Woven Clifden 2025: Stories That Changed Us
If I could bottle the air from Clifden that week, I would.
October in Connemara felt like standing between worlds — a place where the hills can whisper, where the ancestors linger, and even the Connemara ponies seemed to be holding clues to the stories we’d been searching for.
It was moody and magnificent and utterly alive. Just being there changed us all.
From October 19 – 24, 2025, a group of strangers gathered at Abbeyglen Castle Hotel in Clifden. I asked them for a leap of faith: I would bring the place, the program, the plan, and the magic. They would arrive with open minds and open hearts, ready to go with the flow — wherever it might lead.
In exchange for that leap, I slashed the price of the week to my actual cost to run it (aka no profits), promised to keep every euro in Ireland (and as much of it as possible with working artists), and facilitated the conversations that I hoped would become living proof of my new-but-not-new Tiny Stories method.
Who said yes? An extraordinary mix of people. We had children and retirees, men and women, professional writers and first-timers. Our group held someone from nearly every decade of life (except the thirties — you’re busy, I get it). The youngest was 10; the wisest were in their seventies. We came from the U.S., Ireland, and the U.K. We showed up each morning in pajamas or pearls — it didn’t matter a bit.
The Magic of Place
Location matters.
You could feel it the moment you arrived: the thinning veil, the hush in the air, the way the mist rolled down the mountains as if to say, You’re safe here — write it down.
Connemara gave us permission to listen, to notice, to let the land hold our stories while we found our footing again.
We ate our meals together around a huge round table every day.
The Power of Community
Community matters even more.
Many of us arrived believing we were “fine.” We weren’t.
We’d been writing around the hard stuff — skipping the emotional work, excusing our absence from our own stories. But in that castle, in that circle, we found what we didn’t know we were missing: each other. Art. Abundance. Belonging.
I invited working artists into the room so everyone could feel what it’s like to be part of a creative community.
Bernie Dignam, a Connemara mixed-media artist, spoke about being “An Accidental Artist” — and how it stuck for life.
Zita O’Reilly, a Dublin silk painter, showed how inspiration hides in puddles, rust, and feeling itself, and then gave us frames of silk and paints and invited us to try for ourselves!
Caitríona Lane, a Connemara poet, shared how she connects to her grief through nature and the animals in her boreen — and taught us a little Irish, too: cáca milis agus pionta Guinness (we had plenty of sweet cake and pints).
Bren McClain, our Writer-in-Residence, reminded us that rejection — or a tough editorial note — can be a gift for growth, and that we must be bravely ourselves, even when it feels like writing in the dark.
Joe Murphy, a West-Cork filmmaker and editor, delighted us with a “Secret Cinema” presentation of the film Perfect Days, and talked to us about how visual storytelling can leave spaces for our minds and hearts to fill in the blanks in ways that are personally meaningful.
Vulnerability met courage, and something sacred unfolded. We had the perfect mix of people willing to open themselves and hold space for those just beginning to be brave with their own creative expression.
Zita O’Reilly discusses finding inspiration while wearing one of her silk paintings — as a dress!
The Alchemy of Creativity
C
reativity eventually exploded — but not immediately. And certainly not without significant mental thrashing for some of us!
The first day was hard: resistance showed up loud and uninvited. It’s as if our brains just were not accustomed to being in their own presence. We weren’t used to listening to ourselves: we were used to being entertained!
People were frustrated, disappointed, tired. But they stayed. They wrote. And one by one, they cracked open.
Over the coming weeks, I’ll share some of their stories — those moments of self-realization are what I live for.
By the second morning, the resistance eased and the stories began to pour out. And they didn’t stop.
As Bren McClain said, “I came here with an idea of what I wanted to work on. But I had no idea of the heights it would go to — no idea it would change what I think of as the scaffolding of my novel. It was that significant.”
My heart. What more could I ever wish for?
The Momentum
When a stone starts to roll, it wants to keep rolling. That’s exactly how it felt with this group. When it was time to say goodbye, no one wanted to leave. Some lingered in Clifden, letting their stories percolate a few days longer.
They swapped numbers, made new friends, and planned their next writing dates. They left with notebooks full of words and hearts full of possibility.
That’s how I know Woven isn’t just a retreat — it’s a community, and it’s still growing.
We’re already building an online group (yes, you’ll be able to join us!) and sketching out the next Woven Story Retreat. Well, just as soon as I recover from the jet lag!
Suzanne found a cozy window seat to snuggle up with her writing (and her beloved blanket from the retreat welcome kit!)
What’s Next
Yes, we’re going back to Ireland.
Details are coming soon, but here’s what I can tell you: spaces will be extremely limited, and because we’re announcing a full year in advance, it will sell out — quickly.
And one more thing — I’m launching the first-ever Woven Fellowship for emerging voices. If you need this in your life, applications open November 1, 2025, for a fully funded spot at the 2026 Woven Retreat.
If you’re reading this thinking, I wonder if I could do that, the answer is: Yes, you can.
You don’t need to be published. You don’t need to be ready. You just have to be willing.
So let’s do this — together.
Hold your space now for Woven 2026 in Ireland.
(12 residential + 8 local spaces — and that’s all.)Join the mailing list for updates, including details about the Woven Fellowship.
Tell a friend who needs this — because community is key, and friends are everything.
Stories like yours deserve a place to be Woven.
