What to pack for your writing residency

Where I'll be in a few weeks — Hambidge cottage

The other day my friend Rachel and I were talking about what she needs to take for her residency at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and she suggested that there might be others of you out there who would benefit from such a list. While every residency is different and most do send information on what to bring, I thought I’d share my experience here in the hopes that it might make someone’s packing a little easier.

If you’re flying, obviously you won’t be able to take everything you’d like for two or three weeks or a month away. But make room in your luggage for:

Books. A necessity. If you can’t get them in your suitcase, ship them ahead. I read 2-3 books a week at residencies.
A flashlight or headlamp. Many residencies are in isolated locations and you’ll do a lot of walking, often on unlit paths.
Walking shoes.
Cash. There are usually laundry facilities, and you’ll need cash to run the washer and dryer. You’ll also want cash for printing, copying or
faxing.
A power strip.
An external hard drive or some other way to save your work. You don’t want to risk losing all the brilliant writing you’ll get done, and you should be backing up your computer at least once a week anyway.
An umbrella or hooded rain jacket. Again, you do a lot of walking.
A notebook. When you’re out walking, you’ll often feel inspired to jot down ideas.
Stamps and note cards. If you don’t write notes to people, you should, and here’s your chance. It just feels right at a residency.
Headphones, if you like to listen to music while you write.
Bug spray and sunscreen if you’re going any time other than mid-winter.
Thumb tacks. There are often cork boards in the studios, and I love being able to pin up character notes, timelines, etc. I’m also a big fan of index cards for this.
A nice outfit or two. It’s great being able to wear sweats every day and to work in your pajamas, but by the end of a month you’ll be dying to
dress like a grown-up for dinner or a reading.

If you’re driving, you have the luxury of filling your car with stuff you wouldn’t be able to take on a flight:

Laundry detergent. Usually you’re expected to provide your own, and it will save you a trip into town if you have it when you arrive.
Candy. Preferably a 20 pound bag of Hershey kisses. Not only will you need the chocolate for yourself – who writes without chocolate? – but you’ll want it to make friends. Other writers will love you forever (or at least for the length of the residency) if you feed them chocolate.
Wine. If you like a glass with dinner, you’ll need to bring your own, and it’s not a good use of your time to drive around looking for a wine shop once you get there. If you’re like me, and can’t survive without Diet Cokes, take a couple of 12 packs.
Printer and paper. It’ll save you the cost of using the printer in the office, and it’s nice to be able to print in your studio whenever you want.
Any research materials you might need. These can also be shipped if necessary.
Shower caddy. Often you share a bathroom, and it’s nice to have all your bath stuff in a carrier.

A final piece of advice. If you’re one of those people who always pack way too many clothes when traveling, pull out about half of what you put in your suitcase. You’ll end up wearing the same thing over and over anyway.

Putting some thought into what you take will keep you from wasting valuable writing time once you get there. And writing time is what it’s all about.

On the Road Again

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only a page.” – St. Augustine (Thanks, Hope, for introducing me to this quote)

What a difference four months makes. In a post in June, I was commenting about staying put for a while. Wondering how that might affect my writing. Seems I won’t know anytime soon. Since that post, I’ve moved back to Charlottesville for a few months, been awarded a November residency at Hambidge in northern Georgia, and signed on for the Key West Literary Seminar in January. And I’m heading to Michigan soon for a quick trip to see family.

I have to admit, while I love Charleston and miss it and am looking forward to getting back down there, my feet were getting itchy. I’ve been even more antsy in Charlottesville, though Virginia is a beautiful place to be in the fall, and I love it here too. But the road is calling me. I’m ready to remove myself from familiar places and immerse myself completely in my novel again. Ready to eat, sleep, and breathe writing.

Don’t get me wrong. I write when I’m not traveling. But there is something about picking up and going that makes me want to move forward in my work, too. New environments make me rethink the way I look at things, make me notice more. And of course it doesn’t hurt that many of my travels are writer-centric.

It also doesn’t hurt that I’ll be in a cabin in the woods in beautiful Rabun Gap in November and hanging out in warm and wonderful Key West in the most miserable month of winter. There are some perks to this nomadic lifestyle, after all.

Doing the Wild Thing – on paper

I worked on a sex scene for my novel all morning. In case you’ve never written about sex, let me tell you that it’s not as easy as you might think. I mean, everybody’s done the deed, so it should be just a matter of recreating experience, right? That is definitely not the case.

There’s a balance that’s sometimes hard to find in writing about sex. You don’t want to come off as a play-by-play on ESPN, but you don’t want to sound like something on the Playboy channel, either. And National Geographic’s tone is really not an option, at least not in my book.

What do you call the various body parts involved? Unless you’re writing a romance, the whole heaving bosom and throbbing member thing just won’t cut it. But the technical route doesn’t work for me. While I’m not opposed to saying penis and vagina, somehow those words don’t flow well on the page.

For those of you who think maybe I’m prudish (total strangers?), let me assure you I’m not. I’m probably way more open about things than many of my friends are comfortable with, and I’m certainly not opposed to using some offensive language every now and then. OK, frequently. Anyway, it’s not Puritanism that makes sex hard to write about. It’s the fact that most people make it out to be such a serious act, when in reality there are knocking elbows and knees and misplaced parts. Sex is sometimes plain out ridiculous.

So I decided that my sex scene would be where I have fun in the book. Where I let things be ridiculous. Or at least moderately so. Once I decided that, I had a great time writing it. The point of putting a sex scene in my book is not to describe a private act with minute accuracy, but to use it to show the relationship between two people. Good relationships are full of fun, and so is good sex.

Oh, and no offense meant to the heaving bosom and throbbing member crowd. Just not what I’m going for.