I’ve been wanting a writing retreat for years now. I’ve made plans, I’ve gotten offers for places to stay, but somehow something’s always come up. Or I’ve put it off. Or maybe it just wasn’t time.

Well, now, it is time.

I have taken a week off from work, promised to be completely unavailable to any and all clients for a full 10 days, and tomorrow I am flying my happy writing butt to Paris.

Eee!

I’m going over with a couple of friends, including CC of Niagara-ish Falls fame. She’s turning 30, so we’ve used that as a brilliant excuse to fly to Europe and spend a week writing and drinking wine and staring at France from a cafe window. Seriously that’s the plan.

No museums, no churches, no tour busses. A laptop, some brie and a big vat of Bordeaux. Bring it.

God, I may have to start smoking again.