Writers’ Summer Camp with 13 Strangers

Several decades ago, before I even had a steady boyfriend, I had this weird habit of flipping through bridal magazines, dreaming about the perfect wedding, the over-the-top Royal Princess taffeta ballgown, the jovial bridal party, and spending the most romantic honeymoon hiking through the Poconos Mountains in Pennsylvania. 

That never happened for me. 

I mean, I did have a wedding–in fact, I had TWO beautiful weddings to two different people, with incredible velvet and satin dresses, and cool-but-not-that-funny bridal parties, but I never experienced the thrill of hiking through the Poconos Mountains… until this past weekend. A part of my old daydream finally did come true, slightly skewed from the original fantasy. 

Truthfully, for a writer, this summer camp at Camp Zeke was better than a wedding or a honeymoon, even though no sex was involved. We did mention that S-word many times, as one of us is in the messy first draft stage of writing a whole book on the subject… but that’s a story for another time. 

As the date fast approached for leaving for camp, I wondered if I should cancel my spot and allow someone else to go in my place. The worry and anxiety about driving alone over nine hours in a car, in a different country, to the Poconos Mountains to camp with 13 strangers sounded a bit crazy, even to me. 

People at my office thought I had lost my mind. My kids asked why I was participating in all these strange things lately. I replied, “I’m stepping outside my comfort zone to experience things that might be cool and could change my life forever. Of course, there’s a chance I might be kidnapped or murdered, and then I won’t be back.” 

Anyway, I suppose these people weren’t complete strangers. 

During the pandemic, I met four writers online at the UCIJ (Unforgettable Characters & Incredible Journeys) Virtual Writing Retreat in April 2021. Also, I met four additional writers through Twitter, Discord, and ZOOM during our 5 a.m. writing sessions and one of those eight I had met in person several times at the yearly Thrillerfest conference in New York City. The other five writers were totally new to me. Complete strangers. Together, we were 14 writers willing to unplug from the world (no Wi-Fi or cell service) to take a wild and wonderful “Journey to Jupiter.”

I was slightly worried about staying in tiny cabins during the third week of October, freezing my ass off. However, there is something both beautiful and terrifying about being in the middle of autumn’s mosaic-coloured forest beside a chilly, dark blue lake that makes you feel significant, yet immaterial at the same time. Nature has a way of calming my heart, mind, and soul, with the exception of my Impostor Syndrome. Unfortunately, that was alive and well, pulsing from my brain right down to my toes, despite the beautiful setting. I tried to keep my mind focused on the fact that we were gathering to talk about reading and writing books, two of my favourite things. 

However, I didn’t need to worry. 

The moment one of our fearless leaders, Ralph Walker raised his booming outside voice and shouted to the half-circle facing the stage in the haunted theatre, “You are all amazing fucking writers, and I’m so happy you are here with us!”

The other fearless but joyful leader, Julia Green, smiled (never shouted) and then whispered, “The terror is fucking real.” She led us through Landing on Jupiter, took us to many dark places, and made sure everyone sat beside someone new at each meal so we could feel comfortable together and trust each other to share our darkest fears and stories.

Together, the group of us jumped in with both feet and committed to expressing ourselves creatively on the page. We elevated the depth of our work by digging deeper and answering the hard questions about our stories. I had to leave a few questions blank because I didn’t know the answers yet. I would need to let my thoughts percolate, and if necessary, I’d contact one of my tribe members later to discuss. 

What did we do at summer camp?

As writers, we developed skills to go deeper authentically on the page, to find the character’s center of gravity, the character’s biggest struggles, and conflicts, to find our unique voice, our distinct theme, and to pinpoint the authenticity and catharsis within the stories we wanted to tell. Honestly, it was a little overwhelming at times, wondering what the answers should be for my story. 

Our discussions on the four books (see above) that were required reading for the writing retreat made it easier to understand what the questions were all about. We used them as examples to establish what worked and what didn’t work for us. Many people disagreed with each other, and that’s what made it an interesting conversation. It reminded us that not all readers will have the same opinion about the book we are writing. So, there is no need to sweat… someone will read it, they will love it, and they will recommend it to others. Some will hate it, and they can’t wait to tell you how much. You can’t please everyone.

Besides talking craft and discussing books, we met for our #5amwritersclub meeting in person, chugging coffee and making the Canadian butter tarts disappear during energetic “writerly” discussions. This was mind-blowing. I was having a conversation with one writer about her story. We were reviewing a few options she could add to enhance or elevate her story, when another writer gasped, “Ohmygod! What you just said sparked an idea that I could do with my story.” It was a great feeling to hear someone get excited about their story and start writing furiously across the page due to something I said.

Between our scheduled session times together in the haunted theatre, we took moments to enjoy nature walks and hikes each day with no real destination in mind. The trail wasn’t where we thought it was, and most people didn’t care. We continued to share stories about our lives and discover all the amazing connections between us.

One night, we played a game called Murderer, and I was the first victim. Sounds like a great game to play at night in the forest, right? Instead, we played it in the haunted theatre. I didn’t know the rules, but my job as the first victim was to come up with a plausible way to die and explain the murder scene of my death. My head felt like it was going to explode, trying to come up with an exciting way to die in sixty seconds. I read and write murder stories, yet I had nothing. Ha! Then, I grabbed pieces of conversation that happened earlier that day. At lunch, one of the writers mentioned they opened a random door in Cabin ‘A’ that had a bathtub in it. So, of course, they took a bath in the middle of the day. I jumped all over that scenario, and I described being found in a bathtub full of bloody water at 8:17 p.m. with an axe through my ear, blood rushing down the side of my naked body. The water was still warm. The following three people had to come up with alibis as to where they were at the time of the murder. Then, we went around the circle, deciding who might be the murderer and accused them. The person who took the bath earlier said, “ACK! There will be no more baths for me!” 

We played another game where we all sat in a circle. Each person adds one word to build a sentence that may or may not make sense. We moved clockwise around the circle. I pulled from one of our required reading books, “Lost & Found”, by Kathryn Schultz, and used the word, AND a few times, then threw everyone for a loop when I used the word “ejaculated.” This word may have stunned a few, and others burst out laughing with me whispering, “Sorry, did I take things a bit too far?” More laughter.

One night, we had a fireside chat around a massive bonfire beside the lake. I questioned a writer about what he was currently working on, and then I asked him what was in his secret drawer that he didn’t want to talk about. He laughed. He knew exactly what I meant. I interrogated him about projects shoved in the drawer that might never see the light of day. He described an old project he referred to as ‘dead and buried.’ I snapped my fingers and said, but what if… And, we were off on a thirty-minute conversation about reviving that project. His smile was so big, it lit up the dark sky. I loved being there when the lightning bolt zapped him in the forehead, and it felt so good to share his experience of finding joy with his stories. I wished I could have captured that in a photo. 

Other fun things: 

We enjoyed three scheduled healthy, delicious meals each day provided by Camp Zeke staff. Our lounge in Cabin ‘A’ had tons of not-so-healthy snacks and beverages available around the clock. We visited the fantastic gym and training centre, played a game of Dungeons and Dragons, played pool in the Billiards Room, typed on a couple of manual typewriters in the library, enjoyed a few siestas in our rooms (that had individual bathrooms and showers), and we participated in a few tarot card readings in the lounge. Some of us braved the chilly weather and found a place by the water to write for a few hours.

Over the four days at Camp Zeke, we were no longer strangers. We supported each other and bonded so well that most of us may have cried a little bit when the long weekend was over. Living far apart from each other sucks, and saying goodbye was even more challenging. But we have now found our tribe, our community of like-minded spirits, and we will continue to create great art. I am thankful for taking this unforgettable Journey to Jupiter and for finding this amazing lifetime connection to all my creative fellow astronauts.

“There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.”

~ William Butler Yeats

Bottom Line:

Writers’ Summer Camp was quite an adventure. We started out as strangers, but became good friends. Our memories of Camp Zeke will last a lifetime. My advice to the person reading this blog is… “Do more things that scare you!” You never know how awe-inspiring your choice will be.