An Enchanted Summer at Hedgebrook

By Guest Author

In the solitude at Hedgebrook I was pulled from the deepest darkest parts of myself, showing up as a writer each day. My daily routine that summer was a part of the process, waking up before sunrise, wandering through the silence of trees to the bathhouse, picking flowers in the garden for my cottage at Oak, making myself coffee and two boiled eggs from my basket—which was stocked each night in the main house with goodies for the next writing day—and returning to my desk to work until late afternoon.

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You’re Here Because You’re Good

By Guest Author

I received my acceptance letter from Hedgebrook in December 2013, a few months after I earned my MFA and returned to the Philippines with the intention of finishing a draft of my novel while living rent-free with my parents. It came at a time when I felt the pressure to prove to those who knew me that I was not flailing around after getting my degree or falling short of their expectations.

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The Nudged Inch

By Hedgebrook Guest

After a burst of crying, I spent today in an attic thumbing through Jung, a year after my time at Hedgebrook. It’s been a long day. I should clarify that I’m not in any old attic, but one at another residency, and that the cry wasn’t a bad cry, more like a necessary one. The Jung, however, was Jung.

In my morning pages—a residency habit I sustain after having picked up The Artist’s Way from the Hedgebrook library and trying it out in my armchair, by the fire, in Oak Cottage—I wrote that I had accomplished nothing significant almost halfway through this month. Everything feels nudged along an inch. 1600 words here, a decision there, a few pages of line edits here, a revised paragraph there. I remember my month at Hedgebrook being so fertile and idyllic, but did I feel that way in the thick of it or am I looking with the soft light of hindsight?   Read more

Active Body, Active Mind

By Hedgebrook Guest

When I showed my kids pictures of the ridiculously adorable cottages at Hedgebrook, one of which would be my home for an August 2015 residency, my son bet that I’d love the cottage so much I’d never leave it and hoped, for my sake, that it had a bathroom.

He was both correct and not (though thankfully, the cottages do have bathrooms). Each day: coffee, editing of the previous day’s writing, writing toward a new poem. I’d make up an excuse to walk the grounds once or twice, like hey, I’ve run out of fresh figs / flowers / blackberries and should go get some. Breakfast and lunch from my fridge: sheep’s milk yogurt, local honey, a container brimming with something wonderful that a Hedgebrook chef had prepared.   Read more

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