I’m away at the Oregon coast this weekend for the Magic in the Mess Writing Retreat, one of my favorite times of year because I get to talk writing and messes and serendipitous magic — three of my passions — with my friends. 

Sometimes, people feel like they need to remind me people are not my friends if we haven’t met yet, or they’re not friends if we’ve only met online, but they’re wrong because we’ve shared our hearts and our stories and some of the truest truths we know, sometimes for years and years, and I know no better definition of friendship than that.

We gather at the coast for too few days to shore up those friendships and to pour ourselves out onto paper and screens, and the waves crash relentlessly in the background. Jen, who’s seeing the west coast for the first time, talked about how much more wild the ocean is here. It matches us, I think, unrestrained, powerful and uncivilized, and the weather, too, with lashing rain and driving hail and sun breaks, bringing its mess and magic to play.

We’ve been here 18 hours now, and so far, I’ve accidentally told the story about the time I pooped my pants at a sushi restaurant. I also confessed to buying new leggings for this retreat so people would like me better, which I’m thinking was a wise move at this point, because leggings are sure to make the difference when I’m busy telling stories about crapping myself.

In conclusion, you can pray for these people. And pray my magical leggings work. :/

Wishing you were here,