Last September, I did something I’d been wanting to do for a very long time: go to Milford Conference. It was an absolute eye-opener and resulted in me regaining my confidence as a writer and a story being published (“Vedritsa of the River”). I signed up for the next conference immediately.

So it happened, though, that I ended up at the retreat because of family commitments later in the year. In retrospect, I’m glad fate decided I should experience this very different Milford. I might have not tried it for some time, considering how much I loved the conference. But I loved the retreat as much, especially since I met, for the first time face to face, a dear friend who came all the way from Canada.

The May gathering had a completely different feel to the autumn conference. The atmosphere was far more introspective; the socializing toned down. We, about twenty writers, spent most of the time on what we’d come for: to unleash our words.

I certainly did. I finished drafting a novel that I started last December. In fact, I typed the last sentence five months to the day of typing the first, which again felt like fate. I wrote about 16 400 words to finish the novel and then 3 200 words on another project. I assure you, by the end of the week, my brain was cooking, and I needed regular visits to a particular bench in Gladstone’s Library’s garden (see the image above), where I would stare at the shifting leaves of the nearest tree for up to an hour. I’d never needed such a cooldown before, but I’d also never before averaged 3 000 words a day for a week. It’s good to know I can do this, provided other distractions are removed.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, I could investigate what my best writing routine looks like without the disruptive tug and pull of everyday life to obscure the picture. Now, I’m back to the humdrum of mundanity—but as a different person. I now know what it means to fully surrender to one’s calling, and it is intoxicating. Such an experience leaves an imprint; it brings one a little deeper into one’s shoes, steadying each tread.