Write Away (and I mean AWAY)

Residencies, Retreats, Conferences: What they are, a cool one of each, best practices for applying, and what I wish I knew ten years ago...

There are many reasons to leave your house to write (inspiration, time, space, solitude, structure) and many ways to leave your house to write (an hour at the coffee shop, two years living in the woods), and there’s a lot of confusion out there about what’s what.

Here’s the inside scoop on each, hacks for applying, and heyyyyy you should come write with me in France this fall! (A quick link for that, if you don’t want to read this whole thing.)

Part two of my Point of View series will come at you next week—I did not forget!

I took this at Yaddo (an artists’ residency) in 2015 when I was working on The Great Believers. The snow was accumulating on the roof outside, and the uneaten fruit was accumulating on my desk.

Briefly, what is what?

An artists’ residency is a place you apply to, and you go there just to write, near other artists who are also at work.

A retreat is similar, but usually shorter, and usually you just sign up—and they might not be in a dedicated year-round spot. Sometimes there’s an instructor.

A conference could look like any other conference (name badges! tepid coffee! panels!) or it might be application-based for a few intense days of workshopping and more.

Residencies:

Technically, Cosimo de Medici started the very first one… But in their modern form, these places first came about in the 1920s. (Yaddo, in NY state, and MacDowell, in New Hampshire, are the OGs.)

In most cases, you apply with a work sample, a CV, an artist statement and/or work plan, and maybe some letters of recommendation. Some of the oldest and most prestigious fully fund your residency, and others charge a fee or have a sliding scale for payment.

For a couple of weeks or maybe a couple of months, you’ll have a bedroom, and possibly a separate studio. At some places, group meals are served; at some, lunch is left outside your door; at some, you take turns cooking. You might be the only person there, or there might be dozens of artists working in all disciplines.

Only at a very few of these are you required to report on your work in any way, or to engage with the community. You are free to work, make friends, wander the grounds, and commune with the ghosts. (My fruit picture above was taken in the studio where both Sylvia Plath and Patricia Highsmith wrote. I was not tempted to waste time.)

They are often in beautiful locations, and a number are in converted mansions or castles.

Pictured clockwise from top left: Ragdale, Ragdale, MacDowell, Yaddo, Djerassi, Ragdale

This is a wildly incomplete list, intended more as a list of examples than of specific recommendations:

But here IS a specific recommendation. Ragdale is north of Chicago on acres of tall-grass prairie, in the former home of an Arts and Crafts architect. There are many reasons it’s my favorite residency, but one is that magic, inexplicable things always happen to me (and other people) there.

I took this at Ragdale in September. No place has any business being this beautiful.

They have one application deadline for all of 2026, and it’s coming up on May 1st. I strongly encourage you to apply!

What you should know about applying to residences:

• You do not need to already be wildly successful. Some residencies even have grant money earmarked for “emerging artists,” so you actually stand a BETTER chance before your first book is out than after, when you’re up against the general pool.

• Each application is usually read by two file readers (artists in that field) who score you on various factors (work sample, artist statement, etc.). You’re then up against other artists who have applied for the same exact time period, with all kinds of considerations like studio needs, genre balance, etc. If you scored a 19 and enough other people scored a 20, you might not get that spot. But it does not mean that the entire institution has “rejected” you, just that one reader gave you a 10 and the other gave you a 9, and you happened to be up against, like, Salman Rushdie. Apply again.

• Submit your very best, most polished work—which is probably not the work-in-progress that you’ll be there to grapple with. If you’re an accomplished poet who’s hoping to spend your residency time starting a memoir, send your poems, not your memoir draft.

• Work hard on a clear artist statement or work plan, if one is required. Explain why you need this residency, and why now. Your chances are much better if you (honestly) say that you’re working under deadline to finish this specific novel and need time away from your lovely three-year-old, rather than “I think I’ll experiment with some new stuff, maybe.”

• You’re usually asked which windows you could come for. Check ANY of them that you could possibly swing, not just the most convenient. Your chances will go way up. And since so many artists are on an academic schedule, it’s significantly harder to get accepted for summer than, say, January.

• People often switch their residency slot after they’re accepted. Please don’t mess with the lovely residency coordinators on purpose, but don’t let the fact that you aren’t 100% positive of your schedule a year from now stop you from applying. It’s quite possible there’s wiggle room.

• If you are waitlisted, you might check back in (politely!) a month or two before the time you were hoping for. Very often there’s been a cancellation, and you might have saved the residency director a lot of emails trying to fill the spot.
  

Retreats:

There’s some overlap, but generally (with exceptions), retreats are paid, not application-based, and don’t live year-round at a certain location. A specific weekend getaway in Vancouver for women writing about grief, with an instructor, is a retreat. So is you getting a Vrbo with three friends and working till cocktail hour each day.

These are photos of the weekend and weeklong retreats StoryStudio runs at Ragdale, between Ragdale’s normal residency sessions. We also sometimes do them at a hotel in Chicago.

Okay, here’s the France part!

I’m leading at a retreat this September (20-27) in France with Uptrek, an organization that does beautiful artist retreats in Europe. There are 6 spots left (of 15) and I have not posted about it yet on social media, but I’m about to, so if you’re interested this is a do-it-fast thing.

We’ll be staying at Chateau de Bardouly, an estate from the Napoleonic era in the heart of the Dordogne region, near mountains and rivers and famous cave paintings and various baguettes. The week’s theme is “Writing Fiction with Confidence, Joy, and Singularity”—in other words, we’ll be generating new work and shedding old habits and negativities. We’ll be there to learn, write, eat, connect with other writers, AND enjoy a short reprieve from whatever fresh hell is going on in the US.

It costs what you’d expect (not cheap), but you all know where else to find me if France is not in your budget this year. Here’s the link to register, if you’re interested, and feel free to email contact@uptrek.com with any questions.

Conferences:

These are generally not the places where you’re going to get writing done, although maybe you’ll sneak in a few minutes alone.

There are big conference-conferences (what I think of as “notebook” conferences, in that you’re mostly there to take notes at lectures and panels). The biggest one, AWP, is coming up next weekend in LA. It’s usually upwards of 10,000 people. If you (like me) are into chaos and seeing everyone you know at once, it’s heaven. If you aren’t, it’s probably not. There are also lovely small ones.

Then there are workshop conferences, the ones where you apply to work with a certain writer. You usually have some mixture of workshopping, craft talks, readings, and parties. In some cases, these are great places to learn about publishing as well, and to meet agents or editors. In some cases, that’s kept separate. The Bread Loaf Writers Conference in Vermont was the first in the world, and it’s about to turn 100.

These can be pricey, although often there are fellowships. If you’re thinking of the kind with agents in the mix, and you can only swing this once in your life, do it when you have a finished manuscript. It’s not that you’ll necessarily meet your dream agent there, but you’ll learn a ton about publishing, you’ll sharpen your craft, and you’ll meet supportive friends.

These are often in gorgeous places. Many are in summer, but Key West is in January and you’ll find others sprinkled through the spring and fall.

Clockwise from top left: Bread Loaf, Longleaf, Lighthouse Lit Fest, Sewanee

Another incomplete list, although in this case I’m vouching for all of these as being fantastic—either personally or through students and friends. The Kenyon one is different in that it’s generative (designed for you to produce new work).

And here’s a specific one I can very much vouch for, because I helped put it together. StoryStudio’s August conference lineup just came out, and I don’t know why Substack won’t let me do a heart-eye emoji but please just imagine one. It’s a week of workshops and craft talks, and if you’re there in person you can stick around Chicago for our Festival that weekend. We have fellowships this year, too!

You should apply. And even better, you should do it BEFORE 11:59 pm on April 30th, to save our staff their annual heart attacks. (For two months: “Why hasn’t anyone applied? We only have seven applications!” Last ten possible minutes: “Oh, holy—okay, never mind.”)

What I wish I knew ten years ago:

This is for people with young kids. Listen carefully. You’re not going to believe me, but I am 100% serious and correct: It is easier to do this stuff when your kids are young than when they’re teenagers.

I’m going to say it again, with different words: If your kids are under twelve years of age and you can possibly swing it, go now. Do it.

Here’s why. First: You need your brain back. You need to be able to write a sex scene without worrying your toddler will wake up from naptime. You need to juggle all the pieces of your book without also keeping track of soccer snacks. All that stuff will (maybe) get easier when your kids are old enough that they just come home from school and shut their doors and emerge at 10 pm to inhale some pasta.

Second: Young kids will forget that you were ever gone. Young kids are resilient and easily bribed with small gifts. Young kids usually have small problems. If your toddler has a crisis while you’re away, it’s likely along the lines of “I wanted the pink yogurt but Nana gave me the blue yogurt.” If your 16-year-old has a crisis while you’re away, the odds are much higher that it involves risky behavior, mental health, grades that matter, and/or some asshole lacrosse player named Aidan.

Of course this won’t work for everyone, and it’s contingent on a great support system and a flexible job, but I’m not necessarily talking about weeks away, or flying to another country. It might look like two nights at the Hampton Inn one town south.

Believe me. Show this to your partner, if they need convincing.

And if you ever say in front of me “I couldn’t possibly go away while they’re so little, I’ll wait till they’re older!” you will get this lecture again, but it will involve me grabbing your shoulders and talking too loudly.

Questions?

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