Day One.

We are here.

The sun is shining and it is warm at the beach… if you are from Canada. Good thing one of us is.

I have had 2 coffees and one beer. That is very good for me.

It is early. Give a writer time. There will be many more beers.

I saw the real Harry Potter. I think.

Then, I wrote about girls fighting. Yes, hot- and deadly. Look here for research. Then, as the Universe will have it, I went out in the world and met a very cool chick who was a competitive fighter for twelve years. No shit. She agreed to read my day’s work and let me know if it’s A. authentic, B. exciting C. remotely possible even for my awesomely cool trucker chick

See, you have to always be aware, and open to possibilities, even if you are hanging out fireside in the woods-not in a creepy Druidian ritual worship sort of way- it was  completely normal- but simply in a rejuvenation of oneself with a bit of conversation and organic wine after a trek down a bumpy sandy road on a quest for a yoga-venture sort of way. Yes. I make up words.

And yet, it was pretty damn cool. We’d slapped down mats, bended and folded and shivasana-ed in a heated snap together Quonset structure on a bay at a maxillofacial surgeon’s commune.

“A monkey could do it,” he said. Not sure if he was talking about the Quonset set-up or reconstructive facial surgery.

So yeah, It’s possible. Anything is possible. This is Florida. The Emerald Coast. Panhandle Florida. And no, not the redneck part, because there is a vintage Lincoln in the garage and three airstreams out front, not the fancy kind you see in Architectural Digest all macked out for glamping, or owned by Matthew McConaughey, well, not yet, we’re assured.

We ate dinner at 9:30 at night, because we are so dedicated to our craft that we could not pull ourselves from the keyboard- or Linda couldn’t figure out what to wear- or because we got sidetracked talking to interesting people in front of a homemade pizza oven. One of these statements is true and one or more is false.

You choose.

We went here.

DInner at The Red Bar. A rosy experience.

And saw this dude who desperately needs a stylist.

Also. There were fighter pilots. We did not know this until 24 hours later.

We did eat well, drink well and smash our bodies through a crowd. It was all good. Some of us came home to the retreat house to sleep, some to write, and some to check out episodes of Sons of Anarchy.

It. Is. All. Good.