Blessed Community

Do you really have to fly halfway around the world?

Jun 03, 2026

I have the privilege of co-leading the third Writing in the Cevennes writers’ retreat this week with my dear friend Diane Osgood. Nineteen writers are gathered at a centuries’ old home in the rural south of France to practice their craft, learn from each other, bask in the sunshine of the region, and experience the beauty of the Cevennes.

One of my favorite parts of the week is when writers read their work aloud. Each evening after dinner, three participants choose a ten-minute snippet of their writing and read to everyone else. While it’s wonderful to read their work; it’s pure joy to hear it read in their own voices.

We learn something new about each other every night. Instead of relying on assumptions, we are faced with the true nature of each writer. We glean tidbits of their personalities, their quirks, and their turns of phrase. Some make us laugh; others make us cry. All bring us face to face with new perspectives.

I love words and I’m always keen to hear new ways to use them. Sitting in the summer salon each evening (and yes, it is as bougie as that sounds), I immerse myself in language that is new and fresh and unlike my own. Everyone has a unique voice and I am entranced.

I recognize how very fortunate I am to be able to spend a week in France every other year. It’s not something everyone can do. But are there other ways to hear distinct voices? To learn from people who think and write differently? Who live unique lives and hold widely divergent points of view? Is a transatlantic flight necessary for such an experience?

I’ve been involved with a few writing groups for the past few years, beginning during the pandemic with nothing but Zoom calls and blog posts. Even without the glorious opportunity to meet in person, over the years we have touched each other in profound ways, sitting in sorrow after deaths and disappointments, rejoicing with births and marriages and successes. We’ve given each other direct and honest feedback and purchased more books than we ever imagined, all bearing the names of colleagues who have become more than friends.

Our words have wrapped us, knitted us (crocheted?), and bound us together in a blessed fraternity of humans who just happen to be writers.

This week has taken those experiences and magnified them, mirroring Rumplestiltskin’s playground, where straw is spun into pure gold, a solemn alchemy where words become fairy dust and land lightly upon keyboards and other writing implements. Words matter deeply and this small band of writers—a group with astonishingly little ego—shares them with generosity and abandon.

We are meant for community. Words are the glue that hold us fast and I am determined not to let this week simply be memorialized in photos and set in a frame on the wall. Instead, I intend to keep the beauty afresh, not only to maintain these connections but to build new ones when I return home.

Where can you find and build the relationships that broaden your horizons and fill your heart with joy? Where can you create a blessed community that enlivens you in new ways?

You don’t need to go to France. Start small. Build a bridge…with words.

If you’re in Florida, I’d love to meet you and share more about midlife reinvention and my contemporary romance novels, Bread Pudding in Barcelona, Something Will Sing to Your Heart, and A Thistle in the Cevennes. It’s never too late to be who you’ve always dreamed of being.