Bolt Hole for Writers – an ideal Writer’s Retreat?

Although, as writers we could be classed as a Collective, I imagine what works as a writer’s retreat for one would fail miserably for another. Utopia is not universal.

Facebook, the blogosphere, and various writerly magazines, are replete with enticing offers of Writer’s Retreats in mountainous areas, wilderness zones far away from traffic, or impossibly beautiful houses overlooking ocean waves with cliff walks thrown in. I’m always tempted.

As yet, the cost has been a large factor in deciding not to succumb…but I might in the future.

So, if one doesn’t attend an organised Writer’s Retreat but is fed up with looking at the same four walls at home, what does one do?

Well, this one has done the following over the past few years:

1 x Hilfield Friary, Dorset
2 x Air BnBs in UK
2 x Air BnB abroad: one in Crete and one in Portugal
1x Sykes Cottages
Bristol Central Library
Various Coffee#1s and other brands

I’ve just returned from a week in Penwithick, Cornwall, holed up in a delightful cottage, and want to share some of the features that I look for as clues that might make discovering that sweet spot of creativity all the more likely.

In order, I look for:

1. A good table and chair close to a window…by far and above the most important and not that easy to find!
2. WiFi
3. Remote…I can work in a city/town/busy coffee shop setting…but, if I’m swapping my four walls, I’d prefer to look out on a garden, a beach, a mountain, or a lake.
4. Heating – joy for me is a log burner
5. Furniture and general décor…I know it when I see it. A comfortable sofa is a must
6. Kitchen – a fridge. Got to chill the white somewhere
7. Free parking by the cottage is preferable

In terms of concentration, I’m 10x better in the morning. The afternoon often is a mush, and I revive later in the evening. If I do any exercise, it’ll usually be a run early in the morning, back for a shower, breakfast, then down to it by 9 if possible. Maybe an afternoon walk/hike.

But writing, I find, will not be confined to a well-organised routine; inspiration is as unpredictable as catching trout.

A few days into this latest retreat, conditions 1-7 all met, and inspiration itself decided to evaporate. Grumpily I gave up slogging a dead horse and drove to Mevagissey for a bracing walk round the harbour, along the Coastal path, and to mouche around the town’s quaint alleyways and shops. Foolishly I donned a thin jacket, and, despite wrapping my neck in a thick scarf, the bitter cold quickly penetrated my bones, and I was forced to retreat to a warm coffee shop overlooking the harbour.

I ordered my standard flat white and a slice of sommit and sat down only to find there was no WiFi available. Grumpier now. But I’d brought an old, battered exercise pad and a pen, not sure why, dug it out, and sat there gazing stupidly at the harbour.

At that point of uselessness and redundancy, inspiration struck, and a poem began to form, or rather, I began to see the harbour at low tide as a metaphor and words began to wrap themselves around the metaphor.

Would that have happened if I had stayed at home in Bristol? No. Or would it have occurred if I’d switched on the tv and stayed in the cottage to watch another episode of For All Mankind? No. But did I need to be reduced to nothing, with no WiFi in a coffee shop? That’s a question that will keep spiritual gurus and philosophers in business all day long.

The Universe, and life in it, does seem to run best on a diet of enriched paradoxes.

Be still and know that I am God – is this the necessary prelude for whatever comes next? Psalm 23 carries the same thought, ‘The Lord is My shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me lie down…’ everything else in that well-known Psalm follows on, but first, inaction is called for: ‘lie down’.

This is not easy for us Westerners caught up in our futile attempts at meritocracy and external achievement, rather than switching to the better way: grace.

At that point of uselessness and redundancy…a poem began to form

So, there it is. My recipe for a writer’s getaway. But even the recipe is subject to the whims of the human condition and the starting point of stillness whether achieved through personality, prayer, meditation, or, as in my case, failure.