I did a terrible thing. I went on a writing retreat and wrote nothing. The retreat was of my own making. Three weeks in Shetland, in a motorvan, touring the most northerly locations in Britain. I had in mind a peaceful setting and long, uninterrupted stints working on my current book. But sitting in a motorvan is like sitting in the capsule of a space rocket. There’s no room to spread out your stuff and no getting away from your companion. In my case the companion was my husband. He chitters non-stop!
And so I abandoned my plans. I swopped writing for island hopping, starting with the mainland and its ‘sunny’ west side (a Shetlander told me so it must be true) then moving on to Yell and Unst. Each area had its own unique atmosphere. Instead of creating scenes in my head I immersed myself in the breathtaking scenery that was all around me.
Usually, when I’m in the throes of writing a book, I find it hard to shake that feeling that I should always be ‘on it’. Wherever I go, the manuscript comes too, following me around like a lost puppy. In Shetland, I let go of the guilt and it released my mind to roam free. I still jotted down notes on my story but only when and if I felt like it.
As the days slipped by I relaxed further into the gentler pace of island life. I met kind and welcoming people. Talkers like my husband, which was lovely, actually. So what if I didn’t add one word to my manuscript? I came back feeling refreshed and with a mind bursting with ideas. I couldn’t have wished for more.