The Magic of San Miguel de Allende

The sun was just rising as we rumbled over dusty desert roads, finally pulling into the historic town of San Miguel de Allende. Uniformed children stood in the hazy fog of dawn, huddled along deserted roadsides, as they waited for the schoolbus.

The desires of my heart had brought us here. Amy and I had the good fortune to be on staff for the San Miguel Writer’s Conference, teaching writing workshops throughout the week- something I had always loved to do, something I knew I would come back to one day. And now, I felt I was home.

The van rattled down a narrow lane, coming to a stop in front of a rustic wooden door. We rang the bell, having no idea what to expect. When the door opened, we had to catch our breath. This palace would be our home for the next seven days, and Troy and I would have our own four-bedroom, two-bath guesthouse.

After unpacking, I stepped out onto our second story terrace just as a brightly colored hot air balloon floated overhead. The sky above was pinkish, dotted with gray clouds. The air was cool and balmy. I surveyed the magnificent courtyard below.

I had to pinch myself.

Every morning in San Miguel de Allende, Troy and I awoke to the soft, resonant chiming of church bells. We met our host, Leslie, in her cozy kitchen, where she served us hot coffee and fresh Mexican papaya with yogurt and honey, her dog Hector snoozing nearby.  We’d chat over breakfast and plan our day, while hummingbirds and a particularly industrious vermillion flycatcher flitted about in the garden.

We walked to “work” every day. The cobblestone streets were so narrow you brushed shoulders with people you passed - not like Los Angeles or Manhattan, where you avoid eye contact at all cost. In San Miguel, everyone smiles and says Buenos Dias. I have never been in a place that felt happier. All the locals told me, “San Miguel is magic.” I believe them.

The days were spent swimming in a sea of brilliance. Amy and I taught workshops in the early part of the day, then were free to attend the classes and workshops of our colleagues, or perhaps attend a lecture with Naomi Wolf, Margaret Atwood or Joy Harjo. In the evening we were treated to a play (That Dorothy Parker, written by and starring my new friend Carol Lempert) or comedy with Second City’s Scotty Watkins, or Naomi’s film Protest 101. The conference was awash with opportunities to nourish my mind.

Everyone I met in San Miguel was a writer, artist, philanthropist, musician, therapist, filmmaker, winemaker, wine-drinker – the point is, all following their calling in life. The energy is palpable in a town filled with happy people. It is alive, sparkling, vibrant.

La Parrochia

As faculty, we were hosted at lavish brunches, nightly fiestas, and an enchanted cocktail party that I will always remember. Walking up the long candle-lit staircase of the historic Sierra Nevada Hotel, my knees buckled when we got to the top. The rooftop was lit by hundreds of candles, and overlooked the soft yellow light of the twinkling town. The gleaming spires of La Parrochia stretched upward like a beacon into the inky black sky. A sultry seniorita sang passionate Spanish lovesongs accompanied by flamenco guitar. I danced under the stars with my husband, deliriously happy. And just when I thought it couldn’t be any more perfect, fireworks spontaneously lit up the sky.

Other nights were spent at Jody’s table. Jody Faegan first envisioned this writer’s conference years ago, and brought her dream to life (Later, she moved back to the states, turning it over to the very lovely and capable Susan Page). Each evening, Jody extended us the invitation for margaritas and home cooking in her beautiful historic house, which 400 years before, had been the town orphanage. There was a group of 10-12 of us who’d gather each night, to fill our bellies and replenish our souls with great food, sweet wine, and the world’s finest tequila.

Around Jody’s table, you’d hear laughter, stories, confessions, political discussion, music, hopes, plans for the future. Souls were bared, dreams were encouraged, even a few tears were shed here and there.

Late at night, Troy and I would walk hand-in-hand back to our palace along the glistening cobblestone streets, through the Jardin, past the softly glowing spires of La Parrochia. True San-Miguelians now, we smiled, saying Buenos Noches to all the people we passed along the way.

On the eighth day, we loaded our baggage in a van and headed for the airport. As if on cue, the skies over San Miguel flushed a dramatic blood-orange red over heather grey clouds. How appropriate, that we would be ushered in by dawn, and carried home under this magnificent sunset.

My week in San Miguel was filled with synchronicities and tiny miracles. Life changing events occurred that may take me some time to unravel. My soul was replenished, my heart transformed by the people I met, and every experience I had.

Troy and I will be counting the days until we return again to this beautiful treasure- this jewel in the crown of Mexico. Until then, I carry a piece of it with me – en mi Corazon.

My Workshop Experience

This month I was blessed to have participated in a powerful three-week writing workshop with Hope Edelman. I’ve read her books and have great respect for her talent, so I was thrilled to have the chance to work with her.

When I pulled in to the parking lot for our first meeting in Topanga Canyon, I was flushed with excitement to meet this new group of women writers. Coming from my circle of gushing, huggy, lovey-dovey women friends, I walked in feeling all bouncy inside, like an overgrown golden retriever puppy ready to pounce on everyone with affection. But right away I could see that this was a get-down-to-business serious workshop. I reeled myself back in and did my best to prepare, but I felt so out of my element.

Hope not only got her Masters in creative writing at the University of Iowa and won a Pushcart Prize, she also teaches at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, the Shangri-La for writers. The other women in the workshop had MFA’s, one was a lawyer. And me? I’m a college dropout, shoot-from-the-hip writer with no formal training. So I got quiet and listened. Themes, arcs, forms, structures….all were discussed and I wondered, did my story have these things? I never thought about it, I just wrote. Listening to Hope, and to the feedback of all these brilliant women in the workshop, honestly I was intimidated. But I threw myself into it, sink or swim. ( yikes- a cliché! One of my bad writing habits…)

Last night was the third and final meeting, where my piece was to be discussed. We had each submitted a piece up to 20 pages in length, giving hardcopies to Hope and all the other writers. Everyone was to read them in advance, making notes that would eventually be returned to us.

The way Hope runs her workshop is all the writers discuss your work as though you weren’t in the room. They talk about what the themes are, the secondary story lines, what they loved about it, what didn’t work. You have to sit back quietly, like a fly on the wall (cliché!), listen and take notes like crazy.

Up until this year I was completely private with my writing – a “closet-writer” if you will. I never let anyone know that I was working on a book. It was for my eyes only. So it was fascinating and somewhat surreal to hear these women who I’ve only just met passionately discussing my life, my family members as “characters” (yes, they are!), and me as “the narrator”.

I was moved, and would even say changed by the experience. But aside from this, one of the things that stood out the most to me was Hope. When I first met her, of course I noticed that she was an attractive woman. But I have to say that when she was in her element last night, animated and passionate in her work, she was stunningly beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her eyes flashed bright with fierce intelligence, her hands moved gracefully as she spoke. You could almost see her aura growing big and bright. And this was absolutely true of every woman in the workshop.

I learned so much about writing, learned about lyric essays (had never heard of or read that style before but, wow…) and so much more about myself as a writer, my silly little bad habits (ending a sentence with a preposition – duh!), learned about character motivation, secondary story lines, where the arc should peak, etc… I’m still reeling, letting it all settle in.

But overall, perhaps the greatest thing I took away from the workshop was this: When we are standing in our truth, letting our authentic selves shine, is when we are most beautiful. I learned that from Amy Ferris, and saw it in full force last night. There is no face cream, no cosmetic, no designer anything that can even come close to a woman owning her power.

So today, I am inspired, motivated, elevated….and behind. Holy cow - I’ve got so much editing to do!

Back to the old drawing board....(cliche!)