You have thirty minutes to leave your house. You don’t know how long you’ll be gone. Or if you will be able to return. What do you take with you?

Either you’ve seen it on the news or smelled it in the air: wildfires are burning all over the globe.

Smoke is rolling into places that aren’t used to it like Chicago, Detroit, Washington D.C. Tens of thousands have evacuated in Spokane, Washington in what one reporter called “detonation.” Fires are raging in Canada, Europe, Africa, Australia, and on and on. If you go to the NASA world wildfire map, it looks like there’s just about nowhere that’s not somehow affected by fires, or smoke, right now.

Here in the U.S. this past week alone, there are 101 active large fires, with 3,969,179 acres currently burning, mostly in Oregon and Washington, according to the National Interagency Fire Center. Only seven are contained. Firefighters are beyond exhausted, risking their lives as they fight unprecedented, fast-moving blazes stoked by high winds, drought, and record-breaking heat.

Where I live in Montana, the smoke has been coming and going. Some days it’s all sepia and blurry, the sun a tangerine orb. Even when the skies are blue, we know that our smoke has blown into what was someone else’s blue sky just yesterday…and will likely return. Our mouths will be dry. Our voices will be rough. And those who are sensitive and at high-risk, especially with lung or heart related health challenges, pregnant individuals, children, and older adults, will need to stay inside, preferably with an air purifier.

Smoke doesn’t know state nor country lines. Smoke is smoke and it belongs to all of us.

Wildfire Talk is a Global Conversation

I’ve lived in Montana for thirty years and we’ve had “lucky” fire seasons and devastating ones. This year we’ve been mostly lucky, at least in the northwest corner of the state, where the fires are relatively small and increasingly contained every day. But still, there are evacuations happening across the state, and every grocery store check-out line is buzzing with wildfire talk.

How many acres? How much of it is contained? Are there evacuation orders? How are the firefighters faring? They can make a basecamp on my property. What about your friends up in that area? Do they need help relocating their horses, just in case? I have room in my pasture. I can lend them my spare truck.

Fear, powerlessness, and a humble dose of acceptance abounds. The power of Mother Nature is real, and during the fire season we can’t ignore it. Most Montanans don’t have air conditioning so when there’s smoke, it means windows closed, fans on, open/close the door fast, recirculation button in the car activated. Yet there’s only a modicum of complaining in small mountain communities. We choose to live in the woods. This is part of life out here, but wildfires are affecting a lot more than just us right now.

Can Fires That Destroy Teach the Value of Community, Not Possessions?

I’m not writing this to instill fear. Nor to dive into the subject of climate change. Instead, I’m writing to make the case for community, connection, and self-awareness. There is air to breathe, even in times of smoke and wildfire. And to me it begins with getting real about our relationship with stuff.

Ask anyone whose home has been taken by wildfire what life lessons they learned. I have two such friends, one in California, and the other in Colorado. Both of them will offer an iteration of: “It was highly traumatic. But…I feel free in a way I never have. I was way too attached to my stuff.”

These wildfires have people talking far beyond the subject of their personal things, and instead about what really matters. I like to ask questions and learn, so I’ve been asking a potent one: “If you only had thirty minutes to evacuate your home…what would you take?”

This question is as much about preparedness as it is about mindfulness. But it scares me. Which is why I’ve been asking it and making room for the answer, whether I’m at the gas station or speaking with friends around the world in the line of wildfire. The responses have stunned me because they are so diverse and yet sometimes so exacting.

The Power of Good Questions

In many cases, I’m finding that the asking and answering of this question can center, ground, and even calm people in a time of deep stress. I have no idea what my answer would be. At all. Just thinking about it elicits anxiety in me. So maybe I’m asking it as a collective field study—to glean wisdom from how other people have let go, and what they would let go of if need be. I am admittedly way too attached to my belongings. Embarrassing but true, and in a time like this, it’s important to be honest about your inconvenient truths.

Many have an immediate answer: “My family and my pets. The rest can burn.” Another rapid-fire answer is: “My computer, my cell phone, and my chargers.”

One said, “Well I’m very worried about proving my US citizenship with all that’s going on in that regard, so I’d bring my citizenship papers. My US passport. And my driver’s license.” Another said, “My journals and photo albums. But there are so many. If it was an unexpected evacuation, I think I’d just grab my purse and jump in my car.”

I can sense sentimental suffering rumbling around in their minds. People love their stuff. I am no exception.

What Brings Real Worth and What Is Worth Letting Go?

I have been repeatedly accused of having far too many things in my home. Not of great monetary value. Mostly sentimental. My parents were both only children, so I have generations of ancestral legacy in my home. A wooden, legless (!!!), doll from Civil War times. My grandmother’s Steinway Spinet: a consolation prize from a robbed opera career, due to a non-existent #metoo movement in 1911. Daguerreotypes of forgotten faces. Any number of little pretty porcelain boxes. One holds my children’s baby teeth.

In duty, I polish the silver of sterling pitchers, utensils, candlesticks, and imagine my grands and great grands polishing them too. I literally have a stack of bibles, one from the 1600s, notes in the margins like: “May you live according to these precepts.” Letters of worry and warning from my great-grandmother to my grandmother when she was pregnant with my father during the flu epidemic of 1918. Two chairs with caned seats, and a tea set, that traveled unscathed in a covered wagon from Vermont to Illinois during the Homestead Act. Hand-tatted lace. So much lace. And needlepoint—an Edwardian era footstool, piano bench, chairs, worn to the canvas in places.

Those dexterous women were always making things of beauty and use. These things mark bravery, pride, creativity—vestiges of a life lived. And they all call out to me: Take care of me. Tell my story.

I’ve learned these stories, carried them, told them, and sustained them. It feels like a responsibility. A way of somehow keeping it all alive. Where would I even begin? Thirty minutes??? I guess I would have to betray it all. I would take my dogs. Hop in my truck. And say a prayer for what I’d be leaving behind. Another nearly impossible question: What would I even pray for? The grace to let go, I suppose.

So I’ve changed my question to something less stressful and more sentimental: “If you were to pack a Go Bag, but were not in pressing danger, in addition to the basics, what would you put in it…and why would you choose those items?”

This one has people (myself included) reaching into what they most care about versus most need. “Oh gosh. Well, maybe the pearl necklace my mother always wore. And my copy of The Secret Garden, which my grandmother read to me. And my very first journal. Maybe a few of my father’s handkerchiefs. They still smell like him.” They choose things of comfort and legacy, not practicality nor worth.

So what would I take if I only had thirty minutes to prepare? Aside from essentials?

Well…my mother’s gold bracelet, I guess. Even though it’s not really my taste. But it touched her skin and I played with it in church when I was little. And a few pieces of art. The ones that stand for beloved times in my life. Plus, they would be easy enough to load in my truck.

The truth is: I really can’t imagine the grief of losing my home and the stuff in it, and my heart is with all who have. Let it all burn? I simply…can’t…imagine. But just parsing these questions lets me know that in the end, there could be freedom, as my friends who have lost their homes to wildfire have promised. And that the stories of my stuff will live on as long as my memory serves and my pen can move.

A Writing Prompt: Clarity in the Smoke

Writing is the best tool I know to help process this beautiful and heartbreaking thing called life. I’ve seen it in the over 1000 people I’ve worked with on my writing retreats, and I’ve practiced it all my life. So to help you examine your relationship with your own stuff, here are two questions to ask yourself. Ask them in private, with a pen and a piece of paper. Be honest with yourself. Let the words carry your truth. Your essence. Not the shoulds but the real and the raw.

1) If you only had thirty minutes to evacuate your home…what would you take and why?

2) If you were to pack a Go Bag, but were not in pressing danger, in addition to the basics, what would you put in it…and why would you choose these items?

If you’d like to explore your writing this fall, my Haven Writing Retreats still has room! Email me to set up an introductory call: Laura@lauramunson.com. Your voice matters, especially when it’s feeling lost in smoke and worry. There is freedom there. I promise.

RARE ROOM AND PARTIAL SCHOLARSHIPS STILL LEFT FOR MY FALL RETREATS!

Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Do you have a book in you? Did you start a book…and stop? Have you always wanted to write? Let’s get on the phone and dig into these good questions. I have help for you. And you don’t have to be a writer to come…

Now Booking the 2026 Fall Haven Writing Retreats in Montana

September 16 – 20 One spot left

September 23 – 27 One spot left

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

I wrote this in 2015 when our part of Montana was in the midst of a severe fire season. This year we’ve been relatively lucky, but even so, there are forest fires and smoke.

The smoke is rolling in mostly from Washington and Oregon and we feel their pain, especially Spokane which is suffering dearly right now. So to honor the people directly affected by those fires, and any wildfire…I offer this piece. I wrote it more for myself than for readers, so I’ve never published it. But it feels like the least I can do on this smoky Sunday morning in August. Let’s remember…the rain will come. Fall will come. There will be stars again.

Some Empathy in the Firestorm

Don’t judge: every so often, I watch Little House on the Prairie on television. They were my favorite books when I was little and I was obsessed with the TV show. Now, I watch it when I need strength. When my life feels hard and I know that Pa and Ma Ingalls will remind me that I’ve got it easy. Today I watched it because I’m on a kind of house arrest—we’re surrounded by forest fires and our valley is socked in with smoke. Our house isn’t threatened at this point, but my lungs and eyes and sense of security are.

Forrest fires happen. Montanans know that it’s just a part of the natural order of things. Every few years, when visitors and new-comers are basking in an unusual springtime surplus of blue skies and warm temps, locals look at each other with more than a modicum of dread. We don’t panic, the same way we don’t panic if we see a grizzly bear or mountain lion in our back yard. We just know…that things could get rough.

But 101 forest fires currently burning in our state? 144,000 acres and still growing? Firefighters say they’ve never seen a season like this—where fires blow up with such intensity over such a short period of time. That’s really rough. It means that our skies at best smell like a campfire, and at worst smell like a crematorium, never mind wet newspaper.

The other day, a tourist asked me, “Can’t they do something about the smoke?” like there’s an app for it. I told her “They” are doing the best they can, fighting from land and air, cutting fire lines, dumping water from nearby lakes via helicopters, special fire-retardant-filled airplanes doing drive-bys, smoke jumpers parachuting in where most people would never dream to set foot. She did not look assuaged.

We Montanans go about our daily business in a rough fire season, keeping an eye on the news, the pressure systems, the wind. And lately, most of us in big sky country, are doing it in smoke—our eyes watering, our throats burning. We know to seal off our houses when the smoke rolls in, and when it rolls out, to open our windows and let our homes inhale.

“It looks like Armageddon,” my fifteen year old son said. “Like in the movies.” But this is real life and he looks legitimately scared. My eighteen year old daughter said, “It looks like a sepia-toned watercolor.” We all feel our late summer outdoor plans suffocating. But we buck up. This is just western living. People in Idaho, Washington, and California are doing the same. We make the best of it, reminding ourselves that there are certain conifers whose cones cannot release their seeds without the high temperatures that only forest fires can offer. “The lodgepoles are grateful,” I tell them, and decide to use that on the next surly tourist.

But the truth is, I can’t breathe. I feel like a zoo animal, pacing its cage. I am spoiled by this vast Montana container which opens its arms for wide unlimited miles—bucketfuls of stars that look like they’re going to pour themselves all over us night after night, meteors shooting by, leaving star dust in their wake. Not ash. Not smoke. I feel dizzy from taking shallow breaths. My kids complain of headaches. I feel like grabbing them, getting on a plane, and abandoning Montana altogether. Let her burn the way she needs to. Especially if she cares more about a lodgepole than my children and me.

We all start to feel betrayed by her. We try not to, but our dinner table is full of complaints, usually ending in, “We might as well live in the city.”

My usual well of Treasure State cheerleading is empty. “Maybe we’ll get rain tonight.” But we all know there’s none in the forecast. Just wind.

So we sit in the stale-aired living room and distract ourselves with a movie. Pretending we’re not noticing the swirling ozone that means the fire to our north could run its way right into us if the winds are right. There is simply nothing we can do but wait it out. Put fans by our beds to at least move the marginalized air around. Buy an air filter for each room, which doesn’t seem to do a thing, but we can pretend.

“Let’s do a rain dance,” I say one day when the smoke is so thick we can’t see our cars in our driveway.

The kids look at me. What are the chances they would ever do such a thing at their ages? But they look at me, then out at the smoke, then back at me, and they smile and start jumping around the living room, shrieking, “Rain rain rain rain rain rain!” I join them. We haven’t danced around the living room like this for years. “Let it rain!” I scream and hold my hands to the ceiling and beyond. They join me. The dog is with us, wagging his tail. For a moment, we’re blithe and happy.

Still…dry night, after dry night. Smoke and more smoke. And then one night, I am in bed reading, when my teenagers run in, hollering. I half expect to see flames coming over the ridge, straight at our home.

“What?” I shout. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s raining!” they both say, jumping onto the window-seat. “Listen!” But we all know that rain can mean lightning and lightning can mean new fires, closer fires, evacuation fires.

We listen and we all sit in the window seat with the lights out and watch. We do not see lighting. We lie down close to each other and are silent, listening to the friendliest sound we can imagine. Torrents of rain that we learn to trust. It has come to help. The lodgepoles have been given enough. Now it’s our turn.

We stay there for a long time, listening to the storm.

And then my son says, “Look!”

And sure enough, for the first time in weeks, we see clouds. The definition of mountain silhouettes. And as the clouds part, there most definitely is one…solitary…star.

“A star!” we all say.

My son pulls down the window, and we sniff with care. We can’t afford to compromise the already compromised air quality of our house. “I don’t smell smoke,” I say.

“Me neither,” they both say, and my daughter goes to the other windows and cranks them open wide.

We all sniff, “No smoke,” my son says, and runs through the house, opening up all the windows.

This is 2015. These kids push buttons and stare at screens. But here they are, thankful for air, for breath. Here they are marveling at a star.

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If you have something that you need to write…I may have a place for you on my fall Haven Writing Retreat in Montana. Go here for more info. Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Let’s get on the phone and dig into these good questions.

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats in Montana

*note: these spots are RARE and there’s still scholarship funding available!

September 16 – 20 one spot left

September 23 – 27 one spot left

October 14 – 18 one spot left

This is a Q&A I recently did with a membership only online writing community, and I thought it would be nice to share it here with you. For all the writers out there who want to be published, and yet fret the business side of it all…take heart. I have some concrete help for you that I hope will prevent overwhelm, and give you fortification and clarity in this often worrisome aspect of the writing life.

Interview:

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Q: The business of books is one that can be very challenging to understand and navigate. As someone who has much experience in this field, please give us your opinion on how to have a healthy mind-set when it comes to the business side of the writing life.

LM: I’m so glad you started with that question. Thank you. A healthy mind-set is so important to a writer’s well-being, and I care more about that than their actual writing. The business side of the writing life is most writers’ least favorite subject, but I have learned that you can approach it with playfulness, and find concrete ways to avoid overwhelm, budget your time, and save yourself from heartbreak. If you want people to read your work, then there are certain basics that need to be in place. And I try to make sure that my clients give this aspect of the writing life the attention that they can give, within their personality type, schedule, other life responsibilities, so that it’s a woven dedication. Not one that takes away from their writing time, but instead fortifies it. If you want readers, then you have some work to do, whether you’re writing short or long form work. And it doesn’t have to feel like you’re selling out. Think of it like this: What would I do for someone I love who really needs my specific help? I want you to love your writing, and love your writing life, and that means that it’s possible to love the business side of it all too. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d much rather talk about writers, the craft of writing, and the writing life itself.

Q: Then let’s first give you a chance to talk about what you love most. Writers.

We’ll get to the business end of writing next. You are a huge writer’s advocate. In addition to being a writer and best-selling author, you’re also the founder and leader of one of the gold standard writing retreats in the US: Haven Writing Retreats in Montana. Not all writers have a teaching spirit. You do. Tell us all about it.

LM: It’s true. My retreats are my favorite subject. That and craft—structure most of all. I care about writers more than any other population. And I’m happy to talk about Haven because that’s where I can help them most of all…but I know we’re here to talk about the book business, and I have a lot of advice for writers that we’ll get into as well. I have concrete things you can do that won’t land you in overwhelm. My motto is: Half an hour here. Half an hour there.

First of all, I designed the retreat I would want to go on. So Haven meets you where you need to be met, no matter where you are along your writing path. It is a five-day immersive program designed to help writers find a steady, honest relationship with their voice—one grounded in attention, care, and curiosity rather than urgency or outcome.

People come to Haven at many different places along their writing path.

· Some bring full drafts.

· Some bring works in progress

· Some bring fragments or ideas.

· Some arrive simply knowing it is time to finally make time to write.

Haven is unlike any writing retreat out there: Led by a three-time bestselling author, in its fourteenth year, with over 1000 alums from all over the world, rigorous daily classes and workshops, 1:1 sessions with me, the opportunity to work with me editorially, continued programs, online writing community, and scholarship funding through the Haven Foundation. I’ve shepherded many books from beginning to completion and helped them get out into the world. I only offer my editorial services to Haven alums, so that’s part of the investment. No false promises. No fluff. Just real education and support. And community.

Each retreat is small, intentional, and held in the NW Montana landscape that I’ve called home for thirty years, just outside Glacier National Park.

Here are my fall 2026 dates:

There are a few RARE spots left on each one, AND substantial partial scholarship funding still available.

September 16 – 20: a few spots left
September 23 – 27: a few spots left
October 14 – 18: one spot left

It all begins with a one-hour introductory call wherein we get on the phone and discuss your writing dreams. It’s a rare opportunity to be listened to in this capacity, by someone who truly walks the walk and can help you walk yours. Email me at laura@lauramunson.com to set up a call to see if Haven is the right match for you. Those spots will fill. Maybe one has your name on it! I won’t be leading another retreat until March, 2027, so if you even have an inkling in your gut that now is the time…reach out to me. Let’s talk.

You can learn more here.

Okay, let’s get into the business of writing. But thank you for giving me the chance to share about Haven first. It’s really the most potent way I can help writers, and because I only work with Haven people, I don’t often share my tips in public. But I’m happy to do so here.

Q: You had a big break and not every writer does. Tell me about it, in case people don’t know your story. It was a firestorm.

LM: When I hear or read about authors and their big breaks, it always brings me distress. Good for them. But that’ll never happen to me. So please hear me on this one: If it can happen to me, it can happen to you. I have very little formal creative writing education. I was a theater/film major. And I didn’t have a single connection in the publishing or writing world until I started seriously pursuing publication. And even then, they were just a smattering of unrelated shots in the dark. A friend of a friend of a friend kind of thing.

So here’s my story. May it inspire you, not bring you distress.

I’ve written many unpublished books since 1988 when I started out along my writing path. Mostly novels. I sat at that intersection of heart and mind and craft that is the writing life with all my might, no matter what was going on in my life, no matter how much money I had in my bank account. I wrote and wrote until I learned my craft well enough to land me an excellent literary agent for a novel I’d been working on for a long time. We almost went all the way with Big Five publishers for two of those novels, but I didn’t have a platform so I was ultimately turned down by those marketing and publicity departments. Platforms were very hard to build then. But I kept going. And ended up writing a memoir, quite by surprise, because I’d never really starred as the main character in a book, and never really wanted to. But I knew there was wisdom in the way I was navigating a crisis in my life, practicing tuning into my thought patterns and how they served and sabotaged me, and it felt like a book that could help people. It was helping me just in the writing of it.

That book was where my career as a published author began. The short version of it went viral in the New York Times Modern Love column, and I got a big book deal, and suddenly one of the very top marketing and publicity departments in NY publishing was rolling out the red carpet for me. The Oprah show called. Good Morning America. And on and on. It was published in eight countries. I did major media in all of them. I was sent on tour for months at a time. I knew that this would likely never happen again, so I gave it everything I had and more. And frankly, it was like I was spy for writers, out on the front lines, bringing information back to the village. The village is what I care about. And why ultimately, I got off those stages and media venues, and started my Haven Writing Retreats.

Like I said, I care about writers more than just about any population. And I care about their wellness even more than their writing. You might get a big break, but ultimately it comes down to showing up for your work. Period. How? Longing. Hunger. Dedication. And even obsession. AND it helps to have someone who truly cares and knows how to support you in finding your voice, learning your craft, structuring your writing projects, serving as your editor all the way to the end, and helping with publishing strategy and networking. It’s daunting, this I know well. But you don’t have to do it alone. I can help. I want to help. I’m built to help.

Q: Let’s talk about publishers. You’ve been published in three genres with three very different publishers. Tell us about your publishing experience.

LM: This is a long one to answer. I teach whole courses on this subject. I’ll try to simplify it and give you specific takeaways. But any way you spin it, it’s a lot to digest. And a lot of it can feel depressing. That said, I have some great suggestions that are do-able, straight-forward, and even playful.

A bit of background/baseline info:

· I’ve published a memoir with a Big Five publisher (This Is Not The Story You Think It Is, Amy Einhorn/Putnam/Penguin Random House—2010, New York Times and international best-seller, published in 8 countries).

· I’ve published a novel with a traditional indie publisher (Willa’s Grove, Blackstone—2020, USA Today best-seller)

· I’ve published a Prescriptive Memoir/Self-Help book with a hybrid publisher (The Wild Why, She Writes Press—2025, a Maria Shriver Sunday Paper pick)

Each experience was extremely different. My first two deals were in traditional publishing. In traditional publishing, the author receives an advance from the publisher, and then a percentage of book sales goes back to the advance. When it’s paid off, the author then receives that percentage in quarterly royalty checks. This percentage is usually small. Very few authors actually get royalties because their books don’t “earn out.” So the advance is really the only financial piece that you can count on.

My last book deal was with a hybrid press. In this publishing model, the author’s book is first accepted by the publisher (this isn’t self-publishing by any stretch), and then the author essentially pays the advance. If it’s a good hybrid, and She Writes Press is at the tippy-top so I’ll use it as the example, then the author gets a project manager, editorial support if needed, a sales team, a cohort, weekly office hours with the phenomenal founder, Brooke Warner, a masterpiece of a handbook which is a primer on publishing, marketing and publicity suggestions, and here’s the biggie: traditional distribution. In the case of She Writes Press, the distributor is Simon & Schuster, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Bookstores love S&S for many reasons that I won’t go into here, but when I was booking my various bookstore events, all across the country, for ten weeks total, every store exuded joy when I named both the press, and the distributor. At first I was worried that a hybrid publisher would deter bookstores and events in general. Not the case. At all. Every major bookstore we approached for live events said yes, including Powells. (mecca) I hadn’t gotten into Powells with my traditional publishers, so that says a lot. Whether you publish with a traditional press or not, the bottom line is: authors these days are expected to do most of their own legwork. And that can be overwhelming, daunting, expensive…and it can be empowering and deeply gratifying.

Here’s some info that might help you to understand the scope of what used to be, and where publishing is now: (then I’ll get into some helpful tips that are empowering, I promise!)

Gone (pretty much) are the days of big six figure advances in traditional publishing unless you are very well known. What happened to me was rare then, and even rarer now. Maybe I’ll see that sort of attention again with a forthcoming book. Maybe not. The good news is that these days, there are many options that authors didn’t have then. We aren’t beholden to in-house marketing and publicity teams. Very few authors get a rigorous amount of support in that way, then and now. But fifteen years ago, hiring your own publicist was frowned upon. Booking producers wondered: Why isn’t the in-house team calling me? And they wouldn’t pick up the phone. These days it’s not uncommon for the “talent” to call the media outlet on their own! Even if you have an excellent publicist and marketing team, authors can now contact podcasts, library series, conferences, media outlets, etc. on their own. Personally, I’d rather go through my team. They have the expertise, connections, reputation, and lingo. I’d rather spend my time working on my next book. But knowing that my hands aren’t tied feels good.

Q: Okay. Time for your best tips re: marketing our books and how to avoid overwhelm.

LM: That’s what I’m really committed to. I don’t want writers to land in overwhelm once it comes time to get their work out there. So don’t wait. Even if it’s really counter intuitive to you, which it is for me. Even the word “marketing” has me wanting to cross my arms across my chest like an indignant child. Here are some of my personal refusals in this department (maybe you can relate): I don’t want to bug influential people. I don’t understand technology. I have a love/hate relationships with social media. I don’t have enough time to write, much less devote my time to whatever marketing is. I’m just plain bad at it. I could never keep up with what I see other people doing on social media. What I want to do with my life is write. And help writers. But I also want my work to find its readers. I’m so confused. I’m going to ignore it all and make bread.

If you feel this way, I invite us both to strongly consider a major re-frame. Why not spin it into something positive?

Why not think: There are things that I can do that are within my control that will help the cause. Very do-able, practical things that I can find time for, and that don’t part from my ethos as a writer, nor as a human. I just have to look at it like another avenue for my creativity. And I don’t have to find large chunks of time. Just a half an hour here and there. You have a half an hour here and there, I promise.

I’m going to bullet point these ideas, and I’m not any good with bullet points. More like bullet paragraphs. (Keep in mind: all of this advice falls under “generally speaking.” There are always exceptions. And you might be one of them.) At least try these on for size. Breathe as you read. Take breaks if you need to. This is all meant to help, not hurt.

Website:

· You need a website. It doesn’t have to cost you a lot of money, and if you don’t know how to do it yourself, find someone who can build it for you within your budget. If you want to get published, you need a cyber footprint. A place where people can find you and your work. Think of it like a friendly park bench where you like to sit and watch the world. Chat with others doing the same. It doesn’t have to be slick. It just has to be you.

Social Media:

· Choose one or two social media platforms that you actually like, and show up consistently on them. You like to take photos? Get an Instagram account. When you post to Instagram, you can opt to automatically post on Facebook. I have found that Facebook is full of people around my age who are very active in it. Younger folks, not as much. My age group buys books! So… Plus, I like those two platforms. The writing life can be lonely. I’m curious about people and the stuff they’re up to. And I like to share aspect of my life that I think might be interesting to people. So it’s a good fit for me. It’s not a good fit for everyone. Don’t bully yourself. Unto thine own self be true. But do ask: do I want people to read my work? If so…social media can be a very generous and positive landscape if you show up in that way.

Substack:

· You don’t have a book out? You don’t have services to offer on your website? You used to have a blog, but it’s all outdated and dusty and nobody reads it? Get a Substack account and connect it to your website so that your writing is automatically published there too. (If you’re reading this on Substack, you know what this platform is. Remember, this is a Q&A that I am re-purposing here. So if you’re a writer, you can check this one off your list!)

· What is Substack? Go check it out if you haven’t already. It’s an online place for real readers and writers. When you write a post on Substack and publish it, it goes into Substack’s home feed, and into your followers’ email in-boxes. More on how to get “followers” in a minute.

· What to put in a Substack post? You can write fresh material. Doesn’t have to be long but it should be something with true content. You’re a writer, so publish your work, but not all of it.

· When you really feel like you have a piece that a larger, (and even paid) platform would take, try that first. Then you can repurpose it on Substack. (That’s what I’m doing right now, which I was transparent about in my first few lines. Transparency, at least to me, is important.)

· If you have a specific theme that you like to write about, then stick to that theme. That will get you a specific, loyal audience. And you want loyalty over numbers.

· I am a fan of Substack because it’s a generous community in which people recommend and share your posts. And you get new followers via its algorithms. Just be consistent. And show up for other writers on that platform. Be abundant.

· But ultimately you must curate your writing time, and while you can help explore the theme of your primary writing project on Substack, be sure not to give it more energy than your work-in-progress. Your main work is the thing.

· There is a whole world of possibility over on Substack, including podcasting, but it overwhelms me so, as promised, let’s keep these tips do-able.

Newsletter:

· If you don’t want to do Substack, then do have a weekly or bi-weekly, or even monthly newsletter. In other words, write a short email to your audience. (Friends and family count!) Something about your life. Insights that you have recently discovered or re-discovered in a new way. Links to things you’ve put out into the world. Photos. Include things that have inspired you like books you’re reading. Music you’ve come across that you love. Podcasts. Create something that people will hopefully look forward to and open. Just think: there are people out there who want to hear from me. The ones who don’t, oh well. They can delete.

· But if Substack allows you to do this same thing, AND people find you there, sign up with their email, and you can legally “harvest” those emails…why not do it there? It will help you grow something very important: your Master List. So to clarify: you write your newsletter on Substack, and when you publish it, your followers get it in their in-box.

· Go over there and see if one of your favorite writers has a Substack account. Follow them, and you’ll see how it works. You’ll open up your email in-box, and voila! Something new from Margaret Atwood! David Whyte! George Saunders!

If this is getting overwhelming…take a break. Do something you love. Write something for your eyes only. But return, because I have more helpful tips for you.

I promise you: you can do these things. At least some of them. Just take it easy and slow. Little by little. A half an hour here. A half an hour there.

Master List:

· Maintain and grow your email Master List (that’s one of the only things you own when it comes to marketing). How do you grow it?

· Create a special opt-in for people on your site: give them something for free and they give you their email. There are many other ways.

· At the very least be sure to have some sort of pop-out box on the Home page that allows people to sign up for something, usually your newsletter, by giving you their email. Mind-set: You want their email because that’s how you can share your work with them. Don’t feel like you’re being sneaky, or taking anything from anybody. People wouldn’t give you their email if they didn’t want to hear from you. Just be sure to have an Unsubscribe option.

· Begin with your main email list. If you aren’t active on social media and don’t have a newsletter or a Substack, send out an e-blast to that list asking if you can sign them up for your newsletter. The rules change on this. Some say that if you’ve emailed back and forth with someone, it’s legal to add them to your list. I’m on so many lists that I never signed up for. What you don’t want is to add a long list of emails that came your way that are not in your correspondence world. If a lot of people unsubscribe, you can get a major ding from platforms like Mail Chimp etc. Plus keep it legal.

· Again, you want loyal readers over numbers. Both is ideal!

This next tip is really important and I blew it off for years. If I had just found a half an hour here, a half an hour there, I would have avoided overwhelm when push came to shove. But I didn’t. Little girl. Arms crossed in front of her. No way. To my detriment.

Master Spreadsheet:

· Create a Master Spreadsheet and be diligent about it: Have many tabs.

o 1) Mavens, (those who will help you once your book is in the world, whether or not they have a big platform. They’re helpers. Natural connectors. You’re likely the only writer they know and it might be exciting for them to help spread the word about your writing.)

o 2) VIPs (people you know with big platforms who might help shout out your book and/or your events)

o 3) Publishing contacts. Start with ones you know and then include ones who might be a match for you and your work (editors, agents, publicists)

o 4) Beta readers (people who are good readers and who you believe would give healthy feedback. Friends and family are usually not the best Beta readers. Be sure to write out a contract that you both agree to re: deadline, the kind of feedback they will offer, etc., and both of you should sign it. Clear communication with good boundaries is key. Believe me. I’ve learned the hard way.)

o 5) Blurbers (these are experts who might offer you some supportive, inviting words on your book jacket with some sort of name in their field. Best-selling authors are ideal.)

o 6) Influencers (you can break these into geography which really helps during time of book tour, should you decide to go on tour.)

o 7) Publications which might be a good match for your work.

o And whatever other relevant tab you can think of.

· The main thing is to do this sort of work consistently so that it doesn’t become overwhelming once it’s time to start trying to get your work out there. Little by little.

Just keep thinking: Half an hour here. Half an hour there.

And if you need a really deep dive into pro advice, Jane Friedman is a treasure trove of info. You can also find her on Substack here.

I hope that this has helped/will help you to feel like you can understand the basics of the business of writing and publishing, if even to a very small degree. These tips are at least a very good start. There is so much more to it all, but without understanding, and somehow implementing these basic factors, your writing projects won’t have the fighting chance that they deserve. And of course, there are always exceptions. At the end of the day, some of your work will find its readers. Some of your work won’t. People will love it and not love it. But if you know that you did your best, then you can stand tall knowing exactly that. And then get back to your writing.

Truly,

Laura

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Haven Writing Retreats in Montana

And if you want to write with me in Montana…here are my fall 2026 dates:

There are a few RARE spots left on each one, AND substantial partial scholarship funding still available.

September 16 – 20: a few spots left
September 23 – 27: a few spots left
October 14 – 18: one spot left

Email me: Laura@Lauramunson.com to set up an introductory call and see if Haven is right for you!

From best-selling authors to beginners, Haven meets you where you need to be met.

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One of the things we discussed was one of my longtime social experiments and it’s a lot of fun to implement: When you are getting to know a new person, instead of asking: “What do you do?” try: “What do you like to do?” It’s not that different from what a child asks another child on the playground. Swing? Sandbox? See-saw? Monkey bars? Hunt for four-leaf clovers? Chase butterflies? When I ask an adult, upon meeting them, “What do you like to do?” their eyes pop open and I see their inner child. “What do I LIKE to do? Oh wow. Well…KAYAK! Play the guitar! Sing! Watch birds! Make bread!” I love it but I also am saddened by it. I don’t think anyone, in the decades I’ve been asking this question, has ever named their vocation in response. “Practice law!” “Perform colonoscopies!” They can justify their work and what makes it important to them. But I have found that what lightens their eyes is usually quite different from what they do for work.

When did what we do by vocation become our identity? And sadly, why do too few of us enjoy our vocation? I feel very fortunate to have found a vocation that not just pays my bills, but brings me deep enjoyment. I never thought I’d be a writing teacher, nor a writing retreat leader, nor an editor. I am all three of those things, in addition to being a writer, all of which I deeply love.

Too many of us feel stuck in our lives. You don’t have to be.

Check out our conversation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bi7b5iU1s4E

Scholarships still available for all three of my fall

Haven Writing Retreats in Montana

If you dearly want to have writing be part of how you “do” life…I may have a place for you on one of my fall Haven Writing Retreats in Montana.

Go here for more info. Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Let’s get on the phone and see if Haven is right for you.

Email me: Laura@lauramunson.com

September 16 – 20 (One spot left)

September 23 – 27 (Two spots left)

October 14 – 18 (Still room)

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After leading a Haven Writing Retreat, I often get a letter like this from a new alum. They often say “there are no words” which is ironic because I feel the same way when I receive their letter—ironic because we’ve been feasting on words all week together. But the way I feel is beyond words, and maybe that’s what they mean to say. It’s a feeling in your heart. In your soul. Like something that needed to shift finally did. They feel new. Free. Ready to live life differently. In no way is Haven a self-help retreat…but it can’t help but have you get to know yourself as the exact human being that you are, and the woods of Montana is part of that mirror. Who am I, truly? What do I have to say, truly? What do I finally have to say yes to, truly? Am I a writer, truly? I am on a writing retreat and my pen is moving. So I guess I am a writer, truly. I am amongst other writers who are supporting my self-expression, truly. I trust them, truly. I trust the teacher, truly. I am, in this day, true.

Our daily lives don’t ask us for truth as much as grind. Hustle. Get it done. On to the next. Work. Prove. Succeed. At Haven, there is none of that. The societal measuring stick is gone and so we have the time and space and energy to receive our true heart language. Our regular ways, if they are not true, vanish. We are face-to-face with ourselves and that can feel scary, but I’ve seen it set people free over and over again.

So if you want to be in your truth, move your pen, and even write a book, I just might have a place for you this fall. Reach out to me. Let’s get on the phone and explore what it is that you want to say. Let’s see if one of those spots on my fall retreats has your name on it. Your truth in it. Isn’t it time to finally let go of the big, daunting thing that’s in your way that screams NO to your true voice…and say yes?

Truly,

Laura

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a seeker looking for your true words and what lives between them. Email me: Laura@lauramunson.com to set up an intro call. For more info, go here.

September 16 – 20 Now Booking

September 23 – 27 Now Booking

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

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An empowering guide to creativity, self-expression, and kindness…centered on wonder.

Here’s what these fine authors are saying about “The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder”…and why it should be your next read. It might even become the companion you’ve been longing for.

“Rich in lessons to help us lean into wonder and find our inner authentic voice, this book is a soul guide leading us to beauty and self-expression.”

—Maria Shriver’s Sunday Paper Pick

“In The Wild Why, Laura Munson invites readers to answer ‘the most powerful and wonder-full question’ for themselves: ‘What can I create?’ This book is an open-hearted invitation to explore the connections between wonder and empathy, intuition and serendipity, self-compassion and creativity—and to live a bigger, braver life.”

—Maggie Smith New York Times bestselling author of You Could Make This Place Beautiful

“Wonder—for Laura Munson, for me, maybe for you too—is nothing less than a religion. It has that much to offer. In The Wild Why, Munson makes the case for curiosity with conviction and beauty.”

—Kelly Corrigan New York Times best-selling author of Tell Me More and host of the Kelly Corrigan Wonders podcast

“In The Wild Why, Laura Munson deploys self-exploration, self-sabotage, confession, contrition, ‘bonfires,’ undying love for Montana, and her own line of full-fledged writing retreats, all aimed at healing the familial, cultural, and inter-relational wounds that curtail our sense of wonder. The wonder I felt in finishing Laura’s epic? Her recipe worked!”

—David James Duncan author of The River Why, The Brothers K, and Sun House

“The ability to feel wonder is part of the human experience, but life moves us further from that childlike state. The Wild Why is part memoir, part self-exploration, workbook, and tutorial on how we can reach inside and use our own sense of wonder to remove barriers, quiet naysayers, and enrich our lives.”

—Lee Woodruff #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Laura Munson’s exuberant book The Wild Why is for anyone seeking to heal their wonder wound and reclaim their wild wonder. Rich with serendipitous adventures and a fresh perspective on personal vulnerability, this book contributes a welcome voice to the growing literature on wonder. Get this book and get your magic back.”

—Jeffrey Davis, author of Tracking Wonder: Reclaiming a Life of Meaning and Possibility in a World Obsessed with Productivity

“The Wild Why will inspire you to re-discover your wonder, find your true voice, and bring back the pieces of yourself you lost along the way. This book not only reminds us about the importance of our one precious life—but helps us understand how to live it well.”

—Amy B. Scher, bestselling author of This Is How I Save My Life and How To Heal Yourself When No One Else Can

“The late great William Kittredge said that acts of imagination lead to acts of empathy. This wise, generous, and dazzling craft-book for the soul does just that, and in so doing resurrects in the reader the state of wonder that is so vital to our survival.”

—Chris Dombrowski, author of The River You Touch

“I believe that it takes one person to open your heart, to inspire you, to encourage you to make you believe that nothing is impossible. Laura Munson is that ONE person. Take this Wild Why ride with her. She will make sure you land safely and she will encourage you to find the wonder, never give up, and to seek the folks who make you swoon. You will feel like you made a new friend who you will never, ever want to let go of.”

—Amy Ferris, author of Mighty Gorgeous: A Little Book About Messy Love

“The Wild Why is an invitation and a permission slip, a beckoning and a reckoning. It’s more than a book—it’s a chill-giving, tear-inducing, wide-grinning experience. Laura Munson writes with astonishing generosity and authenticity, like she’s raising the velvet curtain to her own heart. This book is a gift to those who know there’s more to life than following rules and checking boxes. There is medicine and magic in these pages. Devour them.”

—JJ Elliott, author of There Are No Rules for This

“The Wild Why is a heart-opening invitation to rediscover a braver life filled with the simplicity and power of awe. The uniquely powerful part of this invitation is that Laura brilliantly offers it through two tools needed most for a life of wonder—storytelling and your own unmasked humanity. Read it, now, and ponder it often.”

—Tanmeet Sethi, MD. Author of Joy Is My Justice

We need our wonder in this worried world. Join me on the e-page for only .99 cents and step into the curiosity and awe you’ve likely been missing. Please consider buying your e-book from bookshop.org which supports independant bookstores.

Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Let’s get on the phone and dig into these good questions.

Now Booking the 2026 Fall Haven Writing Retreats in Montana

September 16 – 20 Still room

September 23 – 27 Still room

October 14 – 18 Still room

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I never meant to run my own business. I’ve spent my adult life studying the craft of writing, both fiction and creative non-fiction. And while I’m always writing and trying to publish books, I also have a business teaching writing on many levels and with many branches. They are all surprise branches. Even the trunk was a surprise. Not the roots though. Those have been there from the start. I just thought they’d grow books only. So I’ve learned on the job, literally. I don’t even like calling myself an entrepreneur. I’ve been called one a lot, and it always gives me an inner-cringe. I’ve never even taken an economics class. I’m horrible with spreadsheets. I have major blocks when it comes to numbers, instantly reverting to the fourth grade me, crying over a word problem. Why do I need to know what time it will be if two trains leave opposite stations…etc.? Makes my blood pressure rise just writing that sentence, never mind trying to wrap my brain around it.

I’m self-taught in pretty much all aspects of my life, and stubbornly so, especially when it comes to all of my business “silos,” as I recently heard them called. I come from farm people, so that sort of made sense to me, but I’d rather think of my business like a tree with leafing branches and roots, bending in the wind. I don’t like rigidity and silos aren’t built to bend at all. I’m allergic to the idea of a business plan, I’m not spread-sheet-savvy, nor am I wisely strategic. In fact, I’ve never been one to look into the future at all. I don’t even have the foggiest idea of what year it will be if I live to be ninety, and please don’t tell me.

But I am very, very committed to using what I’ve learned in my life to help people, especially in the way of finding their unique self-expression using the written word, and so it makes sense that those roots became this leafing: teaching and editing people’s writing at all levels and in all genres, short and long form. I love it. But twelve years in, I have been taking a serious look at what I’ve created and working hard to learn how to manage it all healthily, not harried-ly. (And I really loathe adverbs so it felt right to mess with them a bit. Because where I’m going with this essay, has to do with getting playful, and yes, messing a bit with how your mind has habituated itself around your work life. Wouldn’t it be nice if work actually worked?)

So instead of resisting what your life has become, you might as well take a look around and feel the wind in your hair. Step into your rooting. Look at how you got here so that you can see what’s working and what isn’t.

I have always been deeply curious about people and the stuff they do to one another. The way they feel and why. How to feel what there is to feel but not carry it around on your back like a boulder you’re so used to that you have accommodated it with a Baby Bjorn boulder holder. And without even knowing it. See, I’m not even that funny. I run serious and sometimes sad, and always way too sensitive for most people’s liking, including my own. In other words, I’ll always tell you how I really am in the grocery store, even though you’d probably rather I didn’t.

This makes me bad in most groups, because I hate fitting into slots, resist group-think, and like to stir the pot in the way of curiosity and out-of-the-box thinking. I don’t mean to be this way. Or maybe I do. It’s not pre-meditated, put it that way. It’s just how I fly and always have. I never have been in a clearly defined social group. Not for long anyway. I’m more of a one-on-one type of person. And when I am your friend, I am loyal. I have a high tolerance for human behavior and a strong ability to see where it comes from it, especially when it’s “bad behavior.” I don’t believe in bad babies. But I do believe that bad behavior is usually fear-based, and that’s usually forgivable. Usually. In other words, you have to hurt me real bad for me to let you go.

I suppose I’ve made life harder on myself by not being a joiner. I’m good at leading groups, however. I’m good at creating meaningful reasons for gatherings. My mind is constantly thinking, What can I create? What makes that person tick? How are we similar instead of different? Especially when we seem so very different on the outside. That’s my favorite. I value empathy more than just about anything else. And wonder. If you’re an entrepreneur, you are by nature full of wonder. And that can sometimes get us into trouble, both in our personal lives, and in our business lives.

I once overheard my, then, twelve year old daughter tell my, then, eight year old son, “I know she’s hard to deal with sometimes, but she’s the only mother we have. And she means well.” I wanted to rip my mothering into shreds and start all over again, but I wasn’t surprised. I knew what she meant. I ask a lot of questions, and not like, “do you want a turkey or ham sandwich for lunch today?” More like, “Why do you think the sky is blue?” You know…the questions that little kids ask their parents. I have a lot that are unanswered and maybe I like it that way. I love wondering. And when my kids were little, I was on a mission to preserve their wonder instead of steal it like so much of our traditional society does by putting our children into slots. “You’re artsy. You belong in this room with these people. Not in that room with those other people.” “You’re a jock. You belong on this field with these people. Not on that field with those people.” Splitting us. Fracturing us. I hated it as a kid and I hated it as a mother.

My son spun it a bit differently. He was in fifth grade and we were driving the five miles to school in our truck. That precious time when you have your kids strapped into a seat. That golden half hour of maternal soul searching and connection with your children when no one is running in another direction. He said, “I get it now. You don’t let us take the bus because you want to ask us questions and get us to talk.” He didn’t seem upset about it. So I said, “It’s just that you both have so much to say, and I love hearing it.”

When we weren’t in conversation, we made up word games that were more like high dives into their psyches, wants, fears, loves. I never once heard them say that they were bored. When they got older and I’d drive their friends around, sometimes for hours on end to baseball or soccer games, their friends would complain about being bored. My son once told his friend, “Only boring people get bored. Look out the car window.” In other words, “Practice your wonder.”

When cell phones came along, I was that mother who stalled it out, diverting them with “Let’s go outside and play” or “I’ll teach you how to make my Bolognese sauce” or “Shall we see if the robins eggs have hatched?” It didn’t make me the popular mom back then. Oh well. They’re in their twenties now and both of them are excellent at slot-shifting, asking questions, listening to people answer them, and truly caring. Their wonder is intact. Mission accomplished.

All this to say that anyone who manages a many-branched, multi-leafed business feels like the very thing that brought them into it, their wonder, creativity, passion, perseverance, flexibility, playfulness…is being stolen by any number of things that don’t seem to have any wonder in them at all. Each beautiful leaf seems to have its own version of blight. That stack of bills seems to have an axe in its hand, ready to start hacking away at the trunk. Shoot poison into the roots.

This was how I spent my morning feeling, as I stared at my bills. One for a trademark that’s about to expire. One for a wifi network that doesn’t even work half the time. Another from the IRS. One from the SBA. Four more for the people who help keep my business strong in tech, social media, graphic design and website support. All help that I’m grateful to pay for, but still…it all adds up. I felt like I was the child strapped into the seatbelt, only the woman at the steerage didn’t care about my wonder. She was throwing screens at me and asking me to stare at them all day long, and no matter what…do not look out the “window.” And without looking out the window…there’s no leafing, no branches, no trunk, and definitely not roots. It all falls over and turns to rot. And I realized that even though I was in the comfort of my own home, my heart was racing, I felt extreme intestinal distress, and a little short of breath. I knew what it was: the very thing I’d been warned about by pioneers in my field. If you don’t take care of yourself, you will start building resentment. And once that happens, it’s over.

So instead of ignoring this feeling, and hammering away at that unending stack of bills, and business emails that need to be answered…for once...I stopped. I heard my thirty year old mothering voice say, “Let’s go outside and play. The sky isn’t going to fall if you take a break.”

I resisted. “I can’t go outside and play. I need to get through all of this busy work in order to play at the end of the day, when I can reward myself with something fun. Something that I love. If I take a break to play, then it’ll be dark by the time I’m done.”

She was not having it. “Really? You can’t take a five minute break to do something you love right now? Seriously? Because that’s just plain untrue. You have five minutes right now. What’s one thing that you’d really like to do that will take you as long as it takes to pay a bill? Say, five minutes.”

And I thought about it. “Well, actually, I’d really like to explore the Mendoza area of Argentina for a potential writing retreat there next year. My friend gave me a list of retreat centers there. One of them has horseback riding. I’d love to spend five minutes checking out their horse facility. And while I’m thinking about it, I’m sort of hungry. And my daughter brought over some delicious Flathead cherries yesterday, fresh off her friend’s cherry tree. That could be another five minutes.”

Mothering voice: “Just pick one. You always do this. You try to leaf too much. Eenie meenie. One five minute moment of wonder, just for you.”

I chose the cherries.

Then I went back to my desk and I chose just one bill.

Then I chose the horse facility.

Then another bill.

Then it got fun. Mother of the Bride dresses for my daughter’s upcoming wedding.

Another bill.

Then it started to feel like whiplash. So I asked my wonder. Maybe that’s what that mothering voice really was all along. She answered: “Good start. Now try this: write down three things that would bring you delight in the next three hours. Now put your To-Do list into categories. Choose a category. If one of them requires more than an hour, divide it into categories, each one about an hour work-load. Now work on a one hour category until it’s finished. Now it’s wonder time! Take your five minute break. Or maybe it’s more than five minutes. But make sure it’s something that truly brings you joy. Now back for the next category.”

I cannot believe that I have been living like this, and for over a decade: all the “good” stuff at the very beginning and end of each day, as if I’m being punished. And then all the stuff that wears on me all day, and truthfully, sometimes into the night, with no time for the “good stuff” at all. When you’re an entrepreneur, you can always create more stuff to do. Some of it is wonderous, and a lot of it isn’t. What if I laced the stuff I love to do throughout the day in tiny moments of delight? I suspect that the “bad” stuff wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Because it’s not bad. I have just trained myself into thinking that it is. Depriving me of my wonder like an enemy of it. It’s just not true. I’m the one depriving myself of my wonder.

It’s been a beautiful day today, and I anticipate another one tomorrow if I start truly adhering to this practice. Really paying attention to what kicks in my wonder and what doesn’t. And yes, I know that a person can learn how to find wonder in bill paying. I’m not there yet. For now, I’m going to practice this and see if I feel relief. That’s what I want to feel. Relief. One good thing. One tiny good thing.

And right now, I do feel relief. My one good thing was writing this essay. Now back to the pile of bills. Maybe one day soon they won’t seem so “bad.”

And if there’s one thing that I’ve created and love so much that sometimes it hurts…it’s leading my Haven Writing Retreats. To learn more, go here. There’s still room on all three of my fall 2026 retreats in Montana!

Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Let’s get on the phone and dig into these good questions.

Now Booking the 2026 Fall Haven Retreats in Montana

September 16 – 20 Now Booking

September 23 – 27 Now Booking

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

When I speak to a potential Haven Writing Retreat client, on our one-hour informational phone call, after I’ve set up the guidelines of the call and assured them that everything they share with me is confidential, I often begin the conversation with this probing question/call to action:

“If there is a central question that burns in you…that you want to write into and even answer…what might it be?”

I give them a moment to think about it. Their answer helps me to understand how my program, and I, could support them and if it’s a good match.

They usually pause. I think it’s likely because people don’t get asked good questions often enough in safe, confidential settings. Plus, we’re basically strangers—yes, meeting for a strong purpose, but still…people are often scared. If they’re still silent, I try to help them by adding:

“There’s no right or wrong answer. But ask yourself: What burns in me? What keeps me up at night? What do I promise I won’t bring up at the family reunion but seem to anyway? Your answer will help you tune into what’s at the essence of what you have to say and consequently, what you want to write about. And it will help me know how to present Haven to you, because while each attendee is doing the same retreat, each person is doing it a bit differently. I like to custom-make each person’s experience.”

If they are still drawing a blank, to help guide them, I’ll often get more specific in hopes of activating their imaginations and true longings. Without longing, I know I can’t help them. That’s, in fact, what I’m really listening for.

“Often it’s a question of identity: Who am I now? Or a question that has to do with belonging. I’ve been in so many roles. They’ve changed. What do I belong to now? What defines me as the human I am at this very moment in my life? Maybe you’re in a should I stay or should I go moment of your life and your question spawns from that? Maybe you’re in a new chapter and you wonder…what is my worth now? What is a question that burns in you?”

If they’re even still drawing a blank, I might say, “It’s okay. You don’t have to have an answer. But just having a question can beget the writing that needs to come out of you. As Rilke wrote: Love the questions themselves. Let’s move on and talk about your writing dreams and talk all things Haven.”

People like to be asked good questions, at least seekers do.

In thousands of these Haven intro calls since 2012 when I founded Haven, I’d say only five people have drawn a complete blank when I’ve asked that question. These are people driven by curiosity by nature. Most of them come up with something, some immediately. “Oh, I know exactly what my question is.” Others take a bit of cajoling. When I mention the question of who am I now?…that almost always elicits their response to my question. In fact, across the board, whether cajoled or not, that is the question people offer me in one way or another. Who am I now?

I think it’s because people have had meaning in their life that can drain out when things change like in empty nest, or retirement. Or grief. Heartache in general. Something major has happened that has them wanting to write. They’ve rounded the bend to a new time in their lives. And they’re disoriented, or they’ve lost their way almost entirely. Their ballast. Their purpose. Their purchase. Their currency. And writing feels like a way to find it again, only in a new way. That new way, that world of possibility, even if it is just an inkling, is likely what had them think about going on a writing retreat, find Haven, go to my website, contact me, arrange a time for the introductory call, and actually pick up the phone. Only to be asked this deep question. Every single one of those steps takes courage. Some people tell me that it took them years before they had the courage to reach out. I handle them as kindly, clearly, and gently as possible in honor of exactly that.

Then the retreat happens, and unless we’ve done some editorial work together prior to it, the writing officially begins. Perhaps they already consider themselves writers and are working on a project. Perhaps they’re brand new at it. Either way, the writing that we do at Haven is usually the most layered, craft-forward, illuminating education in finding what I call “heart language” they’ve experienced. It’s not a self-help retreat. But the writing exercises, coupled with the workshops, the community, the one-on-one consulting time with me, and the woods of Montana make for a holistic approach that goes deep fast, and is bound to stay with you long after the retreat…if you let it.

To that end, here’s the issue that many people have when they get home from Haven:

They arrive at Haven with expectations that we set up on the introductory call, coupled with what they bring on the retreat personally and usually privately. Over and over again, as they say their goodbyes, they look at me with those windows-to-the-soul wide-open eyes, and say, “This far exceeded my expectations. I could never have even known how to expect what I learned at Haven and how I feel right now.” Of course, it fills my heart. But how to keep it going.

Even though I speak to re-entry on the last night of the retreat—to go slowly and be care-full, too often, when people go back to their lives from a profound experience, they get reabsorbed into it in a way that stops their new flow, their new longing, and in Haven’s case, their hunger to write their hearts out. They quickly go back to their usual habits and distractions, managing responsibilities and life in general. And they abandon the pen that moved so fluidly and courageously in Montana. It’s why I offer post retreat consulting and editorial services. (To Haven alums or those who have been accepted into the program only, which is part of the investment. It’s not just one and done if you’d like more, and most people do.) But many people just don’t know how to make time for their writing when life is life-ing all around them at home. Life most often doesn’t behave like Haven wherein you have room to get to know yourself again and in such a new way, in the abundant woods of Montana. They leave changed, but then they can often stall out once they go home. And when I hear from a Haven alum who confesses that they just aren’t showing up for their writing, it upsets me. I don’t want the flow in the hose to get kinked.

So I spent some time hunting for, and implementing some answers. I started my online writing community Haven Nest (next enrollment to be announced). I started my advanced writing programs. I offer regular consultation and editing. But even signing up for these entities requires some gumption. And life can be a gumption-kill.

What if I returned to question-asking with these alums, as in our initial pre-retreat call re: their central burning question? What other question could I ask them that would inspire them to show up for their writing?

I am offering what I came up with to you here in hopes that it will help you think in a new way that is not about piece-mealing life, but rather, as a continuum.

It’s a question which helps people want to make time for their writing again, because that’s what it comes down to: you have to hunger for your writing. If you don’t hunger for it, you’ll prioritize ye olde time suckers. Bills. Groceries. Even if they’re not exactly pressing, we’ll make them pressing because what was originally a longing for our writing can quickly become something we fear. Feel ashamed of. Not show up for. We allow the inner critic to lord over us and keep us small, when not long ago, we felt Montana-expansive. And when we let fear run our lives, we create a continuous check list that we will never finish until our last breath.

I used to joke with my mother, who was a consummate check-list maker and checker-offer, “Are you going to write Die on your dying day, and then cross it off and go into the great beyond?” She’d smile but faintly because to her it likely sounded like a prudent way to go out. The final check. She basically brought that to fruition a few weeks ago. She did what she wanted to do in life and she did it well and up until the end at age 93. She was sick and in pain. I reasoned with her, “Mom, you can leave now. You did such a good job. We all love you so much. I’ll keep the stories and the ancestral history alive. I promise.” She looked at me and cocked her head as if it was a really good permission slip for her to make her final check. She died just a few days later. At home. Peacefully. Out of pain. Family close.

So I ask my Haven alums (and you) this question: What about you will follow you from birth to death? What’s the common thread?

Take a moment to really think about it. Of course, you can’t remember your birth, but from early childhood on. My mother, for instance, was consistently many things throughout her life, whether she tried to change or not: Hard-working, faithful to her family, friends, community, causes, church. Punctual. Organized. Nostalgic. Committed to significant achievements. Fascinated by ancestry. Here’s a piece I wrote about what I learned packing up her apartment. Assessing a life. Landing on her core values as expressed by her things, from early childhood photographs to newspaper clippings to awards and framed accolades…my mother got a gold star in life from the world around her. Her parents raised her that way. An only child with a lot to do in “this one wild and precious life.” (Here is my mother’s obituary so you can read for yourself about all she accomplished. That was her thread. PS: She wrote most of it herself!)

It made me wonder what drives my life? What is my common thread? Who am I really, even when I wish it weren’t true? What seems to be at the essence of my being? Questions like this have scope, depth, acumen. And are excellent ways to show up for your writing. An excellent question, begets at least an answer, maybe excellent, maybe not.

So try it. Start asking. What is your common lifelong thread? Be honest, even if it’s inconvenient to admit it. Maybe you want a gold star too. Maybe you don’t feel whole until you’ve proven yourself. Maybe you allow yourself to be defined by forces outside your control and you’ve realized that it doesn’t serve you. Maybe it once did but not anymore. If your common thread doesn’t serve you, then hire a professional who can help direct you through to a thread that you feel good about. But from my experience…the essence of that thread doesn’t completely change. There are ways to accept that and work with it, live by it, be free in it. I’ll leave that to the professionals. But if you want to write, I can help you at least see it, write into it, and be real about it.

Really try this question on for size: What is your common thread that stitches your life together from birth to death? The thread that you will likely never totally lose. I’m not talking about a life event that set your course. I’m talking about the way your soul ticks.

If I look at my own life, I ask: Is it wonder? Is it curiosity? Is it awe? Is it empathy? Is it a lifelong love of family? Animals? Wilderness? Beauty? Is it love itself? Is it the holy mystery? Is it art? Is it self-expression? What is at the root of who we are? Who are we really? We can of course grow and change in our lives, but at almost 60 years of age, I’m beginning to see the thread for what it is, and that it really doesn’t ultimately change all that much. People can reform and reinvent. But the essence of who they are, I’m finding, is the same throughout a human life. I, for instance, came out breach. Upside down, challenging the norm. As a child, I said “no” more than “yes.” I was the kid who sat in the dark at the kitchen table not touching my liver or peas until my elders finally said uncle. As a young adult I found new things I wanted to say “no” and “yes” to, again, against the norm. Starting very young, I wrote through all of it. I used to fake sick from school so that I could write, sitting in my little window seat, where I’d wonder with my pen. I wrote a book about it in fact, called The Wild Why.

So you want to figure out what to write about? You want to hunger for it? You want to show up for it?

Try asking this potent question:

Who have I been from the start that my deepest intuitive gut knows I will carry with me as I live, and into my death? And it might be a: “Whether I like it or not. Whether I try to change it or not.” This is a question of supreme honesty and I invite you to answer it just as honestly. Please stay out of using it against yourself. In other words, don’t make excuses with your truth, nor defend yourself, nor berate yourself. Nor go cheap for a self-deprecating laugh. “There I go again being a control freak. I know I know. Believe me. I’m in therapy about it.” No. What if we were kind to ourselves about this central consistent and even un-changeable thing that is built into the essence of who we are and how we’re wired? Would we be suckers? I think not.

While I’m not a psychologist, nor a scientist, I have been a student of the human being all my life, inherently curious about what connects humans with one another, especially if they are quite different. Working with over 1,000 people at my Haven Writing Retreats has been an extreme education on humanity—how we learn to accept ourselves and how we get in our own way. And the best way I’ve found is to ask ourselves an honest question like this one.

Maybe you don’t want to ask yourself this question because maybe you don’t like the idea of there being a thread from birth until death.

Maybe you feel ashamed of those qualities or even the essence of who you are in the first place. What if you started asking and answering this question with self-acceptance? Radical self-acceptance. For instance, what if you feel that you are negative by nature and always have been? What if you instead looked at it with the possibility that your negativity grew out of fear? What if it’s been your reaction to that fear? A coping skill? Protection? What if you addressed that fear instead? So maybe it’s not negativity that follows you from birth to death. Maybe your thread is fear. What if you accepted that fear and started to love it. The thread might not change, but it might move and morph.

The key is to be, and stay, honest about this thread. Some would say that it all can be boiled into two things: love and fear. I’ve always thought that was a good way to look at life because to me, love is greater than fear. So love wins if it truly is your thread. And maybe it just…isn’t. What is true for you?

The point of this call to action isn’t to move and morph. It’s to be honest about who you are so that you can find what it is that you truly want to say.

But how to be honest when the world asks us so often to act, even to ourselves? My answer: more questions. (So maybe wonder really is my thread.)

Specific to helping people find what they really want to say using the written word, I’ve used other questions. Lighter ones. More playful ones. Ones that are more about living than birth and death.

Questions like:

What do you love?

What turns you on?

What is the problem you most need to solve?

What do you care about?

What can’t you not write about?

What is highly charged, positively or negatively, in your life?

What’s a defining moment in your life that haunts you?

What’s a defining moment in your life that you would do anything to relive?

Those sorts of questions can be useful prompts both in finding what you want to write about and how you want to live your life. Play around with them.

But I think there’s something to this idea of continuum. Who have you BEEN from the start, that in your deepest intuitive gut, you know you will carry with you as you live, and into your death?

Whether you consider yourself a writer or not, whatever is your answer, start there. It’s a good and great guide.

Great art is the outward expression of an inner life in the artist, and this inner life will result in his personal vision of the world.”
― Edward Hopper

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If you have something that you need to write…I may have a place for you on my June 24-28 Haven Writing Retreat in Montana. Go here for more info. Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart? Let’s get on the phone and dig into these good questions.

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats in Montana

June 3 – 7 full

June 24 – 28 a few spots left

September 16 – 20 Now Booking

September 23 – 27 Now Booking

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

(Dialogue attributions and names have been left out to protect identity.)

I’m not ready to write about it. I don’t want to write about it.

I cannot cry one more tear. I have to stay relatively detached in order to begin to process what it is to give your mother permission to die, share in her Last Rites, and just a few days later, clean out her apartment. Three days to do it. Two last minute flights, a hotel room, rental car, hardware store for garbage bags and plastic gloves etc. Just three days because: work, and life, and geography, and her lease is up at the end of the month, and movers, and death certificate, and cremation, and urn, and obituary, and when can we find the perfect date for a funeral with so many conflicting schedules. Three twelve hour days. When the sentimental becomes the janitorial. When a rolling biohazard of a dumpster becomes Godsend. When bleached latex gloves become the same. (She had a highly contagious disease that finally took her down, age 93.)

The river of condolences all add up to: She was the sort of person who you always thought would…just be there. I think she thought the same thing.

Which is quite likely why she left so much in every closet, every cupboard, every drawer, shelf. Two sisters. Three days. From different sides of the country meeting in the middle. Sleeves rolled up. No time for anything else. Even tears.

This was not two sisters showing up at an estate viewing, their mother’s things laid out on tables with lot numbers, by an estate coordinator. No. This was throwing away Raid, Ajax, Clorox, Tide, Aqua Net, medical supplies, expired expired expired bathroom things that I would never allow in my house at all. This was “custodial,” in more ways than one. I have never used more Purell. I can’t stand using Purell. My fingers are raw and so is my mind. Not sure about the state of my heart. Seems like that will come later and likely just when I least expect it. Over a peony about to blossom. And that’s coming soon. June in Montana. May in Chicago. Where her peonies are about to bloom. But there’s no time to wander through her garden.

Three days. This isn’t about what remains of the pretty stuff. This is about that dumpster. Like a bull in a china shop. (And there’s a lot of china, none of it of significant value other than sentimental. All those sparkling dinners under the chandelier, back when the family was whole.) I am grateful for this dumpster bull, but two people can barely move around it, never mind when a third shows up. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” They all make the same sad face. “I didn’t know she had so much stuff.” We try to be kind, kicking the dumpster into the den. “We haven’t even made a dent in it. I’m sorry that I can’t invite you in. We have so much to do.” Bleached latex-gloved hand on the doorknob.

What remains under someone’s kitchen sink, or their bathroom sink, is not legacy.

It needs to go and that’s the bulk of what’s here. The hidden things that lie in folders and stacks that don’t mean anything to anyone anymore. Posterity’s sake? Does posterity require an old receipt from a camera she bought 30 years ago? Mini Ziplocs with two buttons in a box marked “Extra Buttons” in Sharpie? I always say there’s two kinds of people. She was a button-keeper. And what about all of these envelopes with a return address she hadn’t called home in decades? Her future is over. Is it our job to absorb it? Can you imagine how a house could stack up in posterity, if it was lived in over generations? This is an apartment. In a retirement community. There is no posterity in this apartment.

There’s also no time to be precious about the childhood dress-up memories you’d like to relive, holding a costume broach that no one will ever wear. The broach-that-no-one-will-ever-wear has to wait. Luckily, she privately, and in some cases clandestinely and hence not popularly, gave her valuables away on her own accord over the years. There’s not a lot left in that way, and thank goodness. We’re not expecting any surprises like some unknown heirloom in a safety deposit box. We don’t have to feel the filth of greed. It’s my least favorite feeling, greed. I try to avoid it at all costs. No, that’s not what these three days are about. It’s about getting rid of all the stuff no one would want in the most fair and responsible way that honors her ethos. I just didn’t know how much stuff there would be.

I mean, how many florist’s vases can a person keep? She sure got a lot of flowers sent to her over the years for a woman who thought flower arrangements were a waste of money. “Why did you send flowers when a plant keeps?” I mean… Sorry for the $150 Mother’s Day arrangement. Geesh.

Can’t we save ourselves, our backs, and just hire someone to do this? No. She wouldn’t want that. She would say it’s lazy. We need to buck up and do the grunt work, just like she would. Retirement Community protocol is so exacting. Did you see the list they sent us? There’s so much left to do. The woman from the funeral home is going to be here in half an hour. And then the movers are coming to give the estimate. It’s going to cost so much money, all of it. I’m trying not to be overwhelmed. I can promise you: we’re both more than overwhelmed.

I bet there’s someone all lined up for her apartment. Just like she was for this one. It was a good apartment with a good garden. I know. I’m glad she got to live on the first floor and have her garden and patio. She had her bird feeder and her flowers. Someone will inherit them and be grateful for them. Let’s leave her bird feeder for the next tenant. That would be a nice thing to do. Even though I’d love that bird feeder. Sigh. Too much stuff. Too expensive to ship it all. Too much.

Right now I’m just so grateful for that damn dumpster. We need to call Housekeeping again to empty it. I’ll do it.

This is not about shiny things. It’s about old calendars and scratch paper, a broken bookend with no twin, chords from technology that doesn’t exist anymore. It’s keychains with no keys and keychain-less keys with nowhere to enter. What remains needs to go now because there are rental deadlines and life back home, and mutual rigorous work schedules that as it is can’t sustain this week off, and that’s what it takes because neither of us lives in Chicago. It’s trains planes and automobiles. Stinging eyes from tears that seem to spring at will and for odd reasons. Like over old stationary. Places we once lived. As a family.

Remember when we did this after Dad died? It was brutal. But it was easier. Because we were looking through his clothes and bureau. I’d love this hat. I’d love this belt. It wasn’t about bleached plastic gloves. By the way, we’re almost out. Ugh! I’ll use them sparingly. There’s no time to get to the hardware store.

I’ll do the office. I’ll do the coat closet. Wow. Remember these decks of cards? She taught me how to play bridge with these cards. 52 for both. I bet she’d be pleased that she left full decks in her wake. Haha. But no time for humor. No time to stop. No time to talk. No time for memories. No time for tears. Dawn to late-night. Three days.

What have you had to eat today? Half a protein bar. You should eat. No time to eat. We gotta keep powering. Aww…remember these earrings? She wore them to my son’s graduation. We had such a good weekend together. I don’t have time to look. I need to clean out her bureau. I’ve been afraid to go into her bedroom. I’m glad she died there though. I’m glad she had a DNR. I’m glad she didn’t want to ever have to go back to the hospital or Skilled Nursing. She was very clear about that, wasn’t she. It was a kind and gentle death at home. And she was in so much pain at the end. Thank God for Morphine. And the caregivers. I’m so glad we made it for Easter. I’m so glad you were there just a few days before she died. Me too. I’m sad we weren’t there to hold her hand as she passed though. Thank God for Facetime. I loved that we sang and prayed. And that the minister was there. Thank God.

We gotta keep powering through.

I’ll do the guest room next. I’ll do the kitchen. I don’t think we should keep any of her linens. Or her bedroom carpet. It’s all…stained. And crawling in contagion. She would have hated for us to throw that satin blanket away. I think we have to. She slept with it over her every night until the end. I can’t cry. Me neither. Gotta keep going. Sigh. She really loved those earrings. Maybe someone out there would love those earrings like she did. I’ll put them into the rummage box to take to the church along with sixteen bags of her clothes. Sixteen bags! Who’s going to want all those old suits? And her dresses? They’re all so old. She was so frugal. I respected that about her. She wasn’t a spendthrift. She loved her hand-me-downs. I love how her clothes went in and out of style. I love how she didn’t care. She wouldn’t want us to throw them away. What about that mink stole with the…heads? That thing is so creepy. To rummage it goes!

I can’t carry another box. My back is going out. But there’s no time. Not two but three Advil. I rarely take Advil. My back is going out too. No time. Power through.

There’s not enough room with this dumpster in this thin little hallway. You go first. I’ll follow. What do we do with these? Aww…those were her wedding gloves I think. Look how long and beautiful with those pearl buttons. And so dainty. I’m sure I couldn’t even fit the tips of my fingers into them. Just the box alone is beautiful. Shrug. Shrug. Not the dumpster. Not to rummage. No one wears those anymore. Fine, I’ll take them. Maybe my grandkids can use them for dress up.

None of this stuff is worth anything monetary anymore.

No one wants china or silver these days. Or what my kids call “brown furniture.” So we’re each paying OOP to ship these sentimental things…just to honor her? She was as practical as she was sentimental. I think she would for sure want most of her costume jewelry to go to the church rummage sale. I agree. And we can give some of her scarves to her godchildren and remaining friends. Of which there are not a lot, given her age. I’ll spearhead that. Easy enough to put a scarf in the mail with a nice note on her stationary. Gosh, she had a lot of stationary. So much “desk work.” So dutiful.

What are we going to do with all of these photo albums? And all of the home movies? We have to decide now. I’m happy to digitalize it all for the family members. It’s going to cost a fortune to ship it all though. Why didn’t we digitalize it all slowly over the years during our visits, so we didn’t have to lug all these heavy albums around? Why didn’t we think to do that? Why didn’t she think to do that? I really can’t afford shipping all of this sentiment. But I’m going to suck it up. The family will be glad to have those photos and videos. I’ll make books for everyone. I just don’t know when I’ll find the time. Maybe I’ll hire one of my kids to do it? It’s really expensive to digitalize it through a company. I mean.. there must be 30 albums. I’m so glad she color-coded albums for each kid. And the family albums, the ones she kept in these boxes, these red ones. These are the ones I’ll digitalize. Makes it really clear what she wanted, doesn’t it. Yeah but why didn’t she digitalize it all while she was alive? I mean…shipping these across the country? This is brutal. Some people would just chuck it all. The mutual shake of heads. Put my color sticker on it. You promise you’ll do it? I promise. It just might take a while, with work and everything. That’s okay. I get it. We’re so lucky that we can trust each other. The mutual nod of heads.

This is a case of: when sentiment becomes burden, emotionally and financially. And when doing the right thing feels like it’s going amok.

But this is also a case of: what you do in your mother’s honor.

I’m going to have to army-crawl straight to the chiropractor when I get home. Me too. I already have a bulged disk. I swear if I end up having to have surgery because of this… Why are we so sentimental in this family? What are we trying to cling to? And why?

I don’t know but we have at least six more hours of work to do and we fly out tomorrow. I had to juggle all my clients so I’m going to be completely slammed when I get home. I guess I can work on the airplane. I cried the whole way here though. I doubt I’ll be able to work. I’m really sick of crying. I mean, she lived an extraordinary life. She was such an achiever. She achieved what she wanted to achieve. She was so respected. So witnessed. So lauded and honored. She died proud of herself. Not everyone can say that.

Is that the land line? Listen. That’s her voice on her answering machine.

Who’s calling? She’d want us to pick up the phone. I can’t cry one more tear. Gotta power through.

Funny how on day one we were looking at her sewing box and considering shipping home needlepoint yarn and buttons and thread and pin cushions. Day three…not so much. Let it go. You just can’t cling to every last bobbi pin. Do you know she had that gold barrette since high school? Amazing what outlives you. A newspaper clipping. A paperclip. A ball of wadded tissue in an old purse. What do we do with all of those old purses? Church.

I think I’m getting a migraine. I don’t use any chemicals in my house. Even the trash bags are “scented” with that “clean” smell. I have to open a window. This sucks that we have to do this so fast. But we have to be out of here on deadline. We can’t pay for another month’s rent. I keep thinking I can leave some of this stuff for “next time.” I just didn’t think it would all come crashing down so quickly. I’m glad we get along so well. We are blessed. We are doing this with grit, grace, and even a little humor. She’d be proud of us. Yes. She would be. Mostly that we’re being so expeditious. She’d be proud that we’re doing all the janitorial along with the church rummage along with the stuff in the closet she stored for other family along with the furniture she wanted us to take. She’d be so mad if it went to rummage. Or sat in some storage unit somewhere. She’d want it to be used by family. The only thing I’d really like is that table. And it’s broken. But it reminds me of being little. I like that painting. You know that it’s not worth much anymore. She acted like it was worth something. I think that it was valuable a while back when a lot of her friends collected that artist. But I asked an appraiser. Not any more. She always told me that I could have it. Is that okay with you? Of course. I like the picture of her on the horse. Me too. You can have it. I’ll take a photo of it and add it to the digital book I’ll send to everyone.

What’s in that box? I literally can’t lean over one more time or my back will be totally out and I’ll be totally worthless. Pretty sure we’re skipping dinner tonight.

Part of me just wants to leave it all. Take a needlepoint pillow and be done with it. Have an in-house estate sale, donate whatever we make to one of the charities she chaired. Or use it to help pay for the rest to be hauled. God, I hate the idea of her things in a landfill. No. We should honor what she wanted. We’re doing the right thing. I’ll be sure to take photos of it all and make sure all the color-coded stickers are in the designated places.

The burden of things.

It seems ridiculous to spend all this money for shipping. I could start a college fund for my grandchild. I could pay off my car. I mean… The burden of honoring is real. I’m going to have to take on another job to pay for all of this. Sorry to complain. No sorries. We’re doing our best. We showed up. We’re cleaning it the way she would. Remember how she was “down on her hands and knees cleaning the floorboards?” after she sold our family home? She needed to prove that she was a hard worker and “didn’t sit around eating bon bons all day.” She was not a bon bon eater, that is for sure. Remember how Dad always said that when she died he’d put on her headstone, “At least she tried”? I loved his understated humor. You can’t say we’re not trying. No. You can’t. But trying, in this way, is so exhausting.

Silence. Taking turns shimmying past the dumpster. We need to call Housekeeping again. This is endless.

More silence.

Then weeping in different rooms.

We’re officially out of plastic gloves.

We don’t have time to go to the store. We’re just going to have to go freestyle. I swear, I’m going to get every disease known to man. That dumpster. Lover and slayer. I bet we’ve done 15 loads of just trash. It makes me want to clean out every cabinet in my house and get rid of it now so my kids don’t have to do this ever.

What do we do with this old, netted hat from the 1950s. Is that a dead bird? Or is it fake? I think it might be taxidermy. Why would you ever put that in your hair? Speaking of hair, she always talked about her grandmother’s lock of auburn hair. What do we do with that? We can’t throw it in the dumpster. Can’t give it to rummage. No one would ever want it. I know. I’ll put it in her garden. In her garden? Yeah. In the peonies. For the birds to use in their nests. I used to do that with my daughter’s hair when I’d clean her brush or cut her hair. Wow. It really is auburn. I wonder how hair keeps its color over 100 years… No time to wonder. No time to feel. No time.

Her peonies are about to bloom. The ants are busy doing their work. They’ll bloom soon. I’m sad she’ll miss them. Me too.

Look. I didn’t know she had a garden journal. She didn’t write much in it. But she did write about her peonies. May, 1985.

Peonies about to bloom.

Peonies in bloom.

Peonies gone.

Aww. A poem. I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean to write a poem.

But she did.

And this is how I don’t write about it yet.

If you too have something that you need to write…but don’t feel quite ready…I may have a place for you on my June 24-28 Haven Writing Retreat in Montana. Go here for more info. Isn’t it time to finally move your pen and find the language of your heart?

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I wrote this questionnaire for my mother in 2018 and I found it today, on this bittersweet Mother’s Day.

Today is bittersweet because my mother passed into the great beyond a week ago. We were all with her in the last month, and she got to meet and hold her new great grandson. She died surrounded by her loved ones. And at 93, having achieved so much in her life, it felt like a life made complete and a perfect time to depart. She did it like she did everything: expeditiously, in charge, and with grace.

I wrote this questionnaire that I’m sharing with you, because it occurred to me that when it really came down to it, there were things I didn’t know about my mother. Things I wanted to know. But the “Let’s sit down and have tea and talk” approach wasn’t her style. She had things to do. A check list to finish, and she always did. In other words, she was prone to living more tactically than poetically. When she was at the helm, things got done! But I wanted to dig into her heart and see what language and wisdom she could offer, both for me and future generations. I figured, if I gave her something to put on her list, she’d very likely complete the task, and earnestly so. So I wrote a list of probing questions for her to answer. Questions that might elicit a surprise of a response. Not the usuals. I tried to ask questions that would inspire her to share her values and her truth.

Some of her answers make me laugh. And some make me cry. Especially now that she’s not here to offer me answers at all.

May her words touch you in some way. And if you have a mother (or any beloved elder) who is still alive and well enough to answer some of your questions, I strongly recommend coming up with a list and agreeing upon a timeframe for them to offer their answers. Maybe they would want to do it live, and have you record/transcribe their words. Or maybe, like my mother, they’d prefer to write their answers. Either way, come up with a system that will inspire them to deliver! It begins with you. I found that the act of writing my questions was a potent exercise, in and of itself.

Ask yourself, truly: What do I really want to know about my mother?

Feel free to use my questions if they help.

Yours,

Laura

And to the mothers out there…Happy Mother’s Day!

Virgina Aldrich Munson McTier

To read my mother’s full obituary, most of which she of course wrote, click here.

1) What would you like your descendants to know about you?

My whole life I’ve felt secure. I’ve been very lucky. Not everybody has had wonderful parents, and two wonderful marriages.

2) What excites you?

I like the feeling of performing and meeting people’s expectations, whether it was my mother, or my teachers.

3) What is your idea of a perfect day, from any time in your life?

I was twelve and it was my birthday, and my mother and father gave me a watch and a hay ride for my birthday party, and that stands out as one of my most favorite days. In Glenview, IL. A gold watch—with a little black band—made out of a twisted woven sort of material. A HAY RIDE IS SUCH FUN! AND IT WAS A SURPRISE! That was 74 years ago!

4) If you could ask your mother or father one question, what would it be?

I have a genealogical question I would ask them: Who was Seth Aldrich’s father? (Spencer, MA—married Mary Knight (Holly), married in 1804, and had Jefferson, who had William Elliot, who had Hilan Duane, who had Jefferson Elliot, who had me.

5) When they say, “don’t sweat the small stuff,” what specific small stuff should I not sweat?

You should sweat the small stuff. I’m a perfectionist. And I haven’t changed what I want to be perfect in my life.

6) What are some things you spent a lot of time on in your life that in hind-sight weren’t worth it?

Nothing.

7) What is your favorite swear word?

Shistervonboodlebottom

8) What should I look for in a friend?

You want someone you can trust, who is loyal, who loves you, and has your best interests at heart, and who would never want to hurt you, and who cares deeply about you. And there are not many people like that. You’re lucky if you have three friends in your life, who you would do anything for and they’d do anything for you and you’d stop your life for them. They remember my anniversary, and details, and they care.

9) What should people look for in a partner?

Someone who has a belief in God, and who you can trust.

10) What is your advice on marriage?

Marry someone that you can trust. Who you know adores you and you adore them. Who you would do anything for and they would do anything for you. And they would make the effort to make sure it lasts forever, and would never do anything to hurt you. Someone you admire and respect. You have to give all of yourself—you marry someone for better for worse, and you don’t give up.

11) What is your advice on aging?

Try and take care of yourself, exercise, be more flexible, because things don’t go the way you wished as you age.

12) When in your life have you been most happy?

Being married to your father. I loved when he walked through the door. I adored your father. Just to see him and be with him, knowing he loved me, and he’d change his clothes and take the kids, and have dinner, and go outside and garden. I could count on him. I could trust him. He would take care of those topiary trees. He was always working to make sure that things were just perfect. All of our friends hired gardeners and we never did.

13) What is the value of school?

To learn all that you can to help you in life later on. Two examples:

In 7^th grade, Miss Lawrence who was very demanding, and was my English teacher. I felt challenged and supported by her.

There was a woman at Bennett name Miss Cody, and also expected you to do the best you could do. She scared the hell out of me. I wanted to do what she wanted me to do.

14) What gets you out of bed in the morning?

Knowing all that I have to do. I’m a day person. My friends say that I do five times what they do in a day, so I have to get up early to accomplish it all.

15) What is your advice to parents?

Make sure that as parents, you are honest with each other and in good communication. And are a united force.

16) What is your advice on money? Save it or spend it or a little of both?

Be as wise as you can be about how you spend your money, but knowing that you’re not going to live forever, you might as well do what you want and travel. I try not to order the most expensive thing on the menu. Know how much money you have. You don’t want to be in debt. We were never trust fund children, so we had to borrow money. That’s why I started my business so I could make extra money to support us. I might not have started my business if I had more money.

17) What are three places I must see on this planet?

Israel—knowing that Jesus was there

Thailand—so exotic

Africa—looking at all the animals free and in the wild

Nepal—rode elephants to look for tigers

Loved going to Norway and all the Fjords

Alaska—islands

India was too dirty. Liked Agra.

18) What are some words to live by?

Be honest. Do your best. Be all that you can be. Be kind to others.

19) What makes me special?

You’re able to support your family, be everything for your family, and you work so hard and you are amazing and I don’t know anyone who can do all that you do. I don’t know when you sleep.

20) When I am your age, what should I strive for?

To be somebody who people respect, and to have done the best job you knew how to do. Your father used to say that on my gravestone it should read, “At least she tried.”

21) What are your hopes for this planet?

That we never have war. That we have peace. That people will love each other. And we can be environmentally safe.

22) What would you like your legacy to be?

To have people remember me with love. And that I was the keeper of memories. I had a different color photo album for each child. I didn’t put your photos in a shoebox. I tried!

23) When you get to the Pearly Gates, what will you say to God?

I hope I’m worthy to be here.

Mom…I promise: you are! May you rest now, in peace. But something tells me…you still have work to do…

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats in Montana

June 3 – 7 a few spots left

June 24 – 28 a few spots left

September 16 – 20 Now Booking

September 23 – 27 Now Booking

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

I still have rare room on my June 3-7, and June 24-28 Haven Writing Retreats in glorious NW Montana! You don’t have to be a writer to come. Just a word wanderer. And if you are a writer…I have a place for you to finally feel safe…and to move your pen into your writing dreams. Either way, contact me and let’s get on the phone to see if Haven is right for you! Email me: Laura@lauramunson.com

“It’s so weird to be good at something you never thought to be good at. There’s an essay in that...”

And I wasn’t referring to my writing. I was referring to the surprise plot twists that have me in roles I never knew to imagine: a writing retreat leader, teacher, workshop leader, editor…

This friend has known me since I made my very first writing foray in 1986, and she was the first person to say to me, “I think you’re a teacher. Come teach writing on my yoga retreat in Mexico.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a teacher,” I told her.

“Yes you are. You’re coming.”

And that was that. She was right. I was hooked.

A year later I started Haven Writing Retreats in Montana. I have now taught over 1000 people at all places along their writing path and brought dozens of books into print as their editor. All a surprise.

I’m curious about how we enter into new roles and what might keep us from what can be life-changing surprises.

I was recently in my childhood hometown visiting my Spanish teacher who was a major force in my early years. We stood in her classroom, which was festooned with bright-colored art from Spanish speaking countries. “You’ve always been such an energetic, caring, inspiring teacher.” I told her about my writing retreats and workshops, and that I too am now a teacher. “I owe a lot of that to you,” I said.

She smiled. “I always knew you were a teacher. You were born for it.”

It stunned me. No one had ever said anything to me about teaching until my friend who leads the retreats in Mexico. Maybe teachers are made and maybe it takes some time. Or maybe I just didn’t have my mind or heart open to the notion until my mid 40s. A teacher? No, I wanted to be an actress. An artist. A rebel. No restrictive institutions for me.

It wasn’t until I suffered a few especially gutting rejections from the publishing world after years and years of hard work, that I dropped to my knees one day and asked myself, “Why did I choose to be a writer? Why do I even do this thing? There are no promises that anyone will even read my work? Why didn’t I choose something more reliable?” Still, I didn’t think of being a teacher. Instead it occurred to me to write a one-line answer to this question: “Why am I a writer?”

This is what came out of my pen: “I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.”

Relief? From what? Well, this beautiful and heartbreaking thing called life. And writing for myself? I could believe that. Writing in many ways was how I breathed. But for others? I was writing from a place of service? That was new. I have to believe that in that moment of claiming my “why” something shifted in me. Something opened in me. I looked around. Saw something new. Something possible. That’s when I wrote an essay that went viral in the New York Times Modern Love column, which got the memoir version of it published, which brought me to large stages at major women’s conferences with a teaching message. And it was those stages which then had me decide to step off them and into small circles of seekers in the glorious woods of NW Montana at my Haven Writing Retreats. Since then I’ve worked with over 1000 alums from all over the world and at all places in their writing. So it was that moment of dropping to my knees which led me to what I believe is one of my true purposes in life: Teaching.

Turns out that teaching isn’t just in a classroom, even a beautifully festooned one. Teaching can be taking what you know, from walking your walk for years as a student of your life’s passions, and turning it toward adults who are not quite ready to commit to their own walk. People who are scared but full of longing. People who have been hurt for even thinking about their dreams, never mind speaking about them...but hungry for them to finally come to fruition.

How did I end up in this role? It wasn’t because I studied how to teach.

Quite the opposite. I just got so sick of hearing people say that they are afraid to write creatively. “I don’t have a voice.” “I’m stuck.” What did I know about how to change that personal narrative? I didn’t have letters after my name to be in that position. But I wanted desperately to help. How could I help people see that these are myths that might be engraved in their beings but that are fully capable of being busted, if only…well…they had the right teacher.

I thought of my dear Spanish teacher and her bright classroom and her years of devotion to inspiring people, including me. Devotion and inspiration? Could you really teach by example? I’d been totally devoted to my passion. And inspired by it every day for decades. Maybe I was an expert after all.

But how would I even begin to teach these things and were they even teachable entities? I knew I could teach about what it takes to give yourself permission to express yourself truthfully, to use writing to bridge to yourself. To use that bridge to even bridge to readers. In any genre, short form or long form. At that point, I’d written, and published, in most of them.

I felt a longing bubble up inside me. “…for myself and others.” My books had taught people. Maybe I could teach in an interactive way in small groups. Groups of eager students, hungry to learn. Maybe scared, but more so, brave. Trusting me to hold the room, and them in it, safely, so that they can open up their minds and hearts to their true self-expression. To find what’s behind the narrative of lack—the truth that has been there all along. It just got derailed along the way. I could teach awareness and help them return to what they already know as the exact human they now are.

And I could teach them all of this through the craft of creative writing. That felt honest and exciting.

So many of us have major, and sometimes very old, wounds when it comes to expressing ourselves. I see it in the introductory calls I have with people to see if my writing retreats are right for them. People often lead with their wounds. Someone along the way said that what they had to say was wrong, or self-indulgent, or stupid, or unoriginal, or just plain bad. And they took their ball and went home.

Worse, they started saying what they thought they were supposed to say. Not what they truly wanted to say. And that became their habit. So much so that they forgot what it was like to even know what they truly wanted to say. A distant memory left in the sandbox. Then they wake up in middle age and think…what about that writing thing I used to love when I was little? That’s when they find Haven, send me an email, and we get on the phone and really dig into their writing dreams, what’s in the way of them, and how a Haven Writing Retreat could be a match for them. Most of the time, it is.

And not long after…I’m welcoming them to Montana, and to the safe circle of seekers at all places in their writing—some writing books. Some simply writing as a way to reconnect with themselves. All of them are word wanderers who long to meet themselves on the page and finally give themselves permission to say what they want to say, in the way that only they can say it. They leave…new. Every time. Their body language is different. Their eyes are wider. Their faces softer. Their pens have moved and in surprising and deeply fulfilling ways. And they will keep their pens moving if the teacher in me has anything to do with it. Which led me to create my other programs. And my other surprise roles. Online workshop leader. Editor. Consultant. Interviewer. Speaker. Hence the line I wrote to my dear friend: “It’s so weird to be good at something you never thought to be good at.”

I want to press into this concept for a moment. Because it’s something that has shifted a lot for me lately, the more I claim what I’m good at, to myself and to others.

To be able to say you’re good at something…without feeling bad about that claim...that’s very new for me. If you can relate, I ask all of us: Why on earth would we feel bad about being good at something?

Think for a minute about the timeline of your life, role by role, both personal and professional where applicable. What surprises have you had when it comes to your roles? What do you know that you’re good at that is a surprise to you? How do you know that you’re good at it? Is it a feeling deep inside you or is it generated by things people say to you? Or both? Does one feed the other? Does it start from the inside out or the other way around? Be kind to yourself. It’s likely that you’re already…not.

In fact, you may be resisting answering those questions. Why? Because we’re told that we shouldn’t brag. Don’t toot your own horn. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t show off. So many of us have been given this message all our lives, and too often we abide by it by playing small. We use the puny word “just” a lot. “Oh, I just run a little company that I started. What do you do?” Turn it around quickly to get off the hot seat, because God forbid we talk about ourselves as if we were proud or successful. God forbid.

What if feeling proud and successful of our life’s roles was a form of self-acceptance? What if it didn’t bring up shame…but instead self-love?

I’ll step out of teacher mode and be personally transparent here: In writing about my own successes in these roles, I feel a sort of shame leaking in. Tooting my own horn feels bad. Like I’m going to get into trouble. And adult trouble can be playground-mean just with bigger words and a computer screen between the meanie and the writer. Braggadocio is wrong. It’s grandiose. I shouldn’t claim these surprise things that I have grown to be good at. I can try to champion you in claiming what you’re good at. That feels good. That’s part of the teaching spirit. But me? Still, a personal narrative writer’s job is, in part, to be honest, in hopes of readers finding their own truth.

So can you think about this for a moment with self-honesty? What are you good at? Especially if it is a surprise to you? What would happen if you claimed it? Spoke it? Why do we “just” ourselves. “Should” ourselves. Why don’t we take a deserving bow once in a while and feel good about it?

I find myself constantly saying to my students, and potential ones, “I can talk about Haven like this because it’s not about me. It’s about the program. I designed the program based on what I know by walking the writing walk for so many years. But it’s the program which holds you. I hold the program. And the staff at the retreat center hold me…so it’s a very healthy symbiosis.” But isn’t that still playing small in its own way?

I value humility in people. There are those who are always tooting their own horn. I’m not worried about them. Maybe I should be. Those people usually don’t want to write books because innately they know that you can only brag for so many pages before the writing requires you to get real. Before it’s an opposite case of “The lady doth protest too much, methink.”

And there are the people who do that too. Who are so humble that it’s exhausting to hear all of their pejorative-ity and penury. As if you are being called upon to lift them up and even to save them. Those people usually don’t want to write books either. They wouldn’t get past: “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I have nothing to say. I don’t deserve your time. The end.”

That’s what keeps me in the light. I get to work with people who are in neither of those spaces. I get to work with people who feel like they’re free-falling but trust that there’s a net, and my programs are holding it. Okay, yes, I’m holding it. I’m holding the net. Am I bragging? I mean what’s the difference between bragging and being in a healthy place of pride for what you offer the world? Are we allowed to take a bow for what we’re good at? I tell my clients all the time: “Take a bow!” But do I know how to do that myself? I’m working on it. Clearly.

Here’s where I think we who struggle with this fine line can start: Let’s be curious about our strengths in life.

What are you good at? Maybe you’re very good at listening. Maybe you’re very good at leading a group. Maybe you’re very good with animals. Maybe you’re very good with managing details and arranging things so that the non-sensical makes sense.

Next, take stock. Write a timeline in whatever form you’d like. Here’s my stab at it, and here’s something interesting to note: I’m compelled to write it in the proverbial “you” pronoun, which happens when I’m uncomfortable exposing myself. I notice that I’ve done this a few times in this essay already. But I’m going to start with it since getting words down is more important than bullying myself. I will try to gently invite myself to switch into the “I” pronoun so that I fully claim it, past the fear of shame. We’ll see how I do. I’m going to keep my editorial hat on by commenting to myself in parenthesis. This is not how I professionally edit my clients, but I suspect it will be a personally useful exercise in keeping it real, as if it’s a Greek chorus (I hope kind) threaded throughout. I’m sure I’ll stray.

Here goes:

You live for a while and you just

(notice “just”)

get good at some things, sometimes without really meaning to, which is what’s happened to me.

(Okay. “Me” will hopefully lead to “I.”)

It’s not that I…

(Ick. I’m uncomfortable. I’ll try. I know that the claimed “I” is an excellent teacher. Keep going. Stick with it.)

It’s not that I want or need to take a bow

(Why don’t I???)

about these surprise talents. It’s more that I want to examine them so that I can make room for more surprises. Maybe I’m good at speaking Chinese, for instance, and just have never tried? Maybe I’m good at playing the tuba? Maybe I’m good at grooming dogs?

(I’ve strayed. I must be uncomfortable. When I edit my client’s work and they go off on a tangent, I know they’re usually uncomfortable. An editor’s job is to read between the lines. Can I read between my own? I’ll try to get back on track.)

Being open to surprises as we go through life is a mindset that I’m really curious about.

(Okay good. Now stay in “I” and go deeper.)

People say that one door opens another.

(Clearly I’m uncomfortable being the “expert” here. I had to pull out of the discomfort by quoting a nebulous “people.” Laura, forgive yourself. You are an expert on what you know. Claim it. Okay fine.)

I’ve said many times that one door opens another. But how do we

(Here I’m still in a form of “I” only now I’m opening it to you too. “We.” That feels good. That’s the service to others piece.)

How do we stay open to those doors? How do we recognize them when they present themselves? How do we have the courage to walk through them? AND…how do we know when the door we’d like to open, that we keep trying to open, that we’re bashing our heads against to open…isn’t the right door for us? It’s the other one. Over our right shoulder. That is already open, full of wildflowers and bluebirds and sunshine and kindness. “Come through this door,” it says. “You are welcome here. You are made for this. Come.”

“Nope! Too easy. I’m going to keep bleeding until this door opens.”

That was me for a long, long time.

(This is fully claimed. Shame and all. But I’m not trauma-dumping. I’m just being honest. This is turning into something honest and hopefully helpful. To myself. And to you.)

I didn’t mean to be a teacher or an editor. I don’t thrive in traditional modalities. But I am very good at reading someone and helping them to see what they want and what’s in the way of getting what they want, whether they want to be published or not. I’m also very good at holding and leading small groups of writer seekers. I love this work. When you love something, it’s easier to claim.

(Notice I went back to “you.” Ugh. Try again.)

When I love something, I have found that it’s easier to claim.

(There. Can I be done now?)

Would it be a helpful tool to write it out in a list called: What I’m good at? Sounds excruciating.

What I’m good at…

How about what I’m not good at? Can I start with that? Apparently now I’m teaching myself.

(Go with the resistance. It’s often exactly where we need to go.)

What I’m not good at:

I’m not good at math.

I’m not good at numbers in general.

I’m not good at small talk.

I’m not good at short, storyless answers.

I’m not good at getting daily exercise.

I’m not good at breakfast.

I’m not good at going to bed early.

I’m not good at waking up early.

Why is this list so easy?

Why am I resisting the other one?

Maybe I need to be less overwhelmed. Maybe I need to not look at my whole life, but just right now, in my professional life only.

Here’s what I’m good at, right now, in my professional life, not historically, but right now: (That feels less daunting. But still I’m cringing.)

I’m good at writing. (Cringe-y)

I’m good at editing. (No cringe)

I’m good at teaching. (No cringe)

I’m good at leading my writing retreats. (A deep bow feels very do-able.)

I’m good at holding groups together in a healthy way. (Nodding)

I’m good at leading groups. (Nodding but remembering that one person years ago, in over 1000 people, who took objection to my leadership. Why do we think of that one person who cannot receive what we have to give? Let’s let go of that one person. I can nod now.)

That feels good for now. And that’s the point. I want us to feel good about what we’re good at. To accept it. Honor it. Make room for it to grow and play.

I hope that this piece of transparency helps you. It helped me.

(Cringe. Why should you care about me? Try again.)

It helped me.

“I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.”

Do I feel relief right now? I do. I hope you do too.

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Haven Writing Retreats

I still have rare room on my June 3-7, and June 24-28 Haven Writing Retreats in glorious NW Montana! You don’t have to be a writer to come. Just a word wanderer. And if you are a writer…I have a place for you to finally feel safe…and to move your pen into your writing dreams. Either way, contact me and let’s get on the phone to see if Haven is right for you! Comment WRITE or better yet…email me: Laura@lauramunson.com

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats in Montana

June 3 – 7 a few spots left

June 24 – 28 a few spots left

September 16 – 20 Now Booking

September 23 – 27 Now Booking

October 14 – 18 Now Booking

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“I write in a solitude born out of community”

—Terry Tempest Williams

I am home from leading a five day writing retreat in the woods of Montana where over a thousand people have come in the last thirteen years to dig deeply into their creative self-expression on the page in intimate groups. That is my invitation to them.

This is my promise: We will dig deeply into what you have to say, and I will keep it a loving, safe, and nurturing community.

My call to action: Find your voice. Set it free. You do not have to be a writer to come to a Haven Writing Retreat. Only a seeker. A word wanderer. Or you can be an established writer. It doesn’t matter. Haven meets you where you need to be met. Come.

Look into these faces, these eyes, these smiles.

These people were strangers on a Wednesday, who journeyed to Montana from hundreds…thousands of miles in every direction. This photograph was taken on Saturday night, three days later.

It happens every single time. I watch the transformation in each of these seekers as they gather to create, in community, held safely by someone who knows what it is to use writing as a practice, a prayer, a meditation, a way of life, and sometimes a way to life. Someone who walks the walk and truly wants to help. I want to show you how to ask for this help. Stay with me for a few more paragraphs. There is so much here for you. If you’re reading this…you know…it’s time to open to your endless and wild way with words.

I do this work because it is the most powerful way I can help answer the questions so many of us ask. Questions I have asked my entire adult life: Do I have to do this alone? Is there anyone out there who cares? Is there anyone out there who can help me?

But so many people out there think they have to be writers to come to Haven. It’s quite the opposite. All you have to be is a seeker. You can seek being a best-selling author. Or simply to express yourself and be seen and heard. Or anywhere in-between. Again: Haven meets you where you need to be met. There is zero competition. There is not A+ or F-. At Haven, we step outside good bad, right wrong, grade at the end, and the mother of them all: perfection, and we take a free fall into a free zone. I’m holding the net, and I’ve never once dropped it.

Believe me…it took me a long time to trust sharing in a group. (More on that in a bit).

For that reason, I designed the retreat that I would want to go on. So Haven offers exceptional craft instruction and well-supported workshopping opportunities, a place to take yourself apart a bit and weave yourself back together, new…through your unique heart language. But it’s not just a five day retreat in Montana. I offer pre-Haven consulting if you’d like to get support the moment you sign up. And after Haven, there is the entire Haven community, continuing mentorship, four additional programs available only to Haven alums, 1:1 consultation, networking support, and so much more. It is the most important work, outside of what I have birthed in my children and my own written stories, that I have ever done. I’ve seen it change lives over and over again, and that’s why it’s ranked in the top writing retreats in the US. But there’s a lot more to the Haven story…

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I didn’t know about writing retreats when I claimed my life as a writer in 1988, fresh out of college. I thought I had to do it alone. I didn’t trust community to understand my yearning, my craving, to make sense of this beautiful and heartbreaking thing called life through the written word. I didn’t trust community to give me permission to look into the dark corners and shine a light on an otherwise dim place.

My writing was for me. Alone. Yet…I longed to be published one day. In fact, I was obsessed with the ill-conceived notion that I would only matter if I was a successful author. But deep inside of me, even more than that, I longed to have my voice be heard in a safe, small, group of people, and to bear witness to their unique voices, too. I needed to find kindreds who understood this longing. So I joined a writing group which did regular retreats. That’s when everything changed.

I got to experience the community of kindreds— people I would likely never have met in my regular life.

Our little circle developed a haven from our lives where we could express ourselves safely and powerfully, and without the usual societal constructs of “success.” We could play. Like children. Even and especially in our darkest subjects. And soon, I learned to prize the process of writing in community, more than being published. Publishing would happen when it happened. I had work to do. I had to learn to truly love, and long for, my voice.

Years later, after sitting at the intersection of heart and mind and craft that is the writing life, and finally knowing myself authentically as the woman I am and the writer I am…my dream came true. Suddenly I was a New York Times best-selling author.

Suddenly I was on major media, going to the book signings of my dreams from coast to coast and in-between, speaking in front of thousands of people at massive women’s conferences with headliners like Hilary Clinton and Madeleine Albright. It was such an incredible honor to share my message with so many people, and it struck me how starved so many of us are for our voices and how to express them.

Over and over again I heard: I want to write. I want to find my voice.

Then the refusals would come.

But I don’t have anything important to say.

Someone else has already expressed my message better than I ever could.

I don’t have the time.

I don’t have the talent. It’s self-indulgent at best.

I don’t have letters after my name.

And I realized that what people are missing is what I know so deeply to be true: The act of writing, whether or not anyone reads it, is where the power lies. It’s in the process. Being published and having accolades and readers and fan mail and all of that stuff is indeed fulfilling, but it’s nothing close to the way I feel when I’m in the act of creating. And I got it: What we must long for…is our voice. Our craft. Our way of seeing…and the permission to say what we need to say. It was the best news I could imagine because we can control that! Each time I went out on the road for a speaking engagement or book signing, as much as I loved it…I couldn’t wait to get back home and back to my writing.

The poet Rilke says, “Go to the limits of your longing.”

That longing, for me, is in the creation, not the product. It’s in the process. The work. We can control the work. That’s it. Success and failure are myths. I’ve had “success” according to what society tells us. But in the eye of that, I saw the truth: it’s a myth. That is the greatest relief I’ve known and why it occurred to me one day (with some gentle nudging from writer friends) to lead writing retreats. If I am an authority on anything, it’s how to do the work. How to cultivate your own unique voice and become hungry for it. To show up for it and find out what it has to say. We are so caught up in the supposed-to-be and the should and the perfection of it all that we forget what this self-expression thing is all about: it’s in the ability to put our hearts in our hands. To see where we are in our own way, and truly feel our flow. To go where it’s natural, not forced. To have it be easy. How about that? Easy? Even if it’s not easy material, you can still find ease in it. Breathe into the groundlessness of that and live there for a moment. Feels good, doesn’t it. AND…you don’t have to do it alone.

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A woman on my last retreat took that breath one morning, sun streaming in through the Montana skies, and said it so perfectly: “There is a way to use my head if I let it follow my heart.” She looked around the room and smiled at each of us. Born out of community, yes. And held by sacred solitude.

Please, if you hunger for your voice, if you need permission to speak it, if you value the transformational tool that is the written word, and if you have a dream to write anything— a book, an essay, a journal entry, whatever…consider giving yourself the unstoppable experience of writing in community at a Haven Writing Retreat. And then, become part of the whole Haven community.

Still room on the June 3-7 and June 24-27 retreats!

Click here to book your introductory phone call with me today!

Do you long to find your voice? Do you need to take a big, bold, beautiful stand for your self-expression? Come to Haven this year and fill your cup.

It’s a beautiful time to be in Montana with the gateway to Glacier National Park ready to open its doors to your wonder. Perfect writing weather! In addition to the June retreats, I also have room on my fall retreats.

For more information and to set up an introductory call with me, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

March 25 – 29, 2026 – Full with waitlist
June 3 – 7, 2026 – A few spots left
June 24 – 28, 2026 – A few spots left
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

laura@lauramunson.com

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Hello, Friend. I write a lot about wonder. This is a small wonder story for you.

I love to write “Hello, Friend,” because when my kids were little and the mountain bluebirds would return to our Montana valley in springtime, something so blue after so much white, I would always say, an exuberant “Hello, Friend!” And then my kids would chime in too with their own hearty “Hello, Friend!” It was so sweet. Each year we made a sort of welcome chorus out of it, the bluebirds perching themselves along the fence line, near where they make their nests in the bluebird houses. Each year, upon first sighting, we’d shout out louder and louder, often in unison, a happy and grateful “Hello, Friend!!!”

One year, upon the return of the mountain bluebird, seeing a flock of them settling on the fence, my daughter (age 7) said a confused, “Wait. There is more than one Hello, Friend? I thought it was the same bird, year after year.” My son agreed.

I hardly wanted to break the news to them that it wasn’t just one special friend. I grasped for what to say. “They’re all our friends. All the birds!”

They weren’t very happy about it. Suddenly Hello, Friend was diluted for them.

But I tried to convince my children that more is more in the way of migration. “I love when they flock. So blue. Like fish blue. But in the sky. I always feel like they’ve chosen us for another season, even when I feel like we don’t deserve it. We need to take care of our world.”

That had their brains ticking. The idea that we must be stewards of the land to be worthy of migration, the birds coming from far and wide expanses to choose us to be safe for their breeding ground before they head back south. It had my mind ticking too.

Sometimes I wonder if my daughter became an Environmental Studies major, and has held roles in this field for almost a decade, as a result of feeling this migratory honor. That both children love the wilds of Montana with all their hearts and have chosen to live here. We have tried to do our best to be stewards of the Montana land we so love.

We could do better.

I saw a robin in the snow the other day. I heard the red-winged blackbird in the marsh just now. When I see my first Hello, Friend, I will be sure to bow in its midst. Chosen again.

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I will be back in my hometown Chicago with that little girl, her brother, her husband, and their baby boy to visit my ninety-three year old mother for Easter in a few weeks. We will say hello to the birds that don’t make it to our neck of the woods. Specifically the cardinals, as red as the mountain bluebirds are blue. They will remind us to believe in our own migrations, and to trust what is sacred ground wherever we are.

Here are two of the public events I’ll be doing while I’m back in my original homeland.

• One is an author talk, Q&A, and book signing for my newest release, The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder at the wonder-full Gorton Community Center where I grew up doing theater and knew I wanted to be an artist of some sort. Tickets are still available. Scan the QR code below to reserve your seat.

• The other is a unique day of wonder-infused writing at the unique and inspiring ALTAR: Chicago’s Inspirational Space for Women’s Empowerment & Connection. We’ll enjoy a seasonally inspired luncheon, followed by a wonder-infused discussion. Come for the morning workshop, stay for the lunch and the afternoon gathering, or just come for the latter. I say: make a day of it! We need our wonder in this worried world… Scan the QR codes below for more information and to sign up.

I hope to see you there!

Event one:

Event Two:

I also have room on both of my June Haven Writing Retreats in Whitefish, Montana!

It’s a beautiful time to be in Montana with the birds back and the gateway to Glacier National Park ready to open its doors to your wonder. Perfect writing weather! I also have room on my fall retreats.

For more information and to set up an introductory call with me, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere... Here’s a piece I wrote about Haven.

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

March 25 – 29, 2026 – Full with waitlist
June 3 – 7, 2026 – Now Booking
June 24 – 28, 2026 – Now Booking
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

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The original quote was taken from Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols, and read: “Out of life’s school of war, what does not destroy me, makes me stronger.” I admit to not having read Twilight of the Idols, so I’ll address this quote in its common modern-day usage. People throw around this phrase as one of empowerment. But to me, it’s not empowering at all. It’s a hopeless helpless statement. As if we have to go to the edge in order to grow. Sure, sometimes, that’s how it works, this beautiful and heartbreaking thing called life. The edge is a very real and sometimes dark place. And coming back from it, whether physically or emotionally, can be vastly powerful. But right now, I’d like to depart from physical pain, and focus on emotional pain. On the emotional “school of war.” It doesn’t have to be a war. We can find freedom in emotional pain. Because emotions are our choice.

It’s all about awareness and re-training your mind.

Let’s start here: let’s try to stop mincing the physical with the emotional. I think it confuses us and sends negative, disempowering messages to our entire being when we do. Your back isn’t “killing” you. It might be in pain. But it’s not “killing” you unless you have a very real disease, and that’s a different subject altogether. Your husband didn’t “make” (physical) you mad (emotional). Your sister didn’t “make” you cry. Your mother-in-law didn’t “make” you feel guilty. Again, cruel actions are real, and emotional pain is real too, but it’s how we engage someone’s actions—how we relate with them, that determines our emotional state. The responsibility is ours. No one else’s.

I invite you to re-read the above quote and ask yourself, again in the realm of emotions: Can a heart really “break?” Does pain really “kill?” Can anybody really “make” a person feel something emotionally?

In the moment someone throws us a verbal barb, we have a choice. Sometimes that barb is so unbelievably cruel that we feel it has lodged in our emotional world without our permission.

But that’s actually not possible. We have, sometimes at the speed of light, chosen to give it the power to hurt us. And that’s the moment at which I’d like to see us pause. Become aware of what’s going on. Aware of our choices. What’s at stake. What’s worth our anger, our tears, our hatred, our guilt. We think there’s a bridge there that we have to cross. There isn’t and we don’t. We choose our emotions, good, bad, ugly. And so often we choose to be emotional victims. But I don’t believe there really is such a thing as an emotional victim.

A victim is someone who suffers incontrollable consequence because of someone or something else. But emotionally, that’s not possible. Contrary to how society spins it, in reality, there is no such thing as an emotional victim. Imagine that you’ve prepared a lovely meal that took you hours and into which you put all your culinary expertise. And your guest, without even tasting the food, says, Pass the salt. Now that Pass the salt could be taken as an insult. You aren’t a sufficient cook. You’ve been slighted, underestimated, judged. And you feel shame. Or anger. Or hurt. And there you are: at the bridge. You do not have to cross it. You can simply pass the salt.

I’m not saying to suppress your emotions or hold your tongue. Of course there are times to let those words come careening at you over the bridge…but still, you are in control. You can still take your pause no matter how fast they are coming at you, and decide to invite them in—to choose to attach meaning to them and thereby react emotionally, whether internally or externally. But remember, your emotions are your choice. You have options. No one can choose them for you.

AND, emotional hurt doesn’t need to look like a tantrum. You can sometimes just say, “Ouch.” And what happens, in that case? In my experience, the words go running back over the bridge, or jump in the river and float away. Let them run around somewhere else other than in your being. They can just be words even if they are cruel ones. You do not have to take them personally. Even when they’re meant personally.

I fought this awareness for a long time. I wanted to believe that someone could emotionally hurt me.

I was used to walking around with my finger out, placing blame, rather than make the daunting decision to take responsibility for my emotions. Emotional suffering had become my normal. I chose to play victim all too often. And I was sick of it.

I realized, quite suddenly in a therapist’s office, that I was choosing to emotionally suffer at the flung words and actions of people. I was choosing to let things outside my control determine my emotional state. I was choosing to suffer. So I started changing the way I related with emotionally painful moments. When I met with hard moments, rather than play victim, I’d ask myself powerful questions. Did I want those tears? Did I want that anger? Sometimes the answer was, yes. But if so, I wanted to powerfully choose that yes. I wanted to be in charge of how I translated painful emotional experiences. And statements like “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” didn’t help one bit. I think a far better statement came from Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I was in charge of my emotions. Period.

For about six years, starting in 2010, I went around the country talking about this at conventions, universities, author series, YMCAs, etc. because I wrote a memoir called This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness. It was published in nine countries, so I did interviews all over the world, and I came to see that there are many many people out there who don’t want to receive this message. It means they’d have to get out of blame, out of victor/victim thinking…and into personal responsibility. They’d have to tell themselves a new story about where their power really lies. They resist, complain, deny. And guess what? They get to be right. See, the world stinks. See, I’ll never get that job, or that relationship, or that break. That is bondage.

Now, in 2026, I’ve been going around the country with a new book that builds on my memoir’s themes. It’s called The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder.

While my memoir’s entry point was a marital crisis, this book’s entry point has to do with what I feel is a global crisis in the realm of self-expression. True self-expression. In other words, people are in a story that they don’t have anything authentic to say, not that matters anyway, and they gag order themselves and walk around saying that they’re fine when their hearts are bashed and bloodied. Do you owe everyone your truth? No. But you do need to find someone safe that you can share your truth with. To honestly share your answer to “How are you?”

At the end of the chapter The Tiger in the Room, I offer this seemingly simple prompt. After a six-week tour, and recently another four-week tour for this book, I’ve heard from a lot of readers and this is the chapter that seems to most resonate across the country. Because in this chapter, I’m modeling the need to make a serious effort to share your story with a friend. To take the time, and I mean not just lunch. Or a text. Or even a phone call. But to carve out at least two hours to share your answer to “How are you?” A whole afternoon is better. Maybe a weekend. And then to do the same for your friend. This isn’t a silly frilly idea for people with too much time on their hands. This is life force.

And it’s fueled by the need to return to our wonder. Without wonder, we don’t have empathy. And without empathy…we don’t have a civilization.

We need to find safe places to speak our truth. And when we do, the barbs that come from others get diluted because we are taking charge of who we are and how we express ourselves. Not letting ourselves be defined by supposed to be or should or anything outside of our own control. Emotional freedom is possible. And it’s really not that hard…

Here’s the prompt:

Find a friend with whom you feel safe in the realm of self-expression. Pick a topic that you need to parse but that scares you. Maybe start with the question of “How are you?” Ask your trusted friend if they would be willing to sit with you for a stretch of time and look at it from many angles, not necessarily looking for answers. If you find answers, that’s a bonus. This is an opportunity to roll around in wonder with someone you trust. See what you find.

And then, after you’ve shared with your heart language with your friend…privately, write your answer, for your eyes only. You might add things privately that you wouldn’t share publicly, even with a dear friend. Be your own safe friend. Care about yourself. Be honest with yourself. And be kind. Because I want you to step out of the bondage of gag-ordering yourself and telling half-truths or just flat out lies. I want you to step into your wonder and the truth of who you are in this moment of your life.

I’m not interested in bondage. I’m interested in freedom. Are you?

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For more information about my Haven Writing Retreats in Montana, and to set up an introductory call with me, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

March 25 – 29, 2026 – Full
June 3 – 7, 2026 – Now Booking
June 24 – 28, 2026 – Now Booking
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

Announcement: There is rare room still available on my June 3 – 7 and June 24 – 28 Haven Writing Retreats in Montana! Email me asap to set up a call. We’ll share about your writing dreams and explore whether Haven is right for you! Laura@lauramunson.com

Do you want to write?

Did you used to write but stopped? Are you actively writing but feel like you want much more time to show up for it? Do you feel “stuck?” If so, this is for you. If you follow me along, sometimes I write about writing, as a writer, a writing retreat leader, teacher, and editor. If you follow me along, you also likely know that I don’t like bullet-points. My recently released “self-help” book, The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder, hardly touches the traditional self-help genre protocol. No Tips and Tricks and 10 Easy Steps. I don’t believe that those exist, not honestly, in supporting writers, or frankly in life. That said, sometimes we need to distill truth, and this is my attempt. I hope it helps.

Claim Your Writing:

I want you to check in with yourself about why you write in the first place and set your intention in a way that will work for you based on exactly who you are, your responsibilities, your habits, your personality, your time, etc. Not anyone else. Should you write very day? Only if that works for you. I believe that the writing works in us all the time, and sometimes that can be a very internal experience. Of course it eventually comes down to moving the pen, but take heart. I want you to set yourself up for the feeling of completion and whatever success means to you. So ask yourself: Where am I with my writing practice today? Am I inspired? Am I kind to myself about my writing dreams/goals? Is writing part of what I consider self-care? Am I showing up for it?

The number one thing I hear at my Haven Writing Retreats in Montana (and there is one rare spot on the Sept. 25-29 retreat, as well as both Junes…) is this:

“I’m stuck.”

I want to change that for you. It’s a story and it doesn’t serve you. Can you look at it instead like it’s just low tide? That the tide will come back in, but even if the low tide is smelly and muddy and mucky, there is still treasure there. A bubble in the mud that leads to a clam. An old shoe you lost. The mooring that needs to be checked to secure the boat once the tide comes back in. And it will. Believe that. Find the treasure in this place of “stuck” and things will shift. I know because I have lived in this ebb and flow for over three decades.

No matter what genre or form you write, ultimately I want writing to feel like a free zone for you. A safe place for self-expression. A place to play and be curious. Like a child getting butterflies in her stomach. Not a form of self-harm! Or punishment. With an Inner Critter going amok. I want you to find joy in your process. Hunger for it. Delight in it.

I once had a Haven Writing Retreat alum say, when asked how she could possibly want to write an historical fiction trilogy, “Oh I hope it takes me a long long time. I don’t want it to end. I want to delight in the process.” Wise words from a wise writer, who has, in fact, written and published that trilogy, and is actively writing her next one!

To avoid this “I’m stuck” myth, I believe that a good place to start is with a Writer’s Statement. Those can change as our writing grows and as we grow along with it. I wrote and wrote for years out of what I called “obsession.” When I finally started to submit my work for publication, I was met with the standard rejections. I’m not gonna lie: they hurt. They still do. But when I got intentional, and more specific about why I write in the first place, that’s when everything changed for me and I wrote a book that was published in eight countries, landed on the New York Times best-seller list, and began my career as an author in three different genres (so far). It was after a major rejection for a book I’d worked on for a decade. It brought me to my knees, literally and I asked myself: Why do I write in the first place? No one asked me to do this. There are zero promises that my work will see the light of day. (This was before Substack!) Putting my soul out there with all of my might, only to get shattered by rejection…why on earth would I do this to myself? People say, “rejection is God’s protection” but from what? Seemed like I needed to get clear about what I wanted vs. allowing the publishing world to define my happiness. So I got out a little Post-it note and wrote this:

“I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.”

It shocked me. Relief? From what? Well…this beautiful and heart-breaking thing called life, I guess. And for myself? I knew that part. But for others? That was new. I realized that there was a service piece to my writing, and when I became aware of it and claimed it, that’s when everything changed for me in the realm of getting published. I have to believe that setting my intention via a Writer’s Statement was the catalyst.

Let’s take this moment to pause and really examine our relationship with our writing.

The Why Behind Your Writing:

What are the top things that inspire us to write that usually work:

• Wonder/ Curiosity

• The longing to use words to find our playfulness

• A quirk of humanity that intrigues us

• A great idea

• A powerful question that we care more about parsing than answering

• A theme that holds a powerful charge whether positive or negative

• Wisdom we want to impart (but not because that makes us wise)

• Help we want to give

• A highly charged theme in our life that we want to parse

• A nagging problem that we want to solve

• Re-writing history (fiction)

• Exposing something that we feel is hidden and needs to emerge

• A true love of the written word

• A true love of the craft, even and especially when it’s difficult to show up for it

• A true love of the craft, even and especially when it’s difficult material to write about

• An understanding that the act of writing can be a highly therapeutic tool. Like therapy though, it doesn’t always make you feel better at first.

• An understanding that the Inner Critic (Inner Critter) is just a scared child who is really mean when she’s really scared. Put her down for a much-needed NAP!

What usually doesn’t work: (what stops the flow)

• Wanting to expose someone to hurt or punish them (ultimately feels bad in our deepest gut truth)

• A personal vendetta (ditto)

• To prove we are right (ego takes over and stops us)

• To prove someone or something is wrong (This can work but the intention needs to be one of ultimate surrender. In other words, you can control the reader’s reaction… We do our job to make a case for something or someone we cannot support and feel we must expose, but with the intention that it’s for the greater good. And the greater good might not receive your call to action.)

• Perpetuating a lie that we’ve memorized to uphold a personal myth that we think serves us

• Doing it to:

• Get rich

• Be famous

• Get on Oprah!

• Writing to prove our self-worth

• To undo childhood wounding by trying to be successful (success and failure are myths)

• To crank it out quickly

• To try to write like someone else

• To write because we think we should or are supposed to

• To feel like you need to tie it all up in a pink bow or have all the answers or to be wise

• To lose your wonder in your word wandering…

• To let your Inner Critic (Inner Critter) self-terrorize you.

A Writer’s Lifelines:

• Community (Yay! You’re reading this piece on this platform! You shouldn’t do it alone. Writing is a solitary act, but you need support.)

• Write a Writer’s Statement, a Statement of Commitment, a Project Statement (explained below)

• Keep a Companion Journal to process your experience, especially if you are working on a triggering project. When it gets “too hot” in the writerly “kitchen,” go directly to your journal, dedicated specifically to your writing practice or your project, and riff. For your eyes only. Maybe it will lead you back to that “kitchen” in a new, relieved, self-connected way, or maybe it won’t. I care more about your well-being than I ultimately do about your writing. But they can be one and the same, especially if you give yourself this healthy lifeline.

• Spend time with other writers (I try to have a call with a different author each week to check in, compare notes about craft, the industry, and see how we can support each other. Writers support writers and even though we can love working with editors and agents, writers are who ultimately stick together and have each others’ backs. We’re not in the business of it together. We’re in the love of it.)

• Take the time to stop and think. To live in a way that has you find your words. To wonder. To be playful.

• Share your wonderings with people who will likely get it. Who will naturally use the law of improv (Yes And vs. No But) and build on what you’ve written. Here’s an example from just this morning. A text I sent to an author friend. And his reply.

Play on the Page:

Writer #1 (me): I was in my morning pre-waking trance thinking about the itsy bitsy spider and its trajectory. Up the waterspout. Washed out by the rain. Dried up by the sun. And back up the spout he goes. What’s with that spout? Why is he so keen on climbing up it? Why not be like: F*** that s***. That was traumatizing. I think I’ll go over there to that blade of grass and hang out in the sun. Right? Are we programmed as children to be gluttons for punishment from that song that we’re asked to sing and mimic with our fingers, over and over again? I always thought it was so stressful. I’d rather have a drop of kindness and comfort in easy places, rather than a tsunami of ambition. I mean…what is the finish line really? The top of the waterspout? What’s there for the spider? Can he write his name in a log like he’s climbed Mt. Everest? So he can tell all his spider friends? Is there some sort of spider waterspout club that he wants to be a member of and this is the rite of passage he has to achieve in order to gain admission? Thoughts?

Writer #2 (him): That stupid spider. He could have it so good hanging out on his blade of grass. Maybe getting some sun. Maybe he could put on his tiny mask and tiny snorkel and go diving in a raindrop.

• See how fun and playful, and yet profound and pure?! I didn’t have any need to develop this musing of mine into a clever social media post or a personal essay or short story. Though I might, going forward, because that’s what writers often do. But this was just for the sheer delight of words and thoughts and curiosity. Sure I’m pointing my finger at society and how it programs children, but ultimately I’m offering a good question. And a good question is often more important than the answer. And what he offers in response is a possibility for how to live our lives, despite our ambition or drive. But if we had both written essays on: How Ambition Gets in Our Way, it likely would have been quite different in tone. So play first. Play outside of the longing to be published. Play with people who will play with you. Trust that they are out there but sometimes you have to ask them to play first. If they don’t show up, find a different “playmate.”

Tune in:

Start with your Companion Journal. You can have one that’s dedicated to your practice, and another one that’s dedicated to your writing project. Or they can be one and the same. If you don’t have a project yet, then start with a Companion Journal dedicated to your practice. Either way, you won’t have a project if you don’t have a practice. Again, one that works for you.

Answer these questions:

What do I want for my writing life (including any projects you might have in mind or in process)?

What’s in the way of getting what I want for my writing life?

Am I in the way of getting what I want for my writing life?

If so, how?

What do I fear about my writing life?

What is the greatest conflict in my writing life?

What would it take for me to get resolve for that conflict?

Writing Exercise to Dream it Alive:

Now write a scene in which you have found that resolve. Flesh it all out. Make your wildest writing dreams come true. Give sensory details, thoughts, dialogue, action, description, etc.

• Are you ascending a staircase in your cozy robe with a mug of coffee just the way you like it…and a whole week of writing ahead of you with zero other responsibilities?

• Are you at your first book signing with scads of adoring fans?

• Are you walking down the street and your phone rings and it’s your agent telling you that your book is on the NYT bestseller list?

• Are you sitting at your desk reading through a personal essay you’ve been working on for months and you finally feel a sense of completion? You nailed it! You have a true sense of love for your writing and your work!

Writer’s Statement:

NOW write a one-line writer’s statement that you can fasten to your heart and mind.

Begin with “I write to __________.”

(Again, mine is: “I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.”

Statement of Commitment:

Hopefully by now you’ve established why you want to write, tuned into what works and what doesn’t, dreamed a scene that hasn’t happened yet wherein your writing life is beautifully a-flow, and written a Writer’s Statement to claim your writing. Now I’d like you to tune into the next three months of your life.

If you could make writing a priority that you hunger for and show up for, what would that ultimately look like? Every other weekend? Once a week on Sunday afternoons for four hours? Monday, Wednesday, Friday morning from 8:00-10:00? Tuesday and Thursdays, burning the midnight oil? Every morning? A whole weekend every month? You get to decide, based on what your life is like, not anyone else’s. Choose timing that is do-able. If you write more than that, consider it a cherry on the top.

Have it be something that you can truly commit to without setting yourself up for failure, guilt, shame, and the story of “I’m stuck.” Find ease in your writing time. Not that it’s easy. But find flow. I call it “a meditative waking trance.” Some call it “flow state.” Keep it simple in approach. Keep it all about “yes.” Set yourself up for completion, not “success.” You are your own measuring stick. Please be kind to yourself. Don’t think about being a “good writer.” As I’ve written in my forthcoming book on writing, “You don’t have to write ‘good.’ You just have to write true.” And that goes for any genre. What is possible for you in the realm of “yes” for the next three months of your life?

Claim Your Writing Time:

Are you a rule follower? ie: “I commit to writing every Saturday and Sunday from 9:00-noon.”

Or are you more of a rule breaker? ie: “I commit to writing six hours a week depending on my schedule and when the muse calls.”

Write your Statement of Commitment and put it next to your Writer’s Statement, someplace that you can easily see. Remember that both of these can, and likely will, change depending on your life and your writing life. That’s expected. Just choose what’s possible, realistically, for the next three months. And let it excite you not daunt you. Set yourself up for completion.

Project Statement:

If you have a specific project that you’d like to work on and complete, you can write a Project Statement too.

Rule follower: “I commit to writing and completing a solid first draft of this memoir by the end of the year.”

Rule breaker: “I commit to writing and completing this novel for as long as it takes.”

Setting your intentions really works, as long as you are honest with yourself. And sometimes, that’s the hardest part of all. This isn’t about what you think you “should” commit to. This is about what truly works for you. Exactly you. Knowing that it will grow and change as you grow and change along your writing path.

Whatever you do along that path…allow for longing and delight. And please: To thine own self be true.

And I hope, that if you want to write, you will reach out to me and consider working with me at a Haven Writing Retreat in 2026. That’s how I can support you in the very best way I can imagine. Remember: I walk the walk and I care.

Yours,

Laura

If you’d like to come to a Haven Writing Retreat this March in gorgeous NW Montana, there is still one spot left! It’s a beautiful time to be in Montana. Perfect writing weather! I also have room on my June retreats and am now booking my fall retreats.

For more information and to set up an introductory call with me, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

June 3 – 7, 2026 – One spot left
June 24 – 28, 2026 – One spot left
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

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I plan for it all year. I go somewhere I’ve never been before. One year it was Morocco. One year, Uruguay. I go somewhere which will help me look in the mirror and see who I am as the woman I am today. I try to be as silent as possible. I stay away from social media, my phone, my computer. I bring my binoculars. I stop for birds. I do a lot of walking. I smell things and touch things and taste things. I listen for new sounds—ancient ones that the ocean or the forest give freely if you truly listen. I go slowly. I go care-fully. I go wonder-fully. I look my fear in the face and tell it that it isn’t serving me. My wonder is. I allow wonder to be my guide.

This year, things are different. This year has been about birth: a book that I worked on for years. And my first grandchild. It seems perfect, then, that the book is about wonder. I dedicated most of a decade to writing about how to bring wonder into our lives, especially in this worried world, and lo, my daughter and her husband announced last spring that a baby was on the way. So the last nine months have been a chance to practice what I’ve been putting together in heart-words, story, and teachings on the page…with this new experience of watching my daughter carry a child, and become a mother. A chance to hold this little grandson, more soul than flesh, and learn from his wonder. How he knows it in his essence, opening his eyes to it in this new life of his with so much love around him. He is wonder incarnate.

So this year’s personal retreat called for something else.

When a baby is brand new, he doesn’t really need his grandmother yet. My job has been to support his parents and I couldn’t be more blessed that they live close-by. I didn’t want to leave at all. “Mom, go. We’ve got this. You’ll be helping out a lot soon enough! Go do your retreat. You need it.” Gracious woman, is she. She also knows that it’s the year of book baby. She’s seen what it takes a few times already with my published memoir and novel. She knew I was torn between “babies.” But she was right. I needed to honor my own labor and delivery of The Wild Why.

When you publish a book, you have about a year of serious book promotion, most of it live, requiring travel, especially if you live in a remote part of the world like I do in Montana. You spend months preparing for it, finding the language to use to describe your book: for media promotion, in podcasts and radio interviews, in speeches, at workshops if you’re a teacher as I am, retreats, author events, bookstore talks, etc. It’s a lot of talking about your book, and so many of my author friends say, out of the sides of their mouths “Why do I have to talk about my book? I wrote it. Can’t people just read the book???” When my first book came out, I felt that way, especially since it was so deeply personal and what I wanted to expose was in the book. I didn’t want to be asked probing questions wanting more information.

I learned very quickly that you have to have strict rules when you are a memoir writer in book promotion, and that you don’t owe people information outside of your comfort zone. A memoir is a crafted, contained, entity. The memoirist’s job on book tour, is to learn how to find the essence of the book, and to communicate that essence. Finding these words is very different from the writing of the book itself. It’s a different skill. It calls for emotional connection, giving just the right words to it in hopes of inspiring people to buy the book. Fall in love with it. Hold it to their hearts. Keep it on their nightstand like a friend. That’s very different than building a narrative.

Book promotion language requires building bridges, trying to get people to connect with each other in a room out there in the world, not getting people to connect with your world that you depict in your writing room. It’s a potent exercise, and one which most authors dread.

I’m not one of them. I’m by nature an extrovert. I live so often in solitude in the woods of Montana. I love going out into the world with a book baby and being its advocate, just as I would and will for my grandson, and as I did for my own children when they were babies. This is the year for baby-advocacy vs. self-advocacy. But when we advocate for a new “life” aren’t we still somehow advocating for ourselves? It didn’t really matter. The answer was yes to it all.

So here I am, on the road again, on book tour for what is usually my personal retreat time.

Believing in the wonder of new life in humans and in books. And loving every minute of it. It’s a gift to watch something that grew in you give itself to the world. And it’s an honor to be its messenger. Especially when you love your book, and I do.

Talking about wonder is so different from experiencing it and my book calls for the experience of it. Which means that the book is about slowing down in this hustle culture that calls us to do do do, and instead be be be. Even though promoting a book means trains, planes, and automobiles, hotel rooms, not knowing where you are upon waking, living out of your suitcase, departing from your usual diet/water that your body understands—its own kind of go go go hustle—there is still a rhythm to it. The possibility for quiet cadence. There’s a way to slow it down and create in-between time…and to be in the wonder of it. But you must have rules. Just like when you go on a personal retreat. Just like in life.

Here are some of mine.

Perhaps you can apply some of them to your own sort of break from your daily life this winter, even if it’s just for a few days…or better yet, to your daily life. I know that when I go back home, I’ll have a harder time slowing down than when I’m on the road. So I try to practice it when I’m promoting a book, and learn from it. It took me a few book tours to learn these rules. Maybe my rules for book tour are rules for living. I’d like to think so. I hope they help you.

When you are in-between things:

· Allow room for rest. A little lollygagging. Don’t do too much in the between moments. Stay away from packing in as much as possible. If there’s a museum you’re dying to visit, or a restaurant you want to try, choose one, not both. Go slowly. Be care-full. Sit on benches. Watch. Let the world give itself to you.

· To that end: in your down time, do the things you love that give you grounding. I woke this morning with a whole day to myself. I slept in. I didn’t look at my email inbox or texts or social media first thing. I wanted to write something. So here I am writing something. It’s my way of processing. The beach will be there in a few hours. I’ll walk on it then. The world is white and cold and dark in Montana. Still…the beach can wait. I can open a window and feel the ocean breezes and call that enough for now.

· Stay away from FOMO. I promise you: even the people who you think “have arrived” have FOMO. There’s never an ultimate landing place where everything is perfect and everyone you want to see is there and you’ve been invited, and it all goes exactly as planned. And you’re wearing the perfect outfit. It’s a myth. So let go of it. Be the “it” party, all on your own, exactly where you are.

· You can’t do it all. Look at it like you are the destination, even if you’re in your hotel room at 1:00 on a sunny day in Florida, one block from the beach, writing, as I am now. That will come. That will come. Even if it clouds over and starts to rain. There is wonder in it all.

· Take comfort seriously. I travel with a small pillow because hotel pillows usually are horrible and I need to take care of my neck if I’m going to function at my events.

· Take walks. Even if it’s just a few blocks. Your body needs to move the cortisol out of it. At least that’s what my doctor friend told me. I just like taking walks. Something always happens on them.

· Bring comfortable shoes. No one’s going to judge you for it. Even the Italians wear comfortable shoes these days. Be kind to your body. You need its support.

· Try not to look at screens before you go to bed. Instead, close your eyes and think of all that you were grateful for during the day you have just lived. Especially the small things. I saw an orange and blue iguana yesterday on the side of a palm tree. I stopped and watched it for a long time. Iguanas are meditative, turns out.

· Bring a journal. Write in it to process your day. For your eyes only.

· Stay away from the news. It’ll be there for you when you get back home. You need to stay centered. You can’t bear the whole world’s burden. If there’s something that you feel you need to do to make the world a better place, put out positivity. But don’t let it consume you while you’re on a business trip. Do your good work and believe that it has a ripple effect. You can fight your fights when you get back home. Maybe this is my way of doing just that, lying here in bed writing this in my hotel room with the window open.

When it’s “go” time:

· Be easy on yourself. Being hard on yourself isn’t going to get you to your event/appointment in any better shape than if you practice self-kindness instead. You will be nobody’s fool by being kind to yourself.

· Stop striving so hard. Even when you need to get somewhere, you can get there just fine without beating it out of yourself.

· Keep your mind steady. When it starts yelling at you and running you with cruelty and bullying, know that it’s just your fear talking. Calm that voice down. Tell her you’ve got this. She can take a nap. You’re in charge and you’re doing just fine.

· Arrive a half an hour early for your engagements. Give yourself time.

· Take care of the basics. Bring your own water. Always make sure to have a healthy protein bar in your purse. Stuff your mother likely told you. But so easy to forget.

· If a friend or family member invites you to stay in their home, only say yes if you truly trust them to understand that you need to rest. That you might have to work from your room in the morning or mid-day doing a live podcast or prepping for an event. You’re not there to go out or stay up late hanging out. (Though I’ve broken that rule for sure on this trip. I mean, when you’ve known a dear friend since high school, it’s hard to say, “nite nite.”)

· Try to stay away from sugar or things that break down into sugar. It’s not your friend, especially when you are in new places with different food. In other words, be kind to your gut.

· Bring ear plugs or a white noise machine. Hotels are loud.

· Know where you’re going. If you’re driving yourself around a new place, study the route beforehand. Don’t just plug in your GPS and follow Siri like you’re on a conveyor belt.

· Make a soothing play list. Listen to it for calm before or after an event. Keep your headphones charged! I don’t know what I did before we had good headphones. (Sorry, Walkman). Noises bother me. Especially on transportation when people can be talking loudly. If I put on my headphones, even if it’s noise cancelling, my level of agitation goes away and I can focus on work, or rest.

· And this one is probably bad advice, but if you’re taking a plane…don’t look at the weather forecast. Every single time I do, and it shows weather, I get nervous about delayed or cancelled flights, and it hardly ever ends up coming true. All that worry for naught. That said: if you know there’s a huge storm where you are travelling, you might consider waiting it out.

I’ll stop now. That’s a lot to chew on. I feel calmer just writing this list, mid-way through a three-week book tour.

Try writing your own rules for how to stay grounded when life requires you to be “on.” It’s good to check in on your rules for life, and I believe that the ones I’ve shared with you here can be applied to just about anyone in their own way, whatever life demands of you. I hope that you got something out of them. I hope that you will consider your own retreat, if even for just a few days. And if going solo sounds too outside of your comfort zone, consider joining me in Montana in March with other seekers, trying to spell themselves “differently.”

Yours truly,

Laura

If you’d like to come to a Haven Writing Retreat this March, there is still room! It’s a beautiful time to be in Montana. Perfect writing weather!

For more information and to set up an introductory call with me, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

March 25 – 29, 2026 – a few spots left
June 3 – 7, 2026 – Now Booking
June 24 – 28, 2026 – Now Booking
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

Come see me in Naples! Still tickets left!

Is it time to finally write that book?

Those essays? Start a Substack? Blog? Write that story that’s been burning in you for years? As you watched the ball drop on New Year’s Eve, did you realize that no one is going to ask us to do it? With fireworks over your head, did you think: I’m going to have to show up for this dream. No one can do it for me. And that’s scary. Really scary. Did you go to bed early precisely because you didn’t want to dream at all?

Because: (and this goes for all unlived dreams)

What if we get rejected? What if we’re not any “good?” What if we’ll be hurt somehow by our readers? What if we never get readers at all? What if we flat-out flunk?

That’s fear talking. Commonly known as the Inner Critic. And when she’s really scared, she’s really mean. I call her the Inner Critter, because why not be playful with her. She’s just exhausted and needs to take a nap so that we can ignite the sparks inside us that have us longing to write. Like children with butterflies in their stomach. I know that writers so often stop because the fear bullies those butterflies. Who do you think you are, anyway? You can’t write. And the pen gets abandoned for anything else that won’t break our hearts. Like laundry. Like dishes. Like cleaning out our refrigerators.

As a writer, a writing retreat leader, editor, writing teacher, writing community leader, writing workshop leader…it’s my job to help people hunger for their writing. To let the fear wash over them. To move that pen with longing and loyalty, whether you’re just beginning or whether you’ve started and stopped many times. I don’t like the word “success” around writing. I like the word “completion.” Whether or not the writing ever finds readership, I want the act of writing to be deeply fulfilling for the author so that they want to show up, so that they can put their Inner Critter down for that much-needed nap, roll up their sleeves, and play! Even if it’s really dark, painful material…you can always find some level of playfulness. I mean, what would happen if you entered into your self-expression on the page like a little child with a shovel in a sandbox? Would you be some sort of fool? I think not. I think that this is the exact time for you to finally say yes to your writing! Why not?

If you don’t take that stand for yourself, who will?

I wrote about rejection back in 2010 for Woman’s Day magazine. A lot has changed for writers since 2010. We no longer send self-addressed-stamped-envelopes. We have a lot more control these days than we used to when we were beholden to print magazines, newspapers, literary journals…and that was about it. We’d wait for weeks, sometimes months, only to get met with rejection if we were met with anything at all. Sometimes it was just…crickets. A spit in the wind. I lived like that for decades and in many ways I still do. Rejection is par for the course for the writer, which again, is why loving the act of writing is the ultimate work.

But there’s good news in 2026:

Now we can publish our work on fabulous and interactive communities like Substack and social media. We can tap into large publishing platforms like Chill Subs or Submittable to help us know where to submit our work in the massive sea of online and print publication options. (I won’t even broach the subject of AI. Suffice it to say: it scares me. Period.)

So for those of you who want to write in 2026, please find below a pep talk of sorts. My hope for you is that you will get support for your writing. I have many ways to support you and there’s still room on my March Haven Writing Retreat in Montana! You do not have to be a writer to come. Just a seeker, with a deep longing to write. Please email me if you’d like to schedule an introductory call to see if Haven is right for you: laura@lauramunson.com

Whatever is your dream, whether it’s writing or something else, there is rejection, sometimes from others, and sometimes from ourselves. I hope that this little essay helps you.

It’s All in How You Look at It

Woman’s Day Magazine

“This does not meet our needs at this time.” It’s the phrase that every writer dreads. It comes in the mail along with our bills and our junkmail, and just to add insult to injury, it’s announced in our own handwriting—in a self-addressed-stamped-envelope, that we’ve blessed, kissed, and waved goodbye to, like a child off to college…weeks, sometimes months ago. We’ve tried to forget about it. But that’s impossible. It’s part of us. When we meet with our writing again and that dread phrase, we try not to let it ruin us, but there’s always that sad sigh. I’d been heaving those sad sighs for 20 years. The final one was so sad that it woke me up and changed my life.

I had everything I’d ever wanted: two great children, a supportive husband, a beautiful home in Montana, and time to write. I was a novelist. It was my passion. I’d spent 20 years hard at it, completing 14 books. But in all my efforts, I couldn’t seem to get one published. I’d get very close. But things would fall apart. Friends and family started glazing over when I’d talk about my latest project. For comedic relief, I started calling myself “the girl who cried novel.” But inside, it was tearing me up. I knew better than to let something outside of my control define my self-worth, but I did it anyway. I just couldn’t shake that inner voice constantly critiquing and keeping score. How was it possible to feel so driven but to fail so miserably? Maybe you’ve been sending off your own messages in bottles for as long I have. Perhaps yours are about career change, achieving more in your job, being happier in your marriage. We are sisters in dreaming. Wanting. Longing.

The final straw for me was just after Christmas a few years ago. I’d recently overhauled a book for a big New York publisher, rewriting 200 pages at their request. But it did not meet their needs at that time. It felt like a death. I knew what death felt like. I’d just spent a month at my father’s death bed. I simply didn’t have any more grieving room in me.

I had a choice. I could let that beast-like grief consume me and the life I’d built, or I could choose to finally commit to letting go of the pain I was in (or should we just say “letting go of suffering”). Which meant that I had to let go of the past and the future—because I finally saw it, crystal clear: that’s where the suffering lies. The past and the future don’t exist, yet I’d let them rule my life—always trying to get to somewhere or away from somewhere. All I really had was the present moment. And therein, was freedom. Freedom to write. To mother. To love. To live.

I decided I’d commit to the act of creating. Moment by moment, sometimes breath by breath. And I had to start being kind to myself—mostly in my mind. I had to cut myself some slack. Look around and see what was really important in life. For me that was who I love and how I love. Starting with number one. So what if I got another rejection letter? I could still sit down and practice what I love: I could still write. Nobody could take that away. I would choose to control what I could control, and surrender the rest. When that voice screamed, “You’re a failure. You’re wrong. You’re bad. You’re a fool,” I simply, and sometimes not-so-politely, exiled it. Maybe you know this voice too. So many of us court, invite and even welcome in this destructive voice until it becomes our normal. Until we don’t even realize how lethal our thinking has become. But once we identify it, and believe that it truly serves us no good purpose, we can make the simple choice to say, “No more.”

And guess what happened? The minute I began to exile that voice, that’s when real change started happening in my life, in my career, in my relationships in general. I have to believe that change was a direct result of letting go.

Eleanor Roosevelt said it so well: “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.” We have to agree with the meanness. I think we really are our worst enemies—I was mine. But we don’t have to be. We can instead tell that voice in no uncertain terms that it, in fact, after all, in the moment, and forever onward does NOT meet our needs at this time.

2026: Addendum

Since I wrote this essay, I have learned that to fight your Inner Critter doesn’t work as well as to love/lull her to sleep, and that’s because I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of her altogether. Whatever works for you. My hope for you is that you will become aware of how you speak to yourself in the sacred space of your own mind, and how to choose self-kindness instead of self-terrorism. And I hope, that if you want to write, that you will reach out to me and consider working with me at a Haven Writing Retreat in 2026.

Yours,

Laura

Now Booking the 2026 Haven Retreats

March 25 – 29, 2026 – Still room
June 3 – 7, 2026 – Now Booking
June 24 – 28, 2026 – Now Booking
September 16 – 20, 2026 – Now Booking
September 23 – 27, 2026 –Now Booking
October 14 – 18, 2026 – Now Booking

I also love word To Be lists. I call myself a word wanderer. For years my screensaver words have been: Playful, curious, awed, kind…

I landed on those words after thinking long and hard about what I value. What I want to be. What is at the essence of who I am and have always been. Those words feel true every time I see them, especially in my writing life. There is an ease to them. A familiarity. A knowing. All too often, however, I see those words crawling across my screen while I have taken a break from my writing to respond to life’s other calls, and I think, Am I being playful right now? Am I being curious right now? Am I being awed right now? Am I being kind right now? And by kind, I mean: self-kind.

Being kind to others comes easily to me. I am a writing retreat leader and teacher, after all. Most of my students/clients are scared. It’s my job to keep their word-wandering safe. Writing is challenging enough all on its own. I help them steer their course as safely and truly and kindly as I can. Self-kind, however? That’s a different story. Outwardly aimed playful, curious, awed come easily too. But self-playful? Self-curious? Self-awed? Again: a different story and a sometimes dusty one.

Ultimately I know how to be all of those things to myself, and have worked hard to re-know them and live them and to understand that as children, we know and accept the self. Then we lose this self-knowing along the way. I’ve spent the last decade word-wandering through a book about this trajectory in fits and starts, and finally found the essence of what I wanted to say. The book came out in April. It’s a book about wonder and how to return to it. To me, it’s one of the most important things I have written because it has the greatest capacity to help. It’s called The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder.

In this year of book promotion, I’ve travelled, and continue to travel, all over the US. I’ve held bookstore events, taught workshops, given speeches, led Q&A’s, and have learned just how hungry people are to speak about this subject. How hungry I am for this subject. But when you use one word over and over, there is the danger of the edges rubbing off. So while I like to land in the word wonder, there are other words that awaken those edges and get me to think and feel. Playful, curious, awed, and kind are a few of them. But what else do I value and want to live by? Obviously love. Compassion. Forgiveness. Truth. But those are honed words, like wonder, for me.

There’s nothing wrong with a honed round strong word. Not at all. Those stone-words are the ones you keep in your pocket and hold in your hand when you need to know that there are things that never fail you.

They are not edged. You earned them. They hold you. The edge-words don’t hold you. They push and pull you. They threaten and teach you. Playful, curious, awed, kind beckon me to the edges that wonder has rounded out. And as I go into the second half of the year of book promotion, travelling for the next month, keeping my message and the sharing of it pure…I know I need to support my honed word with some new words to add to my To Be list. To live in wonder, I would like to be: playful, curious, awed, kind but what else?

Word wandering is like a walk in the woods. You never know what’s in the trees, or around the bend, or in a hole in the forest floor. But you do have to wander those “woods” to find them. I found my word on a sunny fall day on my front porch this October.

I was sitting with my friend, and her daughter, (also my friend) who is thirty-five, has Down Syndrome, is a horsewoman, and a Special Olympics silver and bronze medalist in downhill ski racing. She is the most present person I know and has lived all her life on a Montana horse ranch. The first time I saw her, she was five, lying underneath two wild rescue mustangs that were there for her mother to train. She was listening to her headphones, singing (loudly and with all her might) Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid. I was worried.

I quickly was told by all the other horse people, who knew her well, not to worry. “She knows what she’s up to. It’s good for the horses. She doesn’t live in fear. They accept her exactly as she is. She isn’t asking anything of them. They understand each other.” Her mother is also one of the most fearless people I know. So any chance to spend time with the two of them is always sacred and I had the perfect way to make it just that:

In anticipation of my first grandchild’s birth this December, I created an all-summer activity for loved ones—locals and visitors.

You stop by my house, I feed you, you create art for this little soul who will arrive around Christmas time. Words are encouraged. I kept a bucket of fabric pens on the outdoor dining table, and a long white banner made of triangular cloth flags spread out along the middle. It was like hanging out in the art room in grade school. Just sitting there making things, sometimes in silence, sometimes getting into deep conversations. Not needing to be a good or bad “artist.” Just a good human with a sweet intention for my grandson, daughter, and her husband.

A project like this brings out the best in people: What in the world would I draw on a small white triangle to honor a baby, as he grows and wonders about the world and the people who love him, giving him this string of talismans of sorts? I loved watching people noodle before they put pen to fabric. What to create? I knew this mother/daughter duo would “get” this show of love, so I invited them over. I had made many flags all summer, with my edged and honed words…but there were only a few triangles left and I wanted one more from me. What would it be? I decided it would be my next edged word.

Small digression: This project was such an interesting study in people’s relationship with the sacred through words and images, especially in honor of a new life. Most people took some time thinking about what they wanted to put on their flag. Many said, “Oh, I’m not creative,” but with a little encouragement, their pens moved. In the last fifteen years, quite by surprise but not really, my biggest mission has been to remind people that they’re creative. Every thought they have, every word that comes out of their mouth, every gesture, every decision…all acts of creativity. Little children don’t say, “I’m not creative.” People are told this, sadly, tragically, by someone else. And they believe it. The Wild Why is full of this message.

I believe that it’s because, at least in this culture, so often children are slotted. You’re a brain. You’re a jock. You’re pretty. You’re artsy… So that it’s only the latter that feel they can deem themselves “creative.” Which is such a travesty to me. We are all creative. Period.

Back to the story: I knew this mother/daughter duo would have none of that non-sense. They don’t live in slots. They live in the free zone of horses, feeding 20-40 head of them twice a day in Montana weather, just the two of them. They never complain. They are loved by many. They love many. They mean every word they say. They are intrinsically playful, curious, awed, and kind. Wonder incarnate. As we sat at the table, I told them about my list of words and that I wanted to add to it. “I want words that call me to Being, not Doing. That bring me to my edges and to the essence of myself.” And I told them that I wanted that word to be my last addition to the flag-banner.

I watched as the mother drew the word love four times, in her beautiful cursive, on her white flag triangle, and many tiny hearts and stars in red and pink. Then I watched as her daughter made a tick-tack-toe board in blue and green on her triangle. She stopped, smiled at me, churlishly as she tends to do, then filled the board with X’s and O’s, deliberately painting what my father called “a cat’s game.”

“So nobody loses!” she said, putting out her hands as if imploring the world to end its greed. She seemed like the perfect person to give me my new word.

I asked her, “What is a word to offer to a baby in this world of winning and losing?” I figured whatever word you offer a baby, you should also offer yourself.

And she said, without even thinking about it (which is the best way to find words, because it means that you allow them to find you instead): “Hope. Hope never fails, Laura Munson.”

And so that’s what I wrote on the last white triangle of my grandchild’s flag-banner. Because it’s true. “Hope never fails.”

Think about it. It’s total truth. What you hope for might not happen, but are you worse for the wear for living in it? I don’t think so. It can be exhausting to hold hope. Being a writer who wants her work to be published, requires miles of hope and delivers miles of heartache from miles of rejection. Whether you’re a writer or not, when you get a yes in life, your hope feels requited. But you know there will be more no, and when you get a no, if you’ve learned anything along the way, you understand that it doesn’t remove your ability to hope. You just re-direct your hope. Maybe that’s what life is: a constant re-directing of hope. What can I hope for? What can I create? What can I wonder? What can I love? These words, honed or edged, these values, these wonderings…indeed, prevail. No one and nothing can take them away from you.

Welcome to this world, my dear little grandson. May you wander well, word by word, find hope in it all, and always have a honed stone in your pocket.

In other news…

I’m now booking Haven Writing Retreats LIVE in Montana 2026!

For more information and to set up an introductory call with Laura, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Haven Writing Retreats 2026:

Go here to learn more and to set up an intro call with me.

• March 25–29

• June 3–7

• June 24–28

• September 16–20

• September 23–27

• October 14–18

My new release, The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder makes a loving, inspiring, and supportive New Year’s investment in yourself!

Winter Book Tour events coming soon…

Note: one of my personal essays at the end—one that I’m fond of, but I’ve included the whole lesson in case writing is something you’d like to play with…

“Into this climate of fear and apprehension,
Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the
bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from
rancor,
Come the way of friendship.”

— Maya Angelou, Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem

Not everyone can live in the realm of grace that Maya Angelou did. For most of us…holidays are fraught. Family. Tradition. Loss of either or both. Expectation of either or both. Gift-giving and receiving. All fraught fraught fraught!

Maybe you feel more like this about holidays:

“It never takes longer than a few minutes, when they get together, for everyone to revert to the state of nature, like a party marooned by a shipwreck. That’s what a family is. Also the storm at sea, the ship, and the unknown shore. And the hats and the whiskey stills that you make out of bamboo and coconuts. And the fire that you light to keep away the beasts.”

― Michael Chabon, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union

Holidays serve up a whopping dose of highs and lows, from the transcendent…to the depths of despair. Our emotions can run the gamut and at mach speed. And, as writers, holidays can be excellent opportunities to observe all the elements of what makes writing mighty. We can use holidays as a study in: setting, scene, conflict, narrative tension, characterizations, action, emotion, thoughts, dialogue, body language, sensory details, holy mundane, stakes, set-up, resolution, and if you’re alone on a holiday and not by choice, negative space (that which is not there in all of the above ways).

You’ve probably heard the old writing adage: “Write what you know.” It’s attributed to Mark Twain, Hemingway, and others. What does that mean? To me it comes down to your own definition of what the verb “to know” means. And that’s different for each person. For this lesson’s purposes, don’t over think it, but do “know” this: writers ultimately mine their lives in some way, even if it’s sci fi and their characters sprout wings and fly out the window. Somewhere deep inside them, they either long to sprout those wings, have sprouted them in their own way and soared, or not, or have a regret from wanting to sprout them at all. And of all the things that we “know”…whether we hold it dear or are still experiencing subsequent PTSD…it’s likely a holiday memory.

Characters:

Why are holidays so fraught? I suppose it has to do with what so many of us long for in life, and especially during a holiday: connection. Connection with place, tradition, the trimmings of it all…but mostly connection to the people. A feeling of belonging to those people somehow, even if they are new friends. Connection and belonging go hand-in-hand when it comes to the cast of characters around the holidays. People are what create the memories, sublime or otherwise, whether they are long dead or very much alive.

So if you think: People. And then think: Holidays. What comes to mind? I bet a white-hot scene. Maybe beloved. Maybe fraught. Maybe something that happened when you were a child at your grandmother’s Christmas table. Maybe somebody broke into song from the old country, and everyone sang along with it and there were tears rolling down everyone’s cheeks and you all swore you’d never ever forget that moment. Or maybe somebody started crying who you’d never seen get at all emotional. Maybe somebody inadvertently told a coded secret, and maybe you were the only one paying attention enough to put two and two together— to notice how they played with their wedding ring afterward. Maybe you were so young that you didn’t understand the words, but could read the way people’s eyes reacted and knew it was a secret that maybe Aunt Mabel shouldn’t have revealed. Maybe you had a secret that you decided in that moment you would never reveal. Like maybe you saw something you shouldn’t have on a holiday. And were sworn to secrecy. But held it in your inner vault as future currency. Maybe it’s sixty years later and you’re back at Aunt Mabel’s table, only now it’s in your own dining room, and the cast of characters is for the most part there, and you know…it’s time. They’re old. You can’t keep this secret for one more Thanksgiving. It’s been eating you alive inside for years. You have to spill it to get closure before they all die. But wait…what will your children think?

See how much there is to connect with and on so many levels when we enter into the drama of the holidays? Big things happen on big days. Little days too. But I always think: the more expectations and stakes…the more s*** is gonna go down. And it’s that precise s*** that makes for excellent writing. As my author friend says, “Writers would steal the coppers off their dead mother’s eyes.” Something to that tune, I guess. Although I hate to think I’d be that writer…

Inner Terrain:

So if we’re tuning in specifically to people at holiday time, I’d like you to think of what I call inner terrain. Many of the comments I make when I’m editing my clients’ material have to do with inner terrain. What’s going on inside your character? What are their thoughts and feelings? I’m constantly calling for them to turn up the volume on the inner terrain. That doesn’t mean that they have to be overwrought with emotion in any way. Your character doesn’t have to be coming completely undone and the sky doesn’t need to be falling. But let us into your character’s thoughts and feelings. It can be that she resists her thoughts and feelings. That’s still inner terrain. Let us feel what’s inside her so that we can connect. The showing of inner terrain comes very naturally to me, both as a writer and as a human, but it’s a serious and daunting challenge for so many people. If you are one of them, then this holiday lesson is for you. If the holidays don’t stir up some inner terrain, I don’t know what will. Look no further than your next Thanksgiving dinner. Perhaps even consider yourself a spy for your muse… I’ve done it. It’s a lot of fun.

Curiosity:

So how to writerly isolate the precepts of connection, especially when it comes to people and the holidays? Think of it this way: the goal is not just to connect with your reader, but to connect with yourself. You have to be curious about something or someone in order to observe them, much less write about them. If you can achieve this curiosity and connection with yourself and others as a writer, you will hold the key to being unstuck, never stuck, unblocked, never blocked, literally-liberated.

Of course, it begins with giving yourself permission to want to connect with yourself, your characters, and your reader. To truly wonder about the person to whom you’re trying to connect, whether it’s a relative around the Thanksgiving table, or a reader sitting down with your work. It’s never about just telling a story or making a point. Instead, the writer’s mission should center around truly practicing the art of showing a word-movie in order to activate the reader’s imagination and thusly, create the opportunity for empathy. To me, at the beginning and end of the writing day, that’s what I’m after. How are you like me and how am I like you? Especially if you’re very different from me, or against what I stand for, or for something I vehemently disagree with. I want to know about our collective humanity. I mean, we all want to be loved and to love, don’t we? No matter what kind of monster we are. Oscar. Grover. Cookie. Elmo. Bert. Wait. Bert wasn’t a monster. Was he? Now I want to connect with Bert. He was so stressed out all the time. I worried about him.

What makes characters come alive on the page and how do we connect our readers to them in hopes of creating the empathic experience? Maybe you understand what I mean by inner terrain, but don’t know where to start. You are not alone.

How to write character-propelled prose:

When we start to write about a character, whether real or imagined, the first thing I ask is: what does my character want. And if it’s during a holiday, likely it’s a lot. Or maybe it’s a lot of what they don’t want. Not wanting counts for “wanting.” Often it’s through the conflicts that arise from what we want and don’t want, that a whole story emerges. A story that connects us to ourselves and our readers.

Here’s an example. (Side note on the old writing adage Show Don’t Tell. Showing means Scene. Telling means reporting, analyzing, setting up, scanning time, out of scene. My example is told, not shown in scene, just to be clear. I’ll show an example down in the writing exercise. Telling isn’t a bad thing in a context such as this one, which is more expository by nature. But showing, by using a scene snippet, is always better. Always. Again, your job is to activate the reader’s imagination. That’s what they’re after.)

Telling: On my first Thanksgiving alone after I entered into the land of single-parenting and swapping holidays with my wasband, I was gutted. The anticipation of all of that negative space was almost unconscionable and as counter-intuitive as it got. I lived for holidays as a young mother. I planned on creating such steadfast ones that my children would dream about them all year long, share in them, co-create them, and maybe even reproduce them in their own lives as they moved into adulthood. The preparation for the feast. The feast itself. The parties. The decorations. The warm hearth and warmer hearts. That Thanksgiving, although my divorced friends told me to go to Canada where there wouldn’t be any Thanksgiving at all, I spent all day in my office writing my coveted gravy recipe, which is quite complex, and all the other timelines and tips to pulling off the feast. I did it “for future generations” but I think it’s pretty obvious that I did it for myself. I needed to connect with the tradition even if I couldn’t create it in real life. (Well, I could have, but it would have been a table for one and I didn’t want to go to all that work for just me. I think I ended up making pasta and calling it good.) Writing it all out took all day. I made sure it did. Just like the feast and my gravy. The holiday came and went and I lived. Writing was my savior that year.

And then I stared down the barrel of not having Christmas with my children. Sharing them with another family, far from home. That one was nearly impossible for me. I mean, Christmas? My mind did contortionistic flip-flops. What about the party? Every year we hosted a Christmas party with the same four families, the same two soups, the same multi-generational Celebrity game, thirteen kids, six parents. I kept it going when there were five parents. I kept it going when they all went to college. I’d get texts from the parents: “My kids have insisted that you can’t throw the party without them! Can you wait for their holiday break?” It warmed my heart to no end, especially when I was the sole hearth keeper. Then one year, my kids were with their father out-of-state, and there was no way I was going to host that party without them. I passed the baton. And hibernated in my house feeling horribly and tragically sorry for myself the whole week of Christmas. On the actual holiday, I read Capote’s A Christmas Memory, which we did traditionally around the Thanksgiving table, went to bed early, and cried myself to sleep. There may have been red wine involved.

On both occasions I found that writing, remembering, and reading saved me. Because at least on the page, I could connect with memories, imagination, people, ideas, emotions, even if nothing was going on in my own hearth but a fire and enough tears to put it all out. And I have a really hot woodstove. Double-sided, even. (All of that story was told, except the parental text I shared, and my direct and indirect thoughts that I included. Again, telling isn’t a bad thing. But I can promise you that if I put everything I told you about those two holidays, solo, into scene, you would have been much more engaged. Telling works best when we are being instructional, need to scan through time expeditiously, giving some background info to launch into a committed, stretched, shown, scene, or analyzing a scene that we’ve just shown.)

So whether you are reading this in the heat of summer, or the thick of winter, or at whatever time of the year, holiday-wise, I’d like you to spend some time thinking about how your writing can be stirred and even triggered by climbing into a holiday state of mind. There’s nothing like a holiday to retell us who we are, who we aren’t, where we are in our personal evolution, where we’re mired, where we can find liberation.

Think about beloved books, stories, poems that center around a holiday. What comes to mind? Focus on adult stories versus children’s books.

Here are some that come to my mind:

A Thanksgiving Visitor (Capote)

A Christmas Memory (Capote)

A Christmas Carol (Dickens)

Little Women (Alcott)

An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving (Alcott)

The Gift of the Magi (Henry)

Letters from Father Christmas (Tolkien)

A Child’s Christmas in Wales (Thomas)

A Redbird Christmas (Flagg)

A Treasury of African American Christmas Stories (Collier-Thomas)

Holidays on Ice (Sedaris)

The Ice Storm (Moody)

The Accidental Tourist (Tyler)

The Snow Child (Ivey)

Add to this list for whatever holiday you choose. You might consider reading some of these as a study in how these authors played with connection, characters, inner terrain, and empathy in their holiday-based work.

Now I want you to think about your favorite scenes from your favorite holiday stories. What makes you connect with those scenes and their characters? What makes you love them? Cry for them? I bet it’s when you feel connected with the character’s desires and what’s in the way of those desires. Readers like to feel that connection. It makes them feel not only connected, but insightful, and smart. So as writers we have to do our best to:

• Give them something to root for.

• Give them something to worry about.

• Give them a problem to solve.

• Give them a question to answer.

And that means that we have to be:

• Smart with our set ups

• But still leave blanks to fill in (if you’ve done your due diligence to set it up, then you have to let go of whether or not the reader fills in the blanks correctly.)

And it helps to have some:

• Humor

“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relatives.” — Oscar Wilde

“I always think it’s funny when Indians celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, sure, the Indians and Pilgrims were best friends during the first Thanksgiving, but a few years later, the Pilgrims were shooting Indians. So I’m never quite sure why we eat turkey like everybody else.”
― Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (read his Substack!)

“Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.” ― Erma Bombeck

“Thanksgiving was nothing more than a pilgrim-created obstacle in the way of Christmas; a dead bird in the street that forced a brief detour.”
― Augusten Burroughs, You Better Not Cry: Stories for Christmas

In David Mamet’s comedy Boston Marriage, the character Claire says: “Yes, this shall be our party. And we must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.” We smile at this stab at universal truth in such an ordinary, yet agreeably extraordinary thing as a good pie. And how it can relieve, reboot, refocus a gathering.

Maybe you’re reading this and thinking: I agree. The holidays are so fraught. Where do I even begin writing about them, especially when it comes to the people of my life and my connection with them? And my connection with myself during the holidays? That sounds too fraught altogether.

Here’s another way in:

For a good character conflict, it’s helpful to have different sorts of personalities at play.

Sympathetic character: Buddy and Sook

In his gut-wrenchingly gorgeous story A Christmas Memory, Truman Capote writes of his childhood in the south being raised by his aunts, his favorite of which, is Sook. Each year, on an early winter day, she would wake up and announce: “It’s fruitcake weather!” And then she and her nephew (Capote) Buddy would go about the business of assembling the ingredients for their fruitcake, using the fund they’d saved for all year. This is a story about making fruitcake, but it’s about a lot more than that. It’s about love. Ritual. Innocence. Hope. And the inherently fleeting relationship between a child and his beloved elder. I can’t read this story without sobbing at the end, and usually through most every page. As I said, we read it each year at Thanksgiving in our family. The kids never used to understand my tears. Now…in their mid-twenties…they do.

Unsympathetic character: Ebenezer Scrooge

In A Christmas Carol, we meet a protagonist who is the opposite of a sympathetic character. He resists everything, especially human goodness. Scrooge is a humbug and can’t see anything but greed and the existential penury that comes from it. By the end of A Christmas Carol, he makes this sweeping claim:

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!” — Dickens

We believe that he stands a good chance of living into this claim, based on all of the scenes that Dickens has portrayed to get the reader to this landing point.

The more we climb into the minds, bodies, wants, and fears of any of our characters, the more we breathe our writing alive. Reading children’s books helps tune into these disparities, as they are usually full of obvious villains and heroes.

To jog your memory, here are some younger age-based books about Christmas, Thanksgiving, and other world holidays:

• A Visit from St. Nicholas (Moore)

• Cranberry Thanksgiving (Devlin)

• Keepunumuk: Weeâchumun’s Thanksgiving Story (Greendeer)

• The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (Seuss)

• The Legend of the Poinsettia (DePaola)

• Pick a Pine Tree (Toht)

• The Nineth Night of Hanukkah (Perl)

• Together for Kwanzaa (Ford)

• Diwali (Eliot)

• Ramadan (Eliot)

• Lunar New Year (Eliot)

Something to muse upon before you write:

Now, I’d like you to think of a white-hot holiday memory from your own life. Who was the “villain?” Who was the “hero?” Were they each a bit of both? Who wanted, and didn’t want, what? What did you do because of them? What didn’t you do because of them? Were you the villain or the hero? Ruminate for a moment. Think of the whole scene. All of the pieces of it. Place, characters, dialogue, details, etc. Was the family seeing red at the Thanksgiving table over the fact that you inherited Aunt Mabel’s dining room table? Throwing things at each other? Was it really about Aunt Mabel’s table or was it an old grudge or an old wound? Now think of the true conflict (because quite likely there is a deeper one). Perhaps it’s hidden. Perhaps you didn’t see it then, but in revisiting it, perhaps you see what was at the true root of the drama? Was there an unspoken conflict that was the real lava bubbling up and ruining the “civilization” of your Thanksgiving dinner? Of course there was. What was it? What was spoken? And what wasn’t? Lots to think about. And feel.

Writing Exercise:

Now we’re going to do something with either that holiday memory, or another one you’d like to re-visit, from any time in your life. Recently I was asked to write an essay about the holidays and the caveat was that it had to feature a holiday book. I rarely have writer’s block. I try to not even believe it exists. Surely I had something to write about when it comes to the holidays. And books? I mean, you couldn’t tailor-make a more appropriate writing assignment for me. I’m a holiday junkie, for heaven’s sake. Instead, I stared at the wall and came up with a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

And I didn’t know why. I wrote five versions of that essay, each from scratch, before I realized what was in my way. Holidays had been severely challenged, if not ripped up into tiny, compostable, pieces post-divorce. Holidays had become dangerous. Something to dread and even fight. And definitely something to hide from. I realized that I was writing around the conflict and as a result, around the connection. I couldn’t connect with myself because I didn’t want to connect with myself on this triggering subject…and self-connection is what a personal essay does best. Requires even.

Historically, I can bang out a personal essay in a few hours. It’s one of my writing abilities and it has been all my life. For some reason, I get the mix of presentation, scene, and coming out the other side as an examiner. And I don’t have to think about it. It just flows. Not this one. For days I struggled with this little monster, all Bert. So full of stress and self-doubt. Finally it occurred to me that I was avoiding the conflict and skipping to the wisdom. So I got real. I only had a spate of words in which to do it. But I think I pulled it off. I’m rather fond of this little essay.

I’d like for you to read it, (below) make notes about where you connect with the characters and where you don’t. Look for scene. Look for dialogue. Thoughts. Inner terrain. Stakes. Conflict. Sensory detail. Narrative tension. Narrative movement. Woven backstory. Where I go out of scene to give backstory and/or go into Wise Narrator exposition to examine or skip through time. When I get back to scene. Where I set something up and later refer to it. But mostly read it for connection. It might not be my best work, but it’s got everything that I try to teach and that I try to write in the way of connection, especially with only 750 words of real estate, and such a specific “assignment.” A holiday memory that involves a book…

(Note: it had to be no longer than 750 words for publication. I’m a 1200-2500 word essay writer. I’d rather write a novel than a 750 word essay. This was part of the problem.)

Then, I’d like for you to read the essay again. This time, I want you to go on a hunt for where I wove in the real theme. The real stakes. The stuff that’s not really about holidays or books at all. It might be different for different readers and that’s okay.

Spoiler: For me, it’s in the paragraph that begins: As they spun the proverbial globe to find a new holiday hearth, I considered my perhaps over-attachment to tradition. That paragraph, and that subject, wasn’t in the first drafts. I didn’t want to mention divorce. Which meant that I didn’t want to start with the problem. And the thing that likely drew me to it in the first place. The truth was: my children and I been through our own version of hell. Our holidays had been raked over the hot coals of that hell. And there we were…potentially on the other side, as adults. And as friends? How could I not write about that? And how could I not write about the tradition that followed us through it…all the way to Ireland. And I believe, into our future.

After you read my essay, I’d like you to pick a holiday memory that has to do with a book. And write your own 750 word essay.

• You can go under or over but only by ten words in either direction.

• Include at least one scene or three scene snippets.

• Include at least one other character than yourself.

• Bring in a place.

• And if you don’t have a holiday story with a book, make one up! But I’ll just bet you have one from some time in your life…

Here’s mine:

Making Friends with New Holiday Traditions and Adult Children

by Laura Munson (750 words)

My twenty-something children called a family meeting.

I readied myself. These are always emotionally-loaded, especially in the way of surrender.

“Let’s have an experience for Christmas this year,” said my daughter. “We need new traditions.”

My son added, “We have enough stuff. Let’s go somewhere.”

Don’t talk. Just listen. A good mantra if you want your twenty-somethings to actually hang out with you.

“We’re not married yet. No kids. Let’s take advantage of it!” said my daughter. “Your writing retreat season is over. And you’re still young enough to go to cool places with us.”

“Gee. Thanks?” But they were right on all accounts. Still, I wondered: what about our tree? Our party? Our time-honored feasts? Did tradition mean nothing to them? I knew sentimentalism was not viable. So I upped my cool game. “I’ve wanted to go to Costa Rica since college. If my last protagonist can follow a hummingbird migration from Montana to Costa Rica, so can I!”

My kids’ eyes glazed over: their reaction to most books, mine or otherwise. I flashed then on a book we loved in the way of holiday, comfort, family, love: A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote. We read it every year around the Thanksgiving table like a hymn. Were they asking me to surrender all our traditions? Did everything have to be new? I couldn’t imagine the holidays without reading that book among the sparkling china-crystal-silver legacies of family tradition. My children growing year-by-year into the ones who sat before me now. Wander-lustful.

I’d been a wander-lustful mother, creating joy and inspiration in our own backyard. Sure, we’d travelled, but home was where the hearth was in those years. I pictured their innocent eyes dancing as they listened to the story about a boy and his aunt collecting the ingredients for their holiday fruitcake, replete with bootlegger’s hooch. So simple and profound, the little customs that hold people’s big hearts together. If my children balked, I’d say, “You’ll cherish this one day.” It was non-negotiable.

And sure enough, I’d catch them tearing up over the always-gutting line: “When you’re grown up, will we still be friends?” We knew that the special brand of “friendship” between an elder and a child was so often fleeting, especially that of a mother and child. But I’d made it clear: whatever the future brought, I would be there as mother, friend, or any iteration of both. Non-negotiable.

As they spun the proverbial globe to find a new holiday hearth, I considered my perhaps over-attachment to tradition. And it occurred to me that traditions have greater stakes in the wake of divorce. We’d proven to be a unified front in that wake, we three. Even when it felt like more of a mother-performed CPR effort than a Dickens-inspired dream, we’d forged on with the tree, the cedar garlands, the Christmas party with “kids from one to ninety-two.” Our house remained full of life. Our hearth stayed warm. Everyone still said, “This is the coziest house ever.” In those years, my kids had begged to read A Christmas Memory. It somehow promised us: Everything’s going to be okay.

Had we landed in okay? Was that the cause for this holiday re-set? And was that okay defined by whether or not our “friendship” had morphed into seasoned, adult friendship?

“What about Ireland?” my daughter said. “It’s cozy. Like home. But new.”

“We can leave Santa a Guinness on Christmas Eve,” my son said, winking.

That was last Christmas. We drove all over Ireland. Laughed until we cried. Ate like gluttons. Sipped hot whiskey after days of whipping winds. Sang sea shanties in pubs. Like friends…who know that the real gifts cannot be bought.

Here’s what secured it:

Over High Tea in Dublin, my daughter gasped. “We forgot to read the book!”

I smiled. “Actually…I thought it would be nice to read it here. The old with the new.”

Both their faces lit up. “You brought it?!”

“You’ve taught me: the heart, and hearth, travel. Thank you.”

And that night, tears in our eyes, we read our copy of A Christmas Memory in this new way. And it was clear that our “friendship” had made it to the other side. I would always be their mother, but we were adult friends now, too.

Happy holidays to you all and thanks for reading.

Yours,

Laura

In other news…

I’m now booking Haven Writing Retreats LIVE in Montana 2026!

For more information and to set up an introductory call with Laura, go here.

You do not have to be a writer to come to Haven. Just a word-wanderer, who is serious about finding your voice and learning your craft, no matter where you’d like to see it land. Ultimately, it’s about building the bridge of authentic self-expression to YOU! From there...you can go anywhere...

Haven Writing Retreats 2026:

Go here to learn more and to set up an intro call with me.

• March 25–29

• June 3–7

• June 24–28

• September 16–20

• September 23–27

• October 14–18

My new release, The Wild Why: Stories and Teachings to Uncover Your Wonder makes a loving, inspiring, and supportive holiday gift!