing or any kind of art making that’s along the lines of, “Do it when you can.” The messaging being that you can create and practice your art in the margins of your life. You can do it before and after work and on lunch breaks. You can do it on weekends, or while your baby (cat) is napping. And sure, that’s what I do most of the time, but having a solid amount of time devoted only to this work showed me the following:
I needed time not just for the craft, but to think about my process. Specifically, what my practice needs from me moving forward.
I really, truly love working on my creative endeavors and can focus like a beast when I set myself to a task.
It’s true that 90% of what you write will be garbage. Not to brag, but mine was probably closer to 96.8% .
Following my intuition while working— when to take a nap, go for a walk, have a little salami as a treat, go to the bookstore and browse for nearly an hour— served me so well. I got everything I wanted to get done finished and it was a fun and joy-filled process.
Other things of Note:
Deleting the apps off my phone was critical. I didn’t go searching for instagram via muscle memory often, but when I did it was great to not find it there. I worked with my phone on a focus setting, mostly as a vehicle for music. I checked my personal email once in the morning and once in the evening. I have not re-installed twitter (RIP), my work email (gross), or LinkedIn (NERD!) back onto my phone since I returned and have no intention of doing so.
I never listen to music when I work (or do anything). A friend asked me once, “You don’t listen to anything while you run? What are you some kind of sociopath?” To which I replied, “Bitch, I might be.” During this retreat I never had the music off. I listened to it from the moment I woke up to the moment I turned off the lights.
I left the work out so it was alway there. This is luxury I do not have in my one bedroom apartment I share with a perfect cat and excellent human. It was nice to have a low hum of work going, even when I wasn’t directly engaging with it. Sticky notes of themes that were rising lined the walls that I could look at while I waited for water to boil. Notecards with essay ideas were scattered on the table and flowing onto the floor when I walked by to use the restroom.
Moving Forward:
I’m not holding myself to the “I must write every single day” any more, but I don’t think that means I’ll stop writing every day (I was coincidentally affirmed in this choice after reading Caitlin Kunkel’s most recent newsletter that came out the day after I returned). I can be more thoughtful and intentional about what I’m working on, especially now that I have specific things I’m working on: this Substack, a collection of essays about my current and former 9-5, reaching back into the short humor world…
My biggest take away from these brief few days was: it worked and it was great. I can still get great work done on my couch or at my kitchen table (secret shout out to my bed, which is my favorite place to work but I would definitely never tell anyone that). I’m grateful I had the time and other resources necessary to take this short, if relatively pricey trip, and I hope I get the opportunity to do it again, but I don’t think I’ll need to for some time.
It also made me realize that following my intuition is okay. That maybe if I’m not so rigid and precious about getting the words down every day no matter what! Maybe there will be more productive things that follow.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about retreats and accessibility and whatever else you’re thinking about! Feel free to comment and/or like this post.
Thanks for reading this special, more niche-y installment of the anti-niche! Back to your regular, broad-ranging content next time!
Loved this edition and hearing about yoir process and finances! I am also always SO interested in other artists finances (s/o to another fave substack - nothing for the group- which does regular, anonymous money diaries of folks working in theatre). I own my own home and a boat (second home) which makes me seem way more well off than I actually am. The pandemic unemployment money plus a little generational wealth from my partners parents who realized we were never going to have a wedding allowed us to buy the house. We also spent a year scrimping to make a down payment on the boat and paid that off over 3 years right before the pandemic hit so we didn’t have to pay rent while on lock down. And capitalism favors home owners over renters so now we pay less in mortgage and rent for two homes in two cities. Though freelance artist life means very little time off because time not working is time not making money.
This year, we were both lucky enough to get 5k each in unrestricted artist grant funding so it takes some pressure off. (Wow, when did I become this comment over sharing person?!)