My two weeks at Hambidge were nothing short of all the hopes I’d stacked up in anticipation. Everything balanced in favor of creation, from the quiet contemplation – cold, sunlit hours when even the birds thought it best to mummer outside the window – to sharing a dinner table with talented artists. Re-entry back into this busy swirl of electrons, elections, and elated children has taken some calibration, but now I feel I have the momentum to carry on. Not only was it a great way to get the first 15,000 words of a new novel written, but the auxiliary growth alone would have been enough. Here’s to carving out time for quiet.