Hi friends,
I recently spent a week at a sprawling oceanfront campground where I, and my dad before me, spent summer vacations when we were kids.
I traveled there alone, on a self-imposed writing retreat—I’m trying to write a novel about this place—but I could not, for the life of me, find my way into the story.
There were too many memories, too much emotion. Every time I sat down to write my pen stilled on the page, my fingers froze on the keyboard.
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