I am delighted to say that The Writer’s Well, an international literary retreat for women that I founded in 2007 in Sharpsburg, Georgia is still alive and thriving!

What began as a vision to support women writers has grown over the years. We have writers who continue to join us for a literary experience from as far away as Ghana and Puerto Rico. Those from around the US have come from such states as New York, California, Georgia, Minnesota, Indiana and Iowa.

Writers have come to explore literary, performance, and filmmaking genres that include novels, memoirs, autobiographies, screenwriting, one-person plays, poetry, children’s pictorial books, academic writings, and more!

“The retreat evokes the word “serenity.” In fact, we named one of the rooms The Serenity Room when I was there. This is truly a place to not only write, but to invigorate the soul and truly move ‘onward and upward.’      
                                                                                                             Gayle Watts, Atlanta, GA

Writer’s Well Retreat Day 2: The Woman in the Mirror

“When I was a youngster, those nimble days of yore in the New York City hood of the ’60s, I stood on the sidelines waiting for my turn, to ready my undaunted stance against the two criss-crossing ropes in motion and with the utmost precision leapt into the jump zone of the BADDEST double dutch played on the streets of the South Bronx. New Yorkers who grew up in the ghetto will remember this ghetto-Olympics sport, a test of physical dexterity, speed, timing, and stamina—the swiftest and most agile Boricua and black sistahs from the block doing ‘the running man’ at warp speed, clockwise and counterclockwise pivots, spins and twirls, gravity-defying moves, breaking out in a cool, cold sweat on the hot summer pavement. In perfect unison with skillfully, synchronized turners rocking and be-bopping to the beat. Cylindrical hoops zooming at you left and right —Smack-Smack! Smack-Smack! Smack-Smack!—punishing the potholed sidewalks. The name of the game was ‘staying power.’ Who could stay the longest and jump the fastest in the jump zone without getting tripped up on the ropes (or breaking their necks, I always feared). Come my turn (a not-so-athletic-nerd-type) I was content to do my little dance in the ring, skip-hop long enough to proudly exhibit my one daring 360-degree turn. That was the extent of my double dutch prowess—my not-so-quick feet, got tangled in the ropes.