Turning Points

Radical, sustained belief in ourselves: now more than ever.

The amazing ladies of Turning Points ‘24

It feels fitting to write about community, art, friendship, and belief after the events and emotions of the last seven days. Connection is largely what sustains us through uncertain times: the hands helping to lift the stones off of our shoulders, the warmth and reassurance of knowing we are not alone— the way we find one another in the dark. I am grateful to be able to speak on this from recent experience.

In late October I attended Turning Points Writing Retreat hosted by

Courtney Maum

. The retreat is held on a ranch in New Mexico, an hour’s drive from the closest town and well out of range of my cell provider (sorry, kids!) Applying to and attending the retreat was a gift I gave myself after a year of intensely focused writing. I needed a realignment for my book before diving back into the querying process, and I went to New Mexico with specific intentions: sort out my query letter and snap my book into a compelling structure to give it the best chance in the market (ha!)

Under Courtney’s guidance, I was able to accomplish both. My query letter crackles. My book’s structure makes me swoon. I look it all over and I think, I can build something incredible on this frame. But beyond all that, beyond the work of the writing and the busy-ness of the business, what Turning Points brought me to is a community of women who remind me that believing in ourselves and our work is an essential, radical act.

Each of the women at the retreat brought their own big, glorious project to the table. Listening to them talk in turn about their books and their experiences, I wondered whether there had been a mistake. For the first day or two of the retreat, my internal monologue was running at a continuous hum, reminding me not to overcompensate by talking too much. Then I talked too much anyway and went to bed each night worrying over what silly things I might have said.

This did not deter anyone from continuing to spend time with me, for which I am grateful. So much of what I took away from the retreat is education— each person’s project and workshop raised questions and advice that were also applicable to my project in some way. I was able to gain insight into how everyone else was approaching their work, as well as their thought processes around elements like structure and plot and titles and character motivations, and this in turn got my gears turning over these parts of my own writing.

I also had time and space to sit with my book. In Courtney’s hands, it suddenly seemed like a long bolt of silk. Parts I’d wrestled with for months were suddenly clear, even obvious. It’s evident she sees things in a unique way, but to chalk this up to some magic trick in her mind is to cheapen her skill and experience— her abilities are borne out of a lifetime of work, and her advice transformed my book into something polished and, yes, saleable.

A large part of facilitating so much creative thinking time was the work of the culinary team, Mel and Daniel, who handled every element of our meals while we were there, from planning to preparing to serving to cleaning up. I did not once think about what to make for dinner, or whether there were leftovers in the fridge for lunch (an at-home responsibility that sometimes wears on me.) It is an understatement to say the food was incredible— I am still thinking about the pasta dish Daniel made for us on our last night at the ranch and how we all sheepishly used our index fingers to get every last bit of sauce on our plates.

I was also struck by the care and consideration that went into preparing the meals we enjoyed. As someone who works hard to keep waste to a minimum in my own home— one chicken will serve my family several meals over the course of a week— it was wonderful to experience that same respect for food and resources at the ranch. Mel and Daniel didn’t just feed us. They cared for us in a way that allowed us all to focus on writing, resting, and enjoying time spent together.

The structure of each day was as intentional as the feedback we received. There were ample opportunities to get messy, silly, active, and to step outside our comfort zones. There were hikes around the property and to the top of the mesa, afternoon cold plunges, a butchering workshop, a roping class, and a yoga hour led by Mel that relieved a knot in my back I’d been worrying over for weeks. I discovered that I’m better at roping than I thought (though not good or even decent, just not hopeless!)

Women don’t often get to come to the table of anything with the assumption that they’re capable of what they’ve set out to do. This, more than anything, is what sets Turning Points apart: you are assumed to be capable of the things you want to do. Whether it’s learning to rope cattle, or working out the logistics of an entirely new world in a fantasy book series, or weaving together a narrative telling of the stricken history of a major global crop, or structuring a memoir about alcohol abuse during a harrowing time in your life. The question is never can you, but always how will you.

The importance of establishing this sustained belief in writers, and women and nonbinary writers especially, cannot be overstated— that when we say we are going to do something, it’s because we know we can. Being in a space underscored by that understanding was empowering. It’s what makes Courtney’s approach at Turning Points so unique. It’s a privilege to experience that level of belief in my work, and I will never forget it.

Returning home was tough. I’d hit a turning point (ha!) with my book, and I felt enthusiastic about it’s possibilities and its direction. Then the country hit a different kind of crossroads. It’s hard to feel optimistic about anything right now. It’s hard to uphold any kind of belief.

During my time in the workshop, I had the privilege to read excerpts of books that are years away from releasing, but which I cannot stop thinking about. They’re books that I look for on my shelves in idle moments before I remember that they haven’t been published yet. I can’t wait to one day see them in the world. Turning Points and the women I met there remind me that there are things to look forward to. I didn’t know I’d need that reminder when I left the ranch, but I’m grateful for it now.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about falling in love. Not because I have, but because it feels radical. It feels like the most radical act we could take in the face of all that has happened and all that is yet to happen. It feels important, now more than ever, to connect and to seek connection, and to hold tight to the hands that reach out. I’m fortunate to have spent a week with a group of women who made me feel like anything was possible. I’ll be carrying that light forward through whatever lies ahead. I’ll be holding tight to its warmth.