The weekend that started it all
- Blake
- Aug 15
- 8 min read
We started Novel Escapes with a dream, a cabin, 17 women, two overstuffed cars, and the quiet confidence of two people who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.
Which feels like the only honest way to begin our very first blog post.
In January 2025, we hosted our first Novel Escapes reading retreat in Deep Creek, Maryland. It was snowy, cozy, chaotic in the best possible way, and full of the kind of laughter that makes your face hurt. We came into the weekend hoping people would read, relax, and maybe make a new friend.
We left wondering how a group of women, some lifelong friends and some complete strangers until check-in day, could make one cabin feel so much like home in under 48 hours.
The plan was simple, which is hilarious now.
The idea sounded beautiful from the start. A winter weekend away. A cabin in Deep Creek. Time to read. Time to nap. Time to talk about fictional people as if they had personally wronged us or, in some cases, personally saved us.
We wanted the retreat to feel warm, thoughtful, and special, but we also wanted to learn. This was our first one, after all. So we kept costs extremely low, made zero profit, and very likely lost money. Was this a strong business strategy? Perhaps not. Was it very on-brand for two people who believe snacks and books count as infrastructure? Yes.
We cared more about getting it right than getting fancy. That meant building a weekend that felt personal from the moment guests walked in.
It also meant doing everything ourselves.
Meg and I drove separately because we had packed what can only be described as the emotional support version of an entire house. Our cars were stuffed with coolers, air mattresses, decor, stacks of books, more snacks than any group of humans could reasonably eat, and all the little details we hoped would make the cabin feel like, well, a Novel Escape.
Funny story, Blake’s SUV had conveniently broken down the weekend before, because obviously the plot needed tension. So she rented a Bronco and shoved a massive bean-bag chair into the back like a woman on a mission. Somewhere in Maryland, people probably saw a Bronco full of books, bags, pillows, and one alarming bean bag and thought, “That person is definitely running away from something.”
Honestly, fair.
Friday night felt like opening the first chapter.
By the time everyone arrived, the cabin had taken on the cozy, slightly chaotic energy we had dreamed about. There were book-themed cocktails and mocktails waiting, plus a grazing table that was Meg's first attempt at charcuterie boarding (as a verb) and was honestly, so impressive it looked professional. Cheese has a way of bringing people together. We do not make the rules.
Seventeen women joined us that weekend. Some knew each other well. Some had only met once or twice. A few did not know a single person before check-in day.
That part felt big.
Walking into a weekend with strangers takes courage, even when the strangers are carrying tote bags and talking about Goodreads. There is still that little first-day-of-school feeling. Where do I sit? Who do I talk to? Did I pack the right pajamas? Will anyone judge how many books I brought for a two-night trip?
For the record, no one judged. We are book people. We believe overpacking books is a personality trait and a survival skill.
To make everyone feel seen from the start, we curated welcome gifts for each attendee. Every guest received a T-shirt we designed specifically for the retreat, a personalized cold-brew cup, a few bookish goodies, and a book we personally selected based on her Goodreads profile.
That last part was one of our favorite pieces. Choosing a book for someone is a tiny act of hope. You are saying, “I looked at what you love, and I think this story might find you at the right time.”
Were we nervous about picking the right books? Absolutely. Did we briefly act like we were matching kidney donors instead of novels? Also yes.
Once everyone had settled in, we gathered for one of the most ridiculous and wonderful activities of the weekend: the “hear me out” cake.
Before the trip, we had emailed everyone and asked them to send us three fictional characters they secretly loved, even if the choice was a little weird. Maybe especially if the choice was a little weird.
Then came the cake.
The reveals started, and within minutes, we were laughing so hard we cried. There is something deeply bonding about hearing a room full of grown women passionately defend questionable fictional crushes with complete sincerity. Lines were crossed. Standards were examined. No one left unchanged.
It was goofy and unserious, but it also broke the ice in exactly the way we hoped. By the end of the night, the cabin no longer felt like a group of separate people sharing space. It felt like one big sleepover with better snacks and more plot analysis.
Saturday was the day we all needed.
Saturday was quiet in the way winter is quiet when snow is falling outside and no one is asking you to be productive.
There was reading, of course. Lots of it. People curled up on couches, in corners, under blankets, and near windows. Some read physical books. Some listened to audiobooks. Some colored in bookish coloring books while chatting about favorite authors, recent reads, and the emotional damage caused by certain fictional
endings.
The snow fell outside, and inside, the whole cabin seemed to soften.
Both Meg and I have said it was one of the coziest, most needed days of our entire lives. Not because anything dramatic happened. Because nothing dramatic happened. In a house full of women! No rush. No schedule packed to the minute. No pressure to perform relaxation, which is, somehow, a thing people can accidentally do.
Just...hygge.
That kind of comfort, quiet and rest can feel rare. A whole day where reading is not something squeezed between errands, chores, work, family schedules, and the thousand tiny tasks that fill a week. A whole day where the main objective is to enjoy stories and be soft for a while.
We had hoped the retreat would be fun. We did not expect it to feel quite so restorative.
There were conversations all day, but they moved at an easy pace. The kind where people drift in and out naturally. One person would mention a book she loved, and suddenly three people were adding it to their lists. Someone else would ask for a recommendation, and the room would respond like a panel of very enthusiastic, very informal experts.
No one had to pretend not to care deeply.
At a reading retreat, caring deeply is the whole point.
The rest of the day was spent filming silly videos, playing the most hilarious and cathartic game of 'book pong,' watching book-to-screen movie adaptations and just... vibing.
The night felt easy and full. Not perfect in a polished way, but perfect in the way real memories are perfect. Slightly messy. Very warm. Impossible to recreate exactly.
Sunday came too soon
On the final morning, we served a bookish brunch before check-out while people packed bags, gathered books, exchanged contact information, and tried to pretend departure was not coming for us all.
The cabin that had felt so full all weekend began to shift back into a house again, and we felt that little ache that comes when something good is ending.
But it was a happy ache.
The kind that means the weekend mattered.
As everyone headed home, we kept thinking about the same thing: 17 women had shown up with different histories, different comfort zones, and different reasons for needing a weekend away. By Sunday, the space between stranger and friend felt much smaller. To this day, we are still the best of friends. Our group chats are chaos, but it's the best kind of chaos.
That is the magic we hoped for.
Books were the reason we gathered, but connection was the thing we carried home.
What our first retreat taught us:
We learned plenty of practical things. We learned how many snacks is too many snacks, although we are not ready to admit that number publicly. We learned that a DIY aesthetic takes at least twice the car space you think it will. We learned that a bean-bag chair can, in fact, become a travel companion.
We learned that building something meaningful does not require everything to be expensive or flawless.
It requires care.
Care in the details, like picking a book based on someone’s reading taste. Care in the welcome, like making sure the first night feels warm instead of awkward. Care in the schedule, like leaving enough open space for people to actually rest. Care in the tone, like allowing the weekend to be both cozy and completely silly.
Most of all, we learned that people are hungry for this kind of time.
Time away from regular life. Time with books. Time with women who get excited about fictional characters, themed drinks, pretty mugs, quiet mornings, and laughing until everyone looks a little unwell.
Our first Novel Escapes retreat was not fancy. It was not perfect. We probably lost money. One of us arrived in a rented Bronco with a bean bag in the back.
And still, it was everything.
Actually, maybe that is why it worked.
It felt handmade because it was. It felt personal because we meant every piece of it. It felt joyful because everyone who came brought something honest into the room, whether that was a favorite book, a weird fictional crush, a willingness to meet new people, or just the desire to rest.
The first chapter of something bigger
This first blog post feels a lot like that first retreat: a little tender, a little funny, and full of gratitude.
We are grateful to the 17 women who trusted us with their weekend. Grateful for every laugh, every recommendation, every snow-covered walk, every cup of coffee, every page turned in the quiet. Grateful for the chance to learn as we went, even when “learning” looked suspiciously like carrying 400 bags into a cabin and hoping for the best.
Novel Escapes began with a simple belief that reading can be more than a solo hobby. It can be a reason to gather. A reason to pause. A reason to make new friends as adults, which can feel weirdly harder than it should. A reason to remember that joy does not have to be complicated.
Sometimes joy is a cabin in January.
Sometimes it is a book picked just for you.
Sometimes it is a room full of women crying laughing over a cake covered in questionable fictional crushes.
We will hold this first retreat close forever. It was our beginning, and it gave us exactly what we needed to keep going.
Here’s to the next chapter. May it include more books, more snacks, more cozy corners, and, if necessary, another rented Bronco. Sincerely, Blake & Meg
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