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Put some zing back in your writing with our three-month retreat! We’ll help you surrender all your distractions and guarantee to have you writing in no time — Lakeshore retreats, where greatness begins.
Honestly, I thought the ad sounded a little cheesy, but I was desperate to put all this stuff with Alex behind me and get started on my next book by myself. Without hesitation, I visited their website to sign up. Once my reservations had been made, I put my head down on my desk.
What have I just done! I can't believe I agreed to hand over my phone and any connection to the outside world just so I can enter this writers’ retreat.
This sounded like it was going to be the longest three months of my life. Well, it would be worth it if it could help me get back on track with my novel. I hoped it would be the kick in the pants I needed to ditch the writer’s block.Chapter Two - AlexLakeshore Writers’ Retreat was supposed to be the best, and I needed the best. It took every penny that I had, but I had to do something to turn my life and career around. I couldn't keep wasting my time away. This retreat was the last chance I had at writing another bestseller.
In five years, I hadn’t been able to write anything. Ideas were illusive. My stories were lackluster. Everything in my life had changed in one terrible moment, and in that moment, I lost it all, my desire to write, my best friend, everything.
It all happened the day that I kissed Gary’s daughter. A piece of me died that day when my best friend threw me out of his house and told me to never talk to him again. I didn’t. Then two years later, he died of cancer. The idea of not being at his bedside ate at me, but he didn’t want to see me. I had made a huge mistake — one I couldn’t take back.
My life took a downward spiral after that. I lost my will to write. I couldn't even get out of bed most days. When I wasn't sleeping, my free time was spent drinking. I also fell heavily into drugs, almost overdosing many times. That one kiss changed my entire world, and my life had been rock bottom ever since. My fortune was gone. I was nearly broke.
The writers’ retreat presented a once in a lifetime opportunity that I desperately needed. After I saw the ad in the paper, I spent a few days debating what to do. I knew I couldn't really afford the trip to Colorado, but what other choice did I have? I hadn’t written anything or worked in years. I was a disgrace because of my drug and alcohol use. No one wanted to hire me, not even for the tiniest, most insignificant jobs. I didn’t even have an agent anymore.
I remember the worry I felt as I sent in the deposit for my trip, but I had to do it. Moving on with my life was the only choice.
Pulling my old, worn suitcase from the closet, I filled it with my tattered clothes. All my money went to the retreat, so there would be no new wardrobe on the trip. The day before I was supposed to leave, I was able to sober up for a while, spending the morning in the bathroom of my small apartment, giving myself a shave and a haircut. I couldn't afford to go to the barbershop, but I wanted to look decent for the trip. Afterward, I devoted the afternoon to checking my travel information and organizing my luggage.
I knew getting sober was going to be difficult. I had been drinking for so long that I didn't know if I could function without alcohol, but I also understood the importance of this trip. It had the power to change my whole life for the better, and I sincerely hoped that's what was going to happen.
I grabbed my luggage and took a cab to the airport. I avoided talking to people during my time at the airport. I wasn't there to make friends. I'm used to flying coach, so that's where I ended up. Closing my eyes, I slept the whole flight. It made the time pass faster. A trick I had learned back in the heyday of my career.
I dreamed of becoming what I once was, a highly successful author. Maybe that was a glimpse of my future, but I seriously doubted it because I didn't believe in things like fate or destiny.
The plane landed smoothly. I grabbed my carry on from the overhead bin, joining the line of passengers waiting to get off the plane. We moved slow, like a herd of cattle. This made me wonder about the other authors at the retreat. What kind of genres did they write? The industry could be extremely competitive, and the high stakes made people mean. This had me worried because it had been so long since my last book. I tried to stay up to date on the latest science fiction novels, but with almost no income, that was pretty difficult to do.
