Dr. Jonathan Rylander
As a writing center person (my day job), I think a lot about conversation—about getting down and dirty and talking out ideas one-to-one. That’s true. But in that role, I think, too, about environment. Creating a comfortable space for students to write matters. The right lamp. The right pillow aligned just so on a sofa. But it’s more than a job. For me, where I write right has always been a personal matter. In fact, I fought hard to make it back “up north” after graduate school, and that’s because there is just something about the feel of lighter air. Of bitter-cold water in lakes and rivers up here.
If you’re anything like me, picture, now, The Priory—a mid-century modern gem of building in the woods just outside Eau Claire, one surrounded by hills and a deep forest. And writers!
“At The Priory, I was struck by a sense of genuineness. This is a retreat that brings together folks near and far, from Milwaukee to the Twin Cities to Chicago. Folks who are writers like you and me. Those just trying to get a story, a feeling, an idea out there. In the lounges and in the courtyards outside, I talked with other participants. And when I did, I felt welcomed. I felt at ease.”
I went to this retreat for the first time in in the summer of 2019, and here’s what makes this experience unique: its unpretentious, personal touch. At The Priory, I was struck by a sense of genuineness. This is a retreat that brings together folks near and far, from Milwaukee to the Twin Cities to Chicago. Folks who are writers like you and me. Those just trying to get a story, a feeling, an idea out there. In the lounges and in the courtyards outside, I talked with other participants. And when I did, I felt welcomed. I felt at ease.
Writers-in-residence Laura Jean Baker and David McGlynn
During that first summer, I worked with then writer-in-residence David McGlynn, a memoirist at Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin. He’s written a fantastic memoir called A Door in the Ocean, a book that grapples with a traumatic moment of childhood loss. The book’s deeper themes center around questions of control and vulnerability. And swimming. McGlynn was—still is—a competitive swimmer. To be honest, I wanted to learn more not just about his writing, but also his career as a swimmer and how that influenced his craft. But you know that feeling, the one you get when you read a writer and their work just resonates with you? The one you get when you want to do something a little like they’ve done, but you want to be sure you come off the right way? These were the thoughts that cluttered by mind when I came to the Priory. And I’ll admit, in the weeks before I arrived, I experienced some degree of imposter syndrome, even as an English professor. Until that retreat, my writing had taken the feel and scope of traditional academic articles. I wanted to do something different here.
“I wanted to remember the joy of writing like I did in second grade”
Writer-in-residence Dasha Kelly Hamilton
I wanted to remember the joy of writing like I did in second grade. On a more serious note, I wanted to write about my past—about my pain and even my wrongdoings. I wanted to write memoir. But how to begin? Would they take me here? Was I doing it all right? The classic feeling of imposter syndrome. Until I sat down with a cup of coffee and McGlynn walked over to introduce himself that first day. I know it sounds silly—corny even—but here was the person I somehow needed to tell me I was on the right path with my interest in writing memoir. Isn’t it odd how so much about writing is related to permission? I wanted to start off on the right foot. Say the right thing. Here’s what came out….
“Do you still swim?” I said.
“All the time,” David said.
That was, really, all that was needed. We connected. Of course, I’d go on to learn a lot from him and fellow writers. But I’d learn, too, just by writing. And thinking. And having the time to do it all out here. The time to step outside in between writing sessions and walk next to a pine-wooded forest. The time to feel the warmth of a summer night. The time to know I was with other writers that cared, like me.