Last weekend I went on a woman’s retreat. Nine of us shared an unstructured two days in a cabin in a lovely little town in Alaska, eating too much snack food, playing board games far into the night, and talking. I’m an introvert. Most writers are, to one degree or another. Writing is a solitary exercise and it’s easy to populate my world with imaginary characters from my books and the books I read. It’s good for me to spend time with a group of real woman, interacting, listening, and sharing one bathroom. Life isn’t smooth for all of them. Some of these women are facing custody battles, health problems, depression, neighborhood feuds, financial difficulties, and romantic friction, but their courage is ongoing, and they haven't lost their sense of fun. These are strong women. I wish I could write each of them a happy ending, but they don’t need it. They will soldier on and eventually create their own happy endings, because the only alternative is to give up, and that'