Why I Keep Hosting: A History of Inkwell's Writing Retreat

Why I Keep Hosting: A History of Inkwell's Writing Retreat

by Ryan Thorpe

Many people ask me what retreat is and why they should go, and I tell them that the answer is complicated. It is filled with more names than could ever logically fill an essay; it’s a conversation between presenters and writers; it’s a networking time for writers; it’s a ball of problems and a leap of faith; it’s where Inkwell goes to be reborn each year.

The first Inkwell retreat happened in the spring of 2018. Chadi pitched me the idea to do a writing retreat, and somewhere between cups of tea in his apartment, he convinced me that all I needed to do was give it a try. Chadi was new to Shanghai, but he believed in the workshop and my capacity to teach and suggested a weekend retreat focused on novel writing. I thought he was crazy. There were only a couple of hundred people in the Inkwell WeChat, and I had no idea where or how to hold it. Chadi knew, though. Or at least his confidence convinced me. He found a retreat house on Chongming Island, and on an early Saturday, we ventured out there to take pictures.

“You have to imagine it,” Chadi said as we walked through the house. “We could setup a projector here, and we could have tables here. We could hold different kinds of workshops at the same time.”

I nodded and stayed silent. The fact that we were collecting money at all made me feel uncomfortable. Inkwell never charged for anything. Even though we were running the retreat at cost, I felt bad asking for money. Chadi, being the constant salesman, waved off my concerns. “You’re a great product, Ryan, but you have to believe in the product.”

Amazingly enough, fourteen people came to the first writing retreat, and I was so nervous about the event that I wrote a forty-page workbook to outline my thoughts. I taught the whole workshop. There were six presentations, and they were all mine.

Yet it still happened. People complained about the lack of hot water, but it got fixed on Saturday afternoon. I took long walks and took so much allergy medicine to save me from the cats that the final Sunday reading was a bit of a blur, but it occurred. People liked it. The core group that would grow Inkwell was established.

The second retreat happened that fall. People liked the first one so much that I decided to host another. This time, though, no classes. People would write and work on whatever they wanted, and I would get out of people’s way. I wanted a spontaneous, unplanned burst of creativity, and I would only help them sign up in little groups to share work.

Second Retreat

In practice, though, no one had any work. Only eight people signed up, and the lack of exercises or organized lectures meant that much of the retreat consisted of Mike, Morgan, and I drinking as much whiskey as we could without falling off our stools. I considered the retreat a bit of a failure, but I learned that retreats required structure. Whatever it was, it needed to be more than a handful of writers looking at each other, pencils stuck in their holsters like literary gunfighters, waiting for someone else to start writing.

Working during Morgan's lecture

Ryan setting up for his lecture‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

The next spring, we returned to Chongming Island, and Mike, Morgan, and Stephanie gave talks in addition to two of my own, and retreat started to gain a reputation inside of the workshop. It was where the core of Inkwell gathered. That third retreat found us Hannah, and I spent the whole weekend bonding with the core of the workshop. While I was hesitant to ask others to lecture in my place, I learned from the other members of the workshop. These writers had valuable insights about writing, and I wanted to listen to their wisdom.

The first writing workshop t-shirts, which were rough, but it was a start.‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

Hannah once told me that she was sold on Inkwell as soon as she entered that retreat. When she entered that big living room with its drinks, laughing, and an impromptu Dungeons and Dragons game, she was home. I understood her feeling. As someone who is always a little out of place, I had created my little tribe in the Shanghai wilderness, and we were a group of wordsmiths and intellectual weirdness that knew how to laugh at itself.

Getting warmed up with morning writing exercises‍‍‍‍‍

Jaye and Stuart making it all happen

The fourth retreat took place in bitter coldness. Due to a scheduling conflict with an import expo and a shifting work schedule, we moved it at the last moment from November to December and hit a cold snap. This retreat had a different feel because the house had terrible heating, and it dissolved from organized writing activities into a massive cuddle puddle of blankets, sofas, and pillows with Stuart strumming on his guitar as we struggled to remember lyrics to songs that had long left us. Mulled wine was served. Mike and I slept in the attic on giant heating mats like cats, and despite the fact that retreat came with a freeze warning—it happened in its own iced-Inkwell way.

The fifth retreat happened in 2021 because 2020 was blanketed with Covid concerns. Our original retreat house on Chongming closed due to lack of use despite heroic efforts on the part of its managers. Instead, we moved to Oriental Land, a park on the edge of Shanghai where we could focus on writing and have a vastly larger space. The idea of a larger space scared me, though. I didn’t know if we could fill it, and it was a major risk to take on such a big space. Luckily, Inkwell trusted me again. We took fifty people out there and wrote in the shadow of a six-packed Galileo statue and Shakespeare looking more ripped than Thor.

The fifth retreat was the biggest event we had ever hosted, and I grew close to many of the writers that lead Inkwell today. In that retreat weekend, we all tasted the vision of what Inkwell could be when we dreamed a little bigger. It could be more than just a workshop that met every other week. Instead, it could be a place of community, a place for communal dreaming, a house for big, hairy ideas with a tail and a mystery to solve.

The fall of 2021 and the spring of 2022 both had retreats scheduled, but Covid canceled them both. I considered having a retreat in the fall of 2022, but the pressure of hosting retreat was too much. In the fifth retreat, I was so burned out that I slept for almost a full day after it finished, and Inkwell felt sluggish afterwards. With so much energy put towards a weekend, we were too burned out to find our feet and move forward. We had to find a more effective way for holding the retreat.

The sixth retreat happened almost by accident. Inkwell Shenzhen announced that they were holding a retreat in the spring of 2023, and I hopped onto their retreat as more of a participant than an organizer. I had never done a retreat outside of Shanghai, but I wanted to give it a try. I posted the notice, charged nothing, and we gathered near the beach outside Shenzhen. Darcy did most of the planning, and we kept it simple. No tote bags or guidebooks. Instead, we only gathered, did writing exercises during the day and drank together in the evening. It was a simple formula, but it reminded me of the simple, uncomplicated pleasures of community that retreat gives. Once again, though, there were cats.

Retreats seven and eight showed a maturing of the system. The events flowed together a little easier. The parts of retreat started to click together, and I felt like a few set pieces of retreat would start to linger. We would always have a retreat scavenger hunt in Oriental Land. We'd always have a reading on the patio while we gorged on barbeque during spring retreat. There was still room for improvement, though, and I feel like needed adjustments have once again been made. Retreat, like a good essay, is always a living document. Edits can always be made. Adjustments can be inserted into the schedule. There always needs to be enough space for the chaos of creativity to stir. ‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

Some of the images from 2023's scavenger hunt‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

Retreat is happening again this last fall for the ninth retreat at Oriental land, and I felt like the formula was as good as I was going to get it, which is why I am so happy to be using much of last year's setup again this year.  

After a tenth retreat this last spring, as well as a winter retreat in Malaysia, Inkwell is proud to offer its eleventh retreat in China. It will be in Shanghai October 24th-26th. I feel like we are keeping the best parts of previous years, adding one of the best line ups of speakers that we have ever had and aligned ourselves for an exceptional weekend.

If you wish to join, the details in the other post for today (or you can scan the qr code in the poster above or add Ry on wechat at Texaswriter). I hope Inkwell will follow me there again. I aim to find the simple fellowship that can be discovered when you take a weekend out of your life and devote it to writing. Retreat participants are self-selected word nerds, and while the talent levels and native languages vary, they are kindred souls.

A vague feeling always draws me back to hosting retreat: it collects disparate personalities and condenses them into a creative fastball. It is where I have found most of my writing friends over the years and where the leaders of Inkwell network. I still remember standing outside next to Russell at 2021's Oriental Land retreat in my bare feet, taking pulls off a whiskey bottle as we looked at the Japanese garden around us. “It’s all happening,” I said. “Yep,” he said. “It really is.” I ignored the cold, threw my arm around him, and just stared at the empty lawn in front of us.

To sign up for the current retreat on October 24th-26th, sign up with Ry at his wechat, Texaswriter.