Retreating to write

“Back yourself, you know you can swim.” How many times have I said this to people seeking my advice and support? It was my turn to put the morale booster into practice as I’d signed up for a writing retreat in Umbria Italy 6 months ago. Now here I was getting into a minibus at Perugia airport with the strangers who were to become my writing group during the A Haven For Stories Retreat – Villa Pia Lippiano

I felt tired and grubby from a poor night’s sleep and a 6:30am flight. But it wasn’t just that, it was because I was out of my comfort zone and suffering (again) from a huge dollop of imposter syndrome. What did I think I was doing amongst all these “real writers”? I felt a fraud.

Six months previously I’d been grateful for all the positive feedback I received when the Untapped Potential podcast I’d been a guest on was released. Several people suggested that I should write a book, and it had planted a seed in my mind. Eventually I managed to convince myself that there was only one way to find out if there was and that was what led to me being in Italy.

There were some published writers in the 24 people signed up for the retreat and the tutors Alice, Elise, and Toby, were also of course successful in their respective fields. But it transpired the rest were similar to me in their own way, some had ambitions to be published and were already on that journey but in the main most were writing for themselves and looking to find their voice.

I’ve written regularly over the last 15 months, cajoled by Jacqui and Kiah at Lucid Direct who manage the DOCIAsport website. Their initial motivation was search engine optimisation, but they also inadvertently helped me come from behind the corporate veil of my company and have the confidence to begin to write under my own name. I’d gained confidence by the responses to my writing and wanted to discover whether there was this book in me or not. However, I also felt that there was perhaps something deeper at play. I had concluded the source of my writing came from my mind. I wanted to see if I perhaps could do more, write from the heart and the soul as well as the mind. Could I find my real voice not just my ‘professional’ one?

Deciding about a subject matter that I felt comfortable with was going to be the biggest hurdle to overcome and as I got off the bus at the villa I still didn’t have a clue what it might be. However I had a feeling what was to come was already in me, I just had to find it, hopefully inspired by my surroundings, and my equally nervous colleagues. The one thing I was always sure of was to just write for myself, I didn’t have and still don’t have any ambition to be published – not that a two-book deal and a retainer were realistically on offer.

The retreat wasn’t all ‘head down and 10,000 words by Friday.’ There were opportunities to walk, swim and do yoga which I did – the latter as a novice, as stiff as an ironing board. I certainly felt the need to relax in the coming days. Prior to the trip I’d had a challenging few weeks working hard, travelling, preparing to move house, and recovering from a bad cycle accident three weeks previously. It had been an intense time and hardly the ideal preparation. I needed this change of scene and I wanted to immerse myself in the Umbrian countryside and all that the retreat had to offer.

In the set programme for the week there was plenty of time to write, think and discuss ideas as well as three workshops and tutorials to help us be creative. My tipping point came in the second tutorial with Toby Jones, a published author and journalist. We sat talking through my thoughts about a possible book and some of my different life events when he interrupted me “‘That’s the start of your book and that’s your inciting incident, write about it.”

The next day, Wednesday, was a ‘day off’ from the formal programme. It was a day of ‘good writing weather’ – in other words it rained heavily. Four of us sat at the end of the villa’s long dining room warmed by the log burning stove in the corner. We sat in silence but the creative energy we built between us enabled us to all have a productive day. I’d got 1,200 words down for a first chapter that I was beginning to feel proud of.

Thursday was the last of the workshops and ironically it was about beginnings. The last night was beginning to loom in everyone’s thoughts as we knew it was a ‘Gala night’ when everyone was invited to read some of their writing. My workshop group of eight writers proved to be really supportive of each other and I certainly found their constructive criticism a great help. So, I was grateful to them all when I read a draft of the text I’d decided to read at the gala and got some great suggestions for improvement, which I worked on in the afternoon.

On the Friday I’d booked a massage for the last appointment of the day as I wanted to release any tension I was carrying from the week and the 5 days I’d spent writing. So I was slightly late for the gala, and I entered the crowded library with everyone gathered talking nervously. The first three people spoke beautifully and the emotion and effort they had put into their writing during the week was evident. Then it was my turn. I read an extract from what will probably be the first chapter of a memoir I’ll write. I’d decided that I wasn’t going to write just for me but as a legacy for Jessica and Harry my brilliant children and Billy my grandson and anyone else who appears in the Braid family in the years to come.

I had goosebumps as I read, proud of what I’d written and the applause as I sat down seemed to go on for ages reverberating round the library. My new friends were all very complimentary afterwards, some visibly moved. “I was with you in the room” said one; “Thank you Ian, that was so touching” said another. I believe I have found that inner voice, my voice, and I’m encouraged to continue to write.

I can swim and maybe, just maybe I’ve added another stroke.

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