Plan the book, write the plan – by Rowena House

Plan the book, write the plan. That’s the simplistic advice I gave myself two years ago during a twelve-day intensive writing retreat, at the end of which I announced here on ABBA that writing the seventeenth century witch trial work-in-progress had finally begun.

On 6/9/2022 to be precise.

Hurrah! Two years is not so very shameful for writing half a (semi-edited) manuscript.

True, the story has been in the pipeline for more than ten years. Serious research and planning began in 2020. But with life brimming over with other demands, my inner ‘hero’ storyteller can claim it’s all going swimmingly, thank you very much.

However...

Was it good advice, that stuff about the plan? Will it help me over the finish line when I’ve ‘only’ got two more years of the PhD to go, with a thesis to write as well 40K more creative words to draft and edit?

In short, where is the WIP at this sort-of half-way point? 

                                            Chez Castillon writer's retreat

Well, today ‘the plan’ looks nothing like it did in September 2022. Back then, two female characters loomed large in a story centred on a male protagonist. Now, while both women are still important, they are reduced to walk-on parts. This is a shame from a feminist standpoint, but necessary as the focus of the story shifted in the telling, and its core became clearer.

And that's just fine thanks primarily to advice from Hisham Matar and George Saunders. They helped me losen up to such an extent I’d now say I’m a card-carrying member of the Forget Self-imposed Creative Constraints Party. The plan should be fluid. If anything’s not working, jettison it! Create something better. More original. More precise.

That’s not the same as 'let rip' drafting, which lots of writers I admire subscribe to. Maybe you could say at this half-way point I'm at a half-way house between plotting and panstering. Yes, I'll follow the story deep into its wood but also remember what a path looks like. Otherwise it’s not a journey, it’s just getting lost.

What hasn't changed is my reliance on synopsis-based plans informed by the likes of Truby, Storr, and Scott Bell. They are still my go-to gurus when things fall apart. Paradoxically, however, I've found these storytelling ‘systems’ work best when you use them flexibly. Picking and mixing. Accepting much of the advice is contradictory, even at times misleading.

The important thing to remember is that planning is good practice, even when any one plan goes spectacularly wrong. Plans are adaptable to evolving content; they’re tools, not straight-jackets.

Another lesson I’ll flag up to myself at the half-way stage is this: as the opportunity to write recedes to the end of the month, a full six weeks after I had to stop writing this summer, trust that you will get back to it. The story will be in stasis, or even subconsciously developing during these inevitable downtimes. Over the past four years, life has derailed me repeatedly. Each time it has taken at least a week to regain a creative frame of mind and pick up the pieces again. That’s just how it is.

Since 2022, I’ve also found I wrote the largest number of new words during intensive bouts of working, primarily on retreats but also during the adapted NaNoWriMo I did last year. These new words were, however, almost entirely misdirected and got jettisoned within weeks.

But that is fine, too. The old adage ‘get it writ then get it right’ applies to acts, chapters and scenes - whatever chunk of text you’re writing. Thus it is possible – perhaps necessary – to be a panster and a plotter at the same time. The plan will stop rubbish words from dragging the whole thing down. 

Finally - and this after reading a truly irritating ‘dialogue’ between Richard Osman and Lee Child in The Guardian today -  I will add one last thought before signing off.

Dwelling on the inequalities of the publishing industry is wasted time. Damn celebrities. Writing this story is a learning process at so many levels: creative, psychological, political. In the end, learning will keep you saner than not learning, even in our crazy world.

Enjoy the beginnings of autumn if you’re in the northern hemisphere. See you on the other side of the equinox. 

                                             More Chez Castillon. Lovely!

Rowena House Author on Facebook for writing stuff

@HouseRowena on Twitter/X for rants about the world

Retreating from reality – Rowena House

Driving home after marking the 90-year milestone of my dad’s well-lived life which, tragically, is now sunk into the horrors of Alzheimer's, I made a sudden – but also not-so-sudden – decision to return to the beautiful southern French town of Castillon-la-Bataille on the banks of the Dordogne to reprise last year’s energizing, restful, magical writing retreat at Chez Castillion with the inimitable Jo Thomas, hosted by Janie Millman and Mickey Wilson. 

On Twitter or their website you can find more photos of their historic sandstone townhouse and the azure swimming pool in their courtyard garden. The colours are just as crisp and exotic in real life. The interiors are a mix of cooling mosaics, eclectic furniture and artworks, nothing pretentious, all homely and dreamy.

I took the decision to return to this paradise while parked up in the rain about 4 pm yesterday. We catch the ferry this evening. The course starts tomorrow. I am overwhelmed by the privilege of being able to repurpose money at the last moment to fulfil this dream, but life is precious and can be snatched away in so many different and cruel forms. In his heyday, dad would have approved of my choice.

I really hope everyone can snatch back agency and joy from time to time. I think I’m going to cry if the swifts are screaming over the pool as they were in the evenings last year. Meanwhile, here is the link to their website and also to Manda Scott’s recent Accidental Gods podcast which in part prompted the decision to escape the ocean of tears for a week.

https://www.chezcastillon.com/

https://accidentalgods.life/how-do-we-live-when-under-the-surface-of-everything-is-an-ocean-of-tears-with-douglas-rushkoff-of-team-human/

 

Rowena House Author on FB where I’m sort of journalling the C17th witchy work-in-progress

@HouseRowena on X/Twitter 

 

PS If you're a writer who wants to be published, please read Anne Rooney's piece on the economic realities we all face. I'm very aware my writing is another expression of privilege. Here's the link:

https://awfullybigblogadventure.blogspot.com/2024/04/how-can-it-ever-work-anne-rooney.html

 

 

 

Retreating Again by Sheena Wilkinson

I’m off on my travels – not far, but hopefully deep into my novel-in-progress, which at the moment is a very rough first draft. Thanks to the generosity of Children’s Books Ireland and the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, I’m the lucky recipient of a bursary to spend a week at the TGC in the company of several other Irish children’s writers -- you can read more here: 

The Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig

Before Covid I used to go on retreat a couple of times a year. Supporting myself through a range of writing-related activities – the usual freelance portfolio – made the occasional escape indispensable. It was never cheap, but I always justified the expense by saying that a month’s work could be done in a week with nothing to think about except your story. And living alone I had nobody to miss or feel guilty about leaving.

But Covid, and the closing down of all my habitual sanctuaries, interrupted that routine, and I haven’t been on retreat since a wonderful week at the Arvon Hurst in Shropshire in April 2019, redrafting my 2020 novel, Hope against Hope. My last novel, Mrs Hart’s Marriage Bureau, and my forthcoming one, a 1920s girls’ school story,  were my first books where not one word was written or edited somewhere at a retreat.

Marrying a widower in 2021 I experienced for the very first time some of the challenges faced by many other women. I have more emotional and practical support than I’ve ever had, but also many more responsibilities, running a busy home and adjusting to being a stepmother as well as carrying on with all my usual work commitments. Life resembles one of my own gritty YA novels rather more closely than I anticipated, and juggling domesticity, creativity and earning a living is ever more challenging, even though I am lucky enough to have a very supportive husband.  

So I am very excited about – not exactly escaping! – but recapturing the intense focus I used to take for granted. And of course I have someone to miss now, not to speak of my two lovely dogs, so I know I’ll be looking forward to coming home too – but hopefully with a big fat complete second draft.

Thanks so much to the lovely people at Tyrone Guthrie Centre and Children’s Books Ireland for making this possible. I’ll report back next month. 

 

Retreating over the mountain and onto a creative plateau - Rowena House

Two writing retreats, plus a holiday, and the mountain that stood in the way of the 17th century witch trial work-in-progress is, at last, surmounted. Ye-bloomin-ha!

Much of the required work turned out to be yet more editing to shore up the story’s foundations, but then new words powered my protagonist up and over that mountain, and delivered us to a marvellous new place, a kind of hidden plateau, where there’s time and space to revisit earlier ideas, and reconsider them, discarding many but fitting others into the shape of the story without feeling it’s mere procrastination.

A eureka moment post-retreat also identified the protagonist’s subconscious as a scene driver, which is helping me plot the next steps and reveal his rationalized self-deception about injustice to the reader.

This burst of creative energy means I don’t want to leave the writing for too long, nor over-analyse this phase of the process, hence this month’s ABBA post is brief, photographic, and by way of a thank you to Janie Millman, Mickey Wilson and our tutor, Jo Thomas, of Chez Castillon, France, and also to Debbie Flint of Retreats For You in Devon where I retreated earlier in the year.

I am very aware of the enormous privilege of being able to afford such luxuries as writing retreats, and my heart aches for all those creative souls in greater need of time and space than me who can't.

If you are lucky enough to be able to afford to escape the day-to-day and nourish your writing self, I hope these pictures tempt you. I've found both retreats hugely rewarding. If not, may the month of May bring you the kind of natural beauty that awes and inspires you wherever you are.

Chez Castillon (above) is a classic French town house with a beautiful courtyard garden in Castillon-la-Bataille on the banks of the Dordogne, just down the road from the vineyards of Saint Emilion, with a welcome as warm as old friends, great food, plentiful wine, and inspiring, intelligent company. 

Website: https://www.chezcastillon.com/
 

 

Retreats for You (above) is in a wonderful thatched house in the timeless north Devon village of Sheepwash and is as delightfully English as Chez Castillon is French. A tea-room to charm, cosy and quirky historical bedrooms, more great food, and more lovely writers to dine with and share ideas, hurdles, hopes, and dreams.

Website: https://www.retreatsforyou.co.uk/

If your budget, inclinations, and obligations allow you to savour either, enjoy!
 

I’m @HouseRowena on Twitter

https://www.facebook.com/rowenahouseauthor/

https://rowenahouse.wordpress.com/

The Weekend that Almost Wasn't

It was just my luck to volunteer to organise one of the annual Scattered Authors get togethers just as a pandemic broke out.

None of us thought the Folly Farm Winter Warmer 2022 would go ahead, even while we were planning it. The 2021 retreat was postponed twice and then cancelled, and when omicron hit, I was checking my emails every morning, braced for the cancellation notice.

But the notice never came and on the 15th January, a small group gathered. There were just ten of us, and two extras who dropped in on the Saturday. We were tired, jaded, hungry for social interaction that wasn't via a screen or with the people we lived with. We were missing several regular attendees, including Kit Berry, who'd sadly died last year (we miss you, Kit.) But we'd made it.

Folly Farm has been lucky to survive the past year. Many other businesses had to close. We arrived to a log fire in the refurbished lounge, upgraded rooms and copious quantities of tea and cake. The food kept coming all weekend - vast amounts of it, catering for every possible combination of every possible diet. 

As always, workshops were led by volunteers and, as always, content was varied. From writing prompts to meditation, historical research to watercolour painting.

I was rather worried about the painting session, led by Rachel Ward, who generously donated her time and art materials. My memories of art classes in school consist mainly of being yelled at for not trying hard enough and ever after I labelled myself as 'not good at art'. But, reassured that ability was not a requirement, I took my seat next to Tracy Darnton (another self-confessed non-artist) and attempted to paint a tree.

You can tell it's a tree, right?

I actually found a strange satisfaction in doing something I knew I was bad at, and not even trying to do it well. I brought the rest of my paint kit home so I can have another go, so who knows, I may have found a new hobby.

As always I ended the weekend feeling sorry to go home, but eager to write, with a head full of ideas. There's something about being in the company of other writers, sharing highs and lows, working out plot problems together. A large number of our published books started life on a retreat. I went along this year not intending to do any writing and then, while we were talking about fairy tales, an idea stirred and I spent the rest of the weekend inflicting it on everyone. I think it may become my next story.

The great thing about the Folly Farm retreat (apart from the food, the friendship, the fresh air) is the relaxed nature of it. You don't have to go to all the workshops, or write every day. You can sit about and talk, go on walks, read, stay in bed, whatever you want. I always get a lot out of it. 

If you've ever thought about joining a Scattered Authors retreat, please do. We've already booked for next January - look out for details later this year.

(Thanks to Jo Franklin for the photo.)

See you all next time!

Claire Fayers

www.clairefayers.com

 

Longing for lockdown by Sheena Wilkinson

 So it’s been a year now. A year of lockdowns and anxiety. We all miss something.

The Tyrone Guthrie Centre, County Monaghan

One of my friends, a globe-trotting sophisticate, has been missing travel – she pops over to Colombia the way I go to Cork – and I said that wasn’t really an issue for me. Living in Northern Ireland and doing a lot of work – pre-Covid – on mainland GB, I’d had enough of airports and planes and trains. 

The Clockhouse at the Hurst, Arvon (Shropshire) 

But just this last week I’ve been starting to fantasise about getting away. Not too far; not too exotic. I don’t especially want to see a bustling foreign city or lie on a beach. I just want to go on a writing retreat. 

Gladstone's Library, Flintshire

It started with an email from one of my favourite places, Gladstone’s Library, where I’ve been lucky enough to stay several times. Gladstone’s, like everywhere else, has had to close, and is making tentative and hopeful plans for re-opening. I remembered wistfully the days I had spent there, writing all day, walking in the local countryside, breathing in its calm, scholarly welcome. Those long days of quiet busy-ness when nothing matters but your story. When will I have them again? I mean, I write much of the day here anyway, and walk in my beautiful local countryside, but as any writer who’s been on retreat knows, it’s just Not The Same. 

Gladstone's Library, Flintshire

I hadn’t realised how I missed retreats, how much they were part of my routine, until these places were forbidden me (and everyone else of course.) Somehow, just knowing I could book a few days away, and concentrate on nothing but a manuscript was a sort of sanity-saver. 

Charney Manor, Oxfordshire 

In case you’re feeling the same way, I’m illustrating this post with my favourite retreats. Let’s look forward to when we can be locked down in a different way – tucked away in a library in a bubble with our writing. Maybe I'll see you there. 

The River Mill, County Down

Bird by Bird - Heather Dyer

In my last post, I enthused about how much easier it is to write at a writer’s retreat. And I stand by this. But now I’m going to argue that, sometimes, it’s more productive to write in short time slots, fitting your writing in around more pressing tasks.

There are good reasons for this:

1. We may not have the luxury of being able to write all day, every day
Unless we are supported by someone else, or independently wealthy, there will be the day job or other freelance work to do. And unless we have staff, there may be children to care for, dogs to walk, meals to cook and homes to clean. If we don’t grab the hour after the children have gone to bed, or half an hour in the morning before everyone else wakes up – or our lunch break, or the commute – we could end up waiting for ever to ‘find time’ to achieve our creative goals.

2. Little and often can feel more manageable
In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott talks about a school project (on birds) that her brother had delayed doing until the weekend before it was due. Their father sat the boy down and said, ‘Bird by bird, son. Bird by bird.’ And, bird by bird, he managed to get it done.

A long project like a book can feel overwhelming. But by focusing on the next small chunk of work, it’s surprising how much can be achieved before you know it.

3. You can gestate ideas between bouts of writing
Often, I suddenly realize what could happen next in a scene when I’ve just shut my laptop and am doing the dishes. Likewise, I frequently think of something I ought to have said the moment I’ve pressed ‘send’ on an email. There’s something about letting go that allows the mind to wander and allows new insights to arise. Working in short stretches can allow this to happen.

One way to take advantage of this is to note down which scene or section you want to work on the following day, to prime unconscious to work on it in the meantime. Hemingway famously stopped in the middle of a scene (or even a sentence). Apparently, when he knew what was coming next, it made it easier to return to work the following day. But I suspect it also allowed his unconscious to ‘work’ on the scene in the meantime.

4. Life inspires art
Writers need to live as well as write, because inspiration comes from living. It's surprising how life and creative output cross-pollinate each other.  When we have a project on the go, things we see, hear, read, experience - it's all grist for the mill, and can trigger ideas or solutions.

5. Creativity is like a muscle - use it or lose it
I've heard it said that writing is like going to the gym. Little and often is the best way to keep the creative muscle active. And our ability to be creative isn't just restricted to our 'creative' projects, either. The intuitive, exploratory, open mindset that creativity requires is indispensable in life, as well.

6. Writing for long periods, just because we can, can be counterproductive
Particularly in the early stages of a project, pushing ahead can force its growth unnaturally. Sometimes, working in short stretches over a longer duration allows a storyline to develop more slowly and organically - and reach its full potential.

Maybe it depends on the writer, or maybe on the stage of a particular project. Sometimes, having the opportunity to dive in and push full steam ahead without distractions can be wonderful. At other times, adding to your work in short stints can be even more effective.

Heather Dyer is a consultant in writing for children. She provides writing and publishing advice through The Literary Consultancy, The Writers' Advice Centre for Children's Books, and privately. If you’re ready for feedback on your work-in-progress contact Heather at heatherdyerbooks@gmail.com. 

Heather’s children’s novel The Girl with the Broken Wing was one of Richard and Judy’s book club picks, and The Boy in the Biscuit Tin was nominated for a Galaxy Best British Children’s Book award. Heather also teaches creative writing for the University of the Creative Arts, and facilitates workshops in creative thinking techniques for creatives and academics.

Writing Retreats - Heather Dyer

Hawthornden Castle

I’ve applied for a grant to buy time to write. This might sound odd, since I’m a freelancer and already spend most of my time writing. But writing at home isn’t the same as writing at a dedicated writing retreat.

A writing retreat is the most effective way I can think of for converting money into creative output. I once spent five days at retreat at Ty Newydd, and wrote 10,000 words. At another retreat I conceived a whole new structure and voice for a long-term project.

Ty Newydd

Still, spending six days at somewhere like Retreats for You would normally be beyond my reach. I suppose I could try and manufacture a retreat at home. I could turn off my phone and router, send the dog to kennels, tell everyone I’ve gone on holiday, take down my calendar and hide all reminders of my freelance work, prepare all my meals in advance. But it wouldn’t be the same. I’d still be thinking about the cleaning or the laundry or getting up to sign for a delivery.

Retreats for You

So, I Google writing retreats like others might Google luxury holidays or houses. I lust after their empty rooms, furnished with just a single bed, chair, desk and view. I love reading about the healthy local food they serve, the picnic baskets they leave outside your door at lunchtime. I imagine myself walking in the grounds lost in thought, or sitting on veranda with my notebook on my lap. It feels like a luxury to be able to do nothing but think and work as hard as I can.

But it’s not just the extra time a retreat gives you – it’s the extra headspace. In filling out the application, I reflected on why exactly retreats are so productive. Here are the reasons I gave:

1. Not having to prepare food or do any other routine tasks allows me to function on autopilot. Because I don’t have to drag myself back to the real world to think about what I’m going to make for dinner, or do the dishes, or walk the dog, I can remain preoccupied by my work 24/7. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I do before going to bed. I can wander about lost in thought, and make notes at the dinner table.
2. This uninterrupted focus deepens my immersion in the material, which allows unconscious connections to rise to the surface and results in new insights.
3. Shutting down all other mental ‘bandwidths’ relieves stress, and this also helps create an expansive, creative mindset. Until I’m on retreat, I don't realize how much ‘noise’ is going on inside my head, keeping me distracted.
4. I set out-of-office/voicemail messages as though I’m on vacation, which helps me feel detached, and sustain an inward focus. Immediately, it’s as though the real world and my real life have been whisked away, and all I’m left with is the material I brought to work on.
5. Knowing that time on retreat is limited makes me feel justified – and obliged – to give my creative work priority. Usually, the opposite is true. Even though writing is always my priority, there are a million smaller, less important things that are more urgent. So they take precedence. Working on ‘my own stuff’ begins to feel like a guilty pleasure. Every moment on retreat is precious, because here you are a writer above all else.
6. Being around other writers is motivating and inspiring – both chatting with them and just knowing they’re behind the walls, also working. There’s a lovely kind of understanding that happens, where you can go about lost in thought, and everyone understands. Or, there are people to talk to about writing who really understand.
7. The progress made during a retreat generates momentum that continues for months afterwards, so it’s easier to continue building on this progress in smaller chunks of time.

But you don't have to be a writer to have a working retreat. You could have a workation, at a centre dedicated to working stays, set up with superfast wifi, social areas and restaurants. With the rise in people working remotely, more and more people are working on the move. I’ve heard of other people attending spiritual or religious retreats to work, too, in the peace and quiet.

Have you been to any retreats you’d recommend? Has anyone made retreating-at-home work for them?

Heather Dyer is a consultant in writing for children. She provides editorial and publishing advice through The Literary Consultancy, The Writers' Advice Centre for Children's Books, and privately. For feedback on your work-in-progress contact Heather at heatherdyerbooks@gmail.com. 

Heather’s children’s novel The Girl with the Broken Wing was one of Richard and Judy’s book club picks, and The Boy in the Biscuit Tin was nominated for a Galaxy Best British Children’s Book award. Heather also teaches creative writing for the University of the Creative Arts, and facilitates workshops in creative thinking techniques for creatives and academics.

Retreating -- DIY style Sheena Wilkinson

One of our walks

I’m a serial retreater, and I’ve written on here several times about the importance of getting away to work somewhere free from the demands of daily life. 

But what about a retreat in my own house? A week when all I focus on is my writing? Isn’t that just normal life – or meant to be? Well, no, as anyone trying to juggle writing with events, workshops, school visits, etc. knows, it can be very hard to make yourself prioritise your writing with everything else knocking on the door –- sometimes literally. 

I was chatting to a writer friend, the lovely E. R. (Elizabeth) Murray about this. Elizabeth is an expert on retreats and we decided to have a DIY retreat at my house in County Down. We would keep strict working hours, but also prioritise good food and long walks – something we both love. Well, we did it last month, it was a great success, and I want to encourage other writers to consider doing the same thing. 

I don’t live in a grand house in an exotic location, but I was able to provide a quiet room, a designated working space and beautiful countryside nearby. We agreed about what we wanted to achieve and respected each other’s need for quiet and privacy to work. But it was lovely to have someone to say, How’s it going?and to share the joy/despair. Someone to make a cup of tea for. Someone to understand that another cup of tea is indeed necessary. 

This little room became Elizabeth's for the week

Elizabeth says she hates routine, but she’s very structured in how she works, which exactly fitted with me. I couldn’t have coped with someone wandering around seeking inspiration at three in the morning or leaving towels on the floor.  We both like order and tidiness, so we were able to tread lightly around each other. For me, knowing she was downstairs editing away helped me focus. I wanted to be able to report good progress. 

Lest this all sound a bit monastic, wine, and occasionally chips, were also involved. And words. A lot of words. On the page and on the lips – we fitted in a month’s work of chatting as well as a month’s worth of editing.

But don’t just take my word for it: this is what Elizabeth has to say about the experience:

I'm no stranger to writing retreats but spending five days with another writer, in their home, on a self-directed retreat was something I’d never done before. I had worked with Sheena on a week-long residential and we’d got on really well, so I thought it would be great. My only concern was that it might prove awkward being in someone else’s space when they’re used to having it to themselves to work in. But it turned out better than I could ever have imagined. 

Working to an agreed schedule with someone else (I usually hate routine) made the whole writing experience feel more sociable and less pressured; even though we were in separate areas working away, we could share our progress and thoughts over meals, and I felt much more relaxed than I often do while working alone. We had a lovely balance between solid working hours, long walks in beautiful countryside, and visits around the local area – it felt like a combination of holiday and retreat, and it was nice to feel you were working towards a reward.

We honestly got a lot of work done too!

What I took from our days together was a heap of work, but also the realisation that I often work too intensely and although I love writing, I often don’t leave enough space for breaks which are actually reviving. I am allergic to routine usually but I discovered that perhaps a few days of routine now and again wouldn’t hurt to shake things up a bit. And I learned that working on a retreat with a friend can be a truly joyous experience that brings an extra element of joy to your day and your writing. 

A DIY writing retreat is a great way to replicate something of what a more expensive retreat offers. So, find yourself a writing chum who won’t drive you crazy, agree on some house rules, and get retreating! 

See also -- https://www.writing.ie/resources/is-a-writing-retreat-right-for-you-by-e-r-murray/

RETREATING WITH A STRANGER by Penny Dolan

Late in January, a writing friend rang. A writing retreat? Untutored time? Just for a weekend? Here was a retreat centre up in the Yorkshire Dales. Two hours drive from home but there was also a train station nearby. Time for writing, talking and walking too if we feel like it? . . . With nice food on offer too. Of course – aside from a quick glance at the bank balance - I said yes. What with one thing and another, I had written few words over the last months so I really needed this promised time. Besides two more writing friends wanted to come as well.

February and March passed and the re-assuring date crept closer. I was barely writing and ashamed and sad about that fact, even though I was busy with a lot of other activities. April arrived, skipped along and all at once the weekend had arrived.

Time to get ready. Time to pack. Time to prepare . . .

Packing a suitcase was the simplest of the tasks: only a few work-comfortable clothes, thank goodness, and a quantity of jumpers to guard against any springtime shivers. Add a few other essentials, barest of make-up, toothbrush with the obligatory pair of almost-empty toothpaste tubes, the silly kitten-faced travel slippers that make me laugh and my trusty hot water bottle. Sturdy, striding footwear and crocs were flung in the boot of the car, as well as my hugest, warmest coat-size writing cardigan which is always a good decision.

Next I gathered up a selection of notebooks and partly-scribbled projects. What about drawing pencils and a pad? And colours and brushes? I might need need to story-map my way out of a problem or revisit some character or setting afresh? My underlying worry was that I might have to draw because I’d been deserted by words.Maybe I might need to fill my writing time-space with reading? Just in case I added James Fenton on English Poetry: a nicely thin but fairly serious book. Or . . . or . . . No, I had enough of the stationery stuff! I dropped the whole collection into one big bag, glad that I was travelling by car.

However, even as I busied myself with these highly visible packing skils, two major preparation worries grumbled and nagged at me in my head.

My first fret was about my change of laptop, or Major Preparation Anxiety One. For ages, while travelling, I carted about a too- heavy, third-hand Cranky Laptop. In a limited way, I did owe the beast it as, it had helped me to untangle a long manuscript on an earlier retreat. Unfortunately, the machine monster could only be kept alive by a constant plug-in power supply, which limited the usefulness of it as a laptop. (I certainly had no idle wandering on shaded balconies with it, or pauses in chatty coffee shops or lazing about on lawns, la la la . . . and all the other things people do in certain computer adverts. )

This time, I would be taking my elegant, lightweight laptop, known as the New Blue, ta-da! Or, in other words, I was going away for the weekend with a stranger: an unknown machine only recently been wrangled into a half-recognisable typing device. I barely knew the new shiny thing at all, not in any practical, fingertip-familiar, get-on-with-the-typing work-rhythm way. Alarm bells kept ringing . . .

Major Preparation Anxiety Two was the worst of all, because it had bothered me since I’d agreed to come, had haunted me while I packed and followed me through all the stone villages and market towns as I drove to the retreat centre, a few miles west of Hawes.

I was, I admit, scared of arriving, of opening up my pathetically-stalled writing project and being unable to work on anything at all: neither technically or mentally or with any hopeful spirit. I was truly afraid that my Words had been squashed to nothing and wiped away by the run of overcrowded time.

But now . . . ssshh! . . . I am here in my little room, warm and cosy, typing this post. It is early Saturday morning and there’s sunlight on the frosted green fields and the sounds of breakfast being prepared downstairs, I have arrived and I am using my shiny New Blue here in bed. I am typing and making quiet writing plans. I am happy at all levels, and quite hopeful at a few. The real retreat has begun . . .

And now it is Sunday, just before coffee. 

Over the last two days, we have worked, walked a couple of times, talked about our work and books and publishing, and made some drawings and photographs too. We’ve also realised that a weekend retreat is more like a pause: an essential still point in life from where to sort out thoughts and plans and ideas going forward, rather than the extensive finish-the-tome, twenty-four hour kind of writing that flickers as a possibility at the start of such a weekend.

I am sitting alone in the light and airy workroom, where the piano and the poetry book collection live. My New Blue laptop is open on the long wooden table and I am writing this post. In a moment, I will go across to the house for coffee and home-made biscuits, and then sink into a sofa by the fire, in case the cat wants to help me with editing some printed-out pages.

But I do have to choose, because the time is going by so fast and soon we’ll be leaving. But perhaps, fingers crossed, the Words I’ve rediscovered will come home with me, and keep the writing going onwards.And the New Blue and I will no longer be strangers, even if we are not yet able to add photos to this post.

Meanwhile, many many thanks to you, my good weekend writing friends. You know who you are.

A weekend retreat on writing about climate change – by David Thorpe

Incredible as it may seem it's still possible for children to go through school and come out the other end and hardly be aware of the existence of climate change, because it is barely touched upon in the curriculum.

It seems like a pretty vital topic, then, for writers to choose to include in their stories – to bring the reality of this topic into a children's imaginations!

That's why, this March, I'm running a weekend retreat for writers at the Welsh writing centre Ty Newydd, set in the stunningly beautiful Lleyn Peninsula.

Helping me to do this will be the poet, dramatist, climate change campaigner and performer Emily Hinshelwood.

We will be challenging writers to think about ways to expose and write about the often hidden connection between our profligate use of fossil fuels and the loss of habitat, life and lifestyle – that many in the world are already experiencing.

In our everyday lives we often don't have the opportunity or space to consider the emotions that arise in us as a response to such a nebulous and all encompassing threat as catastrophic climate change.

This threat seems both remote and near, far away in time, and yet touching the every day weather and the behaviour of plants and wildlife around us even now – as if they are early warning sensors.

We don't know how to interpret these portents and the very uncertainty around climate change and the sheer size of the fact makes us feel powerless and afraid.

Some of us go into denial, some of us are paralysed with shock and some of us are galvanised into action.

In writing for children, they mustn't be made to feel frightened or scared into shock and powerlessness, they must be helped to feel that the future does contain hope and that it is possible to do something. But there is so much to know. Where can writers start?

There is already no shortage of novels for children with the theme of climate change. Three years ago I took part in a session at the Hay-on-Wye Literature Festival where, with the author of the Carbon Diaries, Saci Lloyd, we touched on some of them.

For our pains we were accused of poisoning children's minds by the right-wing press and online trolls!

I've written something about the history of writing and climate change here.

In another project I've been involved with, Weatherfronts, an anthology of writing about climate change, some writers have addressed the question with a story set at a domestic scale rather than apocalyptic science-fiction.

Darragh Martin wrote a hilarious story for young children about fighting off a nasty polluter called 'Thumbelina Jellyfizz and the Elephant in the Bathroom'.

And what about picturing a bright future where we have solved the problems of climate change but maybe we have other problems instead?

To build a bright future we first have to envision it. Children, with their unfettered imaginations, unconstrained by preconceptions, are well able to contribute their own ideas. Writers can stimulate them to do this.

So our weekend course will discuss the many facets of climate change and the ways in which its impact is felt both by participants on the course and people throughout the world.

We will experiment with a variety of different approaches and investigate ways of tapping our emotional reactions, of using research, imagining possible scenarios, and generating meaningful stories.

We will also be using the cycle of recovery from shock and grief because we think it is directly relevant here.

We have seen people move through these psychological stages:

1. shock & denial when they first hear about climate change; 
2. pain & guilt about the suffering that humanity has caused and is causing by the use of fossil fuels; 
3. anger and blame-laying; 
4. depression, powerlessness, reflection; 
5. an upward turn as one realises that life could still continue; 
6. reconstruction of one's life in a new way that is more sustainable, perhaps making connections with like-minded people; 
7. and finally acceptance and hope as they learn to deal with the new situation.

This almost sounds like a 'voyage and return' scenario or perhaps a 'conquering the monster' type of story, doesn't it?

It's going to be exciting to see what people come up with. Emily and I can't wait to see you there!

Find out more here: http://www.tynewydd.wales/course/writing-climate-change/

[I am the writer of Marvel's Captain Britain, the sci-fi YA novels Hybrids, Doc Chaos: The Chernobyl Effect and the cli-fi fantasy Stormteller. I also run a regular writing course, called 'Making Readers Care' that can be taken online. Contact me if interested.]

To NanoWriMo or Not? Building a Writing Habit - Lynn Huggins-Cooper

I have lost count of the amount of times people have told me that they have always wanted to write a book - if only they had the time. I have considered making up occupations at parties - firefighter, baker or toilet attendant - just to avoid that awkward moment where 'inner me' shrieks ''Well, write one then!'' and 'outer me' tries the sympathetic-smile-turned-rictus that is supposed to convey my understanding of their predicament. Writing, it seems, is the thing that us languid writers do, sipping our cocktails on a silken bench and occasionally penning a line. Yeah, right.

It is interesting how many times I have been described as 'prolific' in my 20 year writing career. As though I am a veritable wellspring of ideas who effortlessly knocks out a book before lunch. The secret to the quantity of books I have written is the dullest secret in the world. I get up; I make tea - and then it's bum-on-seat writing time. Then I have lunch. A little Facebook-footling and yep; the bum goes firmly back into the groove it has worn in the chair by the desk.

Many of the folks who come on my writing courses struggle to find the time to write. On my writing retreats at Gibside, a lovely National Trust property close to home, we talk about this regularly. The truth is, if you want to write enough - if you need to write, you will find time. It sounds harsh, but it's the truth. When I was first published, back in 1997, I was teaching full time in a management position. I had two young children to look after. Yet I spent hours specially carved out of the day writing. Eventually, I earned enough from writing to give up the day job.

Many of the writers I work with also have families and day jobs - but they write. They write because ideas bubble up and boil out of them onto the page. That drive; that need to write pushes them on. Many of them are weighing up whether to leap into the madness of NanoWriMo this November. The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month - that's 1667 every day. It seems like a big commitment to many people, but it is the act of writing every day that builds writing muscle, and turns writing into part of your daily routine. It's the daily placing of the bum-on-seat in front of the laptop or notebook that makes you a writer. I shall be Nano-ing this November, as I often do, to get a jump start on a new book project. I love knowing that in coffee shops, kitchens and studies around the world, other writers are beavering away, building their word count and more importantly, building their writing habit. Will you be joining us? Look me up. We can be writing buddies and push each other on. I am, rather unimaginatively, listed as lynnhc. Hope to see you there!

SOMETHING RATHER WONDERFUL HAPPENED by Penny Dolan

Something rather wonderful happened. Eventually.

I arrived back from London late one Friday, feeling adrift. I’d expected to be down in Wanstead for a week, helping while someone was in hospital, However, just after noon on admission day, we heard the operation was postponed. The theatre's air conditioning unit had failed, the hospital apologised, and couldn't be repaired,so it was too hot to operate safely just now. Please come back in two weeks time.   

Once the call was done, there were tears and anger and disbelief, gradually eased by another viewing of the brilliant Big Knights dvd. By evening, a weary pragmatism had set in. Our practice run had gone well, hadn’t it, ha ha ha? See you back here again in two weeks time!

But next day, once I got home again, I was feeling low – and then came the surprise. An email dropped into my box. It was from a good writing friend, pointing out that I was now free to come on the untutored writing retreat starting on the Monday at Moniack Mhor, near Inverness.

Much earlier in 2017, I’d been interested in the retreat but, for more than one reason, the week just hadn’t seemed possible. However, there was still one tiny room left, a room that couldn’t be charged at full price, and I could have it, if I didn’t mind a certain tightness of space.

Go To Moniack? I was thrown. I was uncertain. Yet, as was pointed out,  my bags were still packed and I had cleared the week ahead of bookings. Besides, himself had made plans for while I was away. Overnight, the answer came: If not, why not?

On Sunday, I was at Edinburgh Waverley station. On Monday, my friend was driving me and two others up through the beautiful landscape to Moniack Mhor 's Scottish Writing Centre. What bliss! The place had been a dream for years.

The room was quite tiny, with a single skylight above the pillow. A notice named it as the Overnight Writing Tutor Room. I did feel a flicker of curiosity about writing luminaries that had slept in that bed before pushing the thought away. I'd certainly be re-balancing that bedroom’s illustrious aura. 

The untutored week meant that the time was completely my own, apart from meals. I made myself a discreet writing nest at the empty table in the computer room downstairs, and there my cranky laptop and I stayed, warmed by the printer fans. Bit by bit, and with the help of Document Map, I untangled a long piece of work in progress. As I did so, I managed to feel some belief in my writing again, a feeling that had been lost for a long time.

As the week sped by, I started to feel very happy. I wrote with the sense of others working and writing around me, but there were no workshops, no “performance”, no reading out or deep discussion of words brought or done during the day. 

The writers there did chat about work, but lightly and easily. They were lovely people, but few were interested in writing for children. I felt blessedly anonymous, unworried by all the anxieties that can rise among a group of peers. I had no responsibility for any running of the week either, and that was wonderful. Moniack Mhor gave me what I most needed: uninterrupted time, face to face with my writing.

There were moments way from the laptop of course: short and longer strolls outside to look at the views and landscape; musing-time in the cosy cob “hobbit house”; pleasant conversations with the interesting people there: the translators, historians, poets, writers of memoirs, short stories, novels and more. There was also much delicious food, and whisky, and a piping-in of the haggis at the last supper too. Finally, each day ended with a memorable after-dinner chat with two good writing friends, Linda Strachan and Susan Price, who were there too. My surprise week at Moniack Mhor was magically restorative, and I was so glad that I’d responded to Linda's last minute suggestion. 

All too soon, I was back at Waverley, catching the train to York. Today, back home again – for a third time - I am trying to create my own sense of peace and productivity here. Onward, with a metaphorical banner raised!

Furthermore, on my return from Moniack, after some hasty repacking of bags, I set off down to London again. This time, I’m delighted to report that, the big operation did happen, and though some of it was (and still is) tough, all went well and successfully. All of which means that a second hugely-wonderful thing happened, eventually, so I'd like to end this post by sending many thanks to all the staff at St Thomas's Evelina Children’s Hospital, and a hooray to those bravely recovering.

Huge thanks, too, to the Society of Authors In Scotland who arranged the Retreat, and to the staff and people at Moniack Mhor who made my surprise week possible.  You might enjoy seeing the other courses that Moniack Mhor runs, or the ones run at the various Arvon Centres.

                                      

Ps. The SoAiS/SoA are now taking weekend and day bookings for this coming September's SCOTSWrite EVERYTHING A WRITER NEEDS Conference at Westerwood Hotel and Golf Resort near Glasgow. You’ll find more on exact dates and details here. 

Penny Dolan