Tag: Orcas Island

Writing

My Love/Hate Relationship with Orcas Island

Chrys Buckley

1532051_399300353545516_7454625721567562924_n(Originally written on September 6th, but I forgot to finish and post)

So, I’m back on the rock. Some might call it Orcatraz and these days, I might be among them.

What I’ve been wondering a lot lately is if there is a danger in staying somewhere that is too small and safe too long? I feel like I’m living out some negative consequences of having done just that. It’s like staying in the womb too long and then not knowing how to breathe in wide open spaces or something.

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Music

After the Ecstacy, the Laundry

Chrys Buckley

LollaA few years ago, I went to this amazing writers retreat weekend put on by The Sun magazine in Big Sur, CA, and during the last morning we were all gathered and talking about what we felt about the end of the workshop, and a lot of people expressed some degree of sorrow at having to go back to their real lives, and someone brought up the quote that is the title of this blog post, which I think was originally said by some spiritual teacher or something. Ever since that workshop, I think of this quote anytime I’m saying goodbye to any kind of supercool experience and going back to my regular life, and that is the case this morning.

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Writing

Can You Ever Go Home Again?

Chrys Buckley

Orcas IslandI don’t know.

I woke up twice in the middle of the night completely disoriented, not knowing where I was and both times it took a few minutes to figure out where I was. It was weird, b/c I had something a little similar about halfway through the trip, when we had been moving around so much and slept in so many different places that as I drifted off to sleep, in that semi-lucid in between state I’d find myself momentarily thinking I was still in Calcutta or something. It happened for a few days in a row, but what happened last night was a lot stronger and felt so much more disorienting, like it really took awhile for it to register where I was and get my mind around it. Guess that could be expected for the first night sleeping at home in over three months.

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Writing

Home Sweet Home?

Chrys Buckley

Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir, IndiaI miss India.

I’ve been home for less than twelve hours, and let me tell you, it feels fuckin’ weird. Let me back up first though, because there was a lot in the last few days of the trip that I’d love to recount.

So, Ladakh was the shit, totally one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever been, in so many ways. And it was kind of cool being in a smaller group (though I definitely missed the others) b/c we got to meet up and travel with other people traveling from other countries, like Erez from Israel who was hilarious and loud and talked a bit like Borat and wore these lime green pants all the time and was always making dirty jokes. The pronunciation lesson I couldn’t share on the group blog (see link in previous post) was the difference between “fact” and “fucked.” It was awesome.

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Writing

I Am Going a Little Crazy

Chrys Buckley

Another oldie, from Christmas Eve 2008.

Slowly, but surely.

So, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m awake and wired and have absolutely nothing to do.

It’s been snowing like crazy for the last week and a half. When it started I was in Seattle at a Christmas party with friends, and the next morning we couldn’t get through the road. The next day I came back to Orcas and had a semi (but not terribly exciting)-adventure returning. And then it snowed and snowed and snowed some more. It’s the most snow I’ve seen in the northwest, and it’s my sixth winter here. It’s wild, and awesome.

I’m loving it. It makes me want to go make snow angels and snowmen and build forts and have wild snowball fights. The roads are a mess, I mean solid ice covered in inches of snow. Walking anywhere that’s not a trodden path or shoveled walkway is deliriously fun, I sink in halfway up to my knees.

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Writing

Orcas Island Writers Festival

Chrys Buckley

A post from September 2008.

The first annual Orcas Island Writers Festival ended a few days ago. It was awesome. I’m already looking forward to the next one.

oiwfindexI’m so glad I went, too. I almost didn’t. I haven’t really written much in awhile, and have felt like work takes over my life. But I had put in for the time off back in April or something, so I said what the hell and signed up. I thought if nothing else, at least I’d have a few days away. The festival was held at Moran State Park which is a good drive from my place, so I stayed overnight in one of the cabins during the festival.

The festival blew my expectations out of the water! The instructors were EXCELLENT! A lot of them teach at Vermont College of Fine Arts which has a low-residency MFA writing program. In the mornings, we had small workshop groups. I chose the non-fiction track, and so each morning, our small group gathered to very thoroughly discuss our work. Each of us had to submit a ten-page sample of our writing before the festival, so we spent considerable time each morning, working with a few people’s work each day. It was great. I forgot how great it is, not only to get feedback on your own work, but to work as a group on others’ stories. You learn so much. I felt so engaged, like my inner artist was engaged in a way it hasn’t been in so long. I was exercising my writing muscles. It was great even to go over some of the basics of story arc and point of view. I didn’t realize I was so hungry for this sort of thing. But oh was I ever! It fed my soul, and my soul has been a bit starving as of late.

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Writing

Feeling as bland as the weather

Chrys Buckley

blandweatherimagesI’ve been sick for the last week or so. It’s been no fun at all. On the good side though, it’s given me a lot of time to think. It’s funny how when an illusion shifts, there’s really no going back. Once you see something, it’s hard to pretend you never did.

So, while sick in bed, watching old episodes of The Office and (of course) House and coughing up a lung, it kinda became clear to me that my current life isn’t really working for me the way I wish it was. I’m not really happy with where I’m at. It’s a sobering realization.

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Writing

If You Write It, It Will Come

Chrys Buckley

IMG_0055Alluding to Field of Dreams there, if that wasn’t already obvious.

I actually meant to write this post before my trip to Hawaii, but didn’t have enough time, and this post definitely would have been more timely if I had.

So, maybe because I’m a writer, I believe in the power of written words, but not necessarily in the typical way, like that people can read something and be affected by it. Yeah, that’s a huge thing, but I also think there’s a much more invisible power, something ethereal and unseen, subtle.

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Writing

Moonbeams Over Paradise

Chrys Buckley

Full Moon Over Coconut GroveSo here is my totally unconventional Hawaiian vacation. I’m calling it that b/c when I think of Hawaiian vacations I think of big resorts or scenes from MTV’s Maui Fever, and thankfully, this was nothing like that.

Tallie and I left the island super early last Wednesday morning and talked the whole ferry ride and the whole drive down to the Seattle airport. We’d both had kind of shitty/crazy weeks, so we got it all out of our systems as much as possible. We flew to Oakland first, which surprisingly wasn’t that warm. Then we flew to Lihue. An eclipse took place when we were on the plane and so I didn’t see it at all.

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Writing

On Not Writing (Or, Of Fear and Fond Memories)

Chrys Buckley

IMGP6957eCAMP_ORKILA_ROAD_ORCASA few winters ago, I lived with my friend Tracy in a house at camp, and I’ve probably written about this winter before, and I’m sure I will write about it a million more times because I was so freakin’ happy that winter.

The house at camp where I lived (called The Dispensary because in the summer, the medical staff lived there) looked like a cabin, with wood walls and this real “old” feeling to it, like living there was actually a time warp, in a nice way, back to something ancient, even though we did have modern conveniences there. I also loved the lights, they had a soft glow that on the wood walls just somehow reminded me of something primal. It actually had a feel that brought to mind my grandmother’s house, probably the only other house I’ve loved as much as I love the Dispensary. Something about that house was just like IV nutrition for my soul.

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