Writing retreat number 1

I've joined several writing chapters since I started this author journey. Through one, I met and bonded with eight women. We live in different cities (and one is in another state), but with our local chapter closing, we've met in various locations to stay connected. 

This past weekend, we held a writer's retreat in Orlando in one of my Wyndhams. I got there first, in a major rainstorm, and opened the door to this bougie four-bedroom presidential unit.

Since our original six had dwindled to four due to illness and work, that gave each of us a room. I chose mine and sat down to write while I waited for everyone to arrive. 

I kept hearing this odd crackling noise as I worked and discovered it came from the fireplace. I had noticed the roaring fireplace when I'd arrived, but I hadn't taken the time to investigate it. 

I'm not a fire fan. I blame my brother's pyro ways as a child. He scared the shit out of me. Once, our neighbor caught him lighting wood on fire in the back of this guy's hill, and when the neighbor yelled at him, my brother picked up a shovel and began putting it out.

 

Neighbor: "What the hell are you doing?"

Brother: "I'm playing Smoky the Bear and stamping out forest fires."

The neighbor could barely choke this out to my parents when he called them because he thought it was the funniest thing. Me? Not so much.

I assumed this fireplace was gas, which I don't mind, but it was open to the elements on both sides. I really wanted to touch it, fear be damned, because what the hell?

One by one, the writers arrived with snacks, drinks, and food. Both the freezer and the refrigerator were full. It looked like we'd come for a week instead of three nights. 

Everyone asked about the crackling, but no one could figure out the fireplace or how it worked. And we were busy drinking writing. 

But later that night, after discovering the dishwasher leaked, I had to call down for maintenance. A male told me he'd transfer me, but he asked if everything else was satisfactory before doing so. 

Me: "Everything is great, but if I touch the fire, will I get burned?"

Him: (in a VERY condescending tone) It's water vapor."

Me: "So, that's a no?"

He immediately transferred me, and we laughed all night, periodically asking one another if we'd get burned if we touched the fire.

Us: "It's water vapor."

We did have to look it up, and now, I want a water vapor fireplace. We also figured out how to control it and how to have the fire without the fake crackling.

It was a great weekend. We laughed until our abs hurt, ate until our stomachs begged us to stop, and wrote a ton. We played writing games, brainstormed plots, and got to know one another better. We sent a lot of pictures to those who could not make it. 

The repair guy loved us so much we thought he'd never leave. Or maybe that's because we asked him to tell us what was the craziest maintenance call he ever got. The story involved fire and was shocking, but not as much as the following story that came after learning we were romance writers. 

That story involved breaking down doors and a naked couple having raunchy sex in the jacuzzi tub with the faucet on and the water sloshing over the sides. They had to pay for the damage to the room and the one downstairs. 

Us: "Were they hot? Young?"

Him: "Well, after seeing her, we understood why he didn't seem to mind us in his unit."

It took twenty-four hours for me to adjust to being around others after the retreat. 

But I have found my people.