On retreat...

Thoughts from a Writers' retreat

For the last four days I have been mentoring at a writers’ retreat, perhaps the tenth such experience in the last two years. Based on this track record, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to draw some conclusions - and perhaps the most pertinent of these is that there seems to be a set of characteristics which apply to such gatherings, no matter where they are held or how many people attend. Here are just four…

Each retreat has its own personality

Every retreat is different. It has to be, inevitably. The blend of these five people versus those six generates a unique amalgam mixed from the experience and ambitions of those in attendance. And their personalities, of course. More than anything, it will be how people ‘are’ that settles the way the group behaves.

So, there will be serious and studious retreats, punctuated with laughter. Or laugh-filled retreats punctuated by seriousness. Some events will be intense, others chilled-out. There is no way of knowing how each retreat will go until perhaps after the first meal, the first workshop, the first drink. [Often it the first drink is the catalyst!]

All retreats will have each of these attributes - the seriousness, the laughter etc. - but how they manifest themselves and in what proportion…well that’s down to some magical and incalculable concoction.

This week? Lots and lots of work - and lots and lots of laughing!

You learn something from everyone on the retreat

In fact everyone learns something from everyone else. It can be something formal - like a writing process recommendation - or a throw-away comment that can unlock something in the recipient. The informal is as valuable as the formal.

You may not go on a retreat to ‘learn’ (as you would if enrolled on a structured course), but you will inevitably do so. And often you will learn as much about yourself as you do about your writing. As mentor, I always learn something from talking with people on a retreat.

One of the key events to facilitate this can be the late-night ‘read-around’ where delegates are encouraged to share something that they’ve written. I’ve seen people literally shake with fear while they speak, never having exposed themselves in such a way! But they always learn something: about the experience of reading and how valuable it can be to hear their words spoken, and in receiving constructive feedback in a safe environment. I have yet to see someone deflated after their final evening performance.

People tend to set themselves goals - and often exceed them

“Why are you here?” It’s a common enough question. And there are standard responses from which people tend to choose: to finish something; to inject some momentum into a stalled project; to enjoy some ‘me time’.

Although these tend to be the proffered public responses, often more specific goals lurk beneath the surface. Not always shared, these tend to relate to completing a book / chapter / collection, or to writing a set number of words, or working for a minimum number of hours. A secret hope almost. I think that for most people, arriving at a retreat with a specific ambition is a ‘good thing’; it sets a tone for your event, provides you with a focus. Indeed “when you leave here, what will ‘success’ look like?” is one of my favourite questions for the first day. And “what did you achieve?” then becomes appropriate for the last morning.

Very often delegates surprise themselves with what they have been able to get done, either in terms of hitting their prescribed goals or - perhaps less frequently - finding themselves writing something else entirely. And enjoying doing so. In my own case, a chance encounter while on retreat led to an ‘unexpected’ short story and eventually a complete collection (Degrees of Separation). Such achievements are unquestionably down to the hard work of the individuals themselves, but also a by-product of the environment overall.

Difficulties are more common than you might imagine - and often shared

Given writers work at such a solitary craft, it is perhaps not unreasonable to think that our problems are precisely that i.e. our problems. But more often than not the symptoms are shared. People on retreats who are struggling will often find others in a similar position: ‘writer’s block’, difficulty planning, not being able to ‘see’ an ending, troubles with characters / scenes / poems / anything at all…

Where such issues are acknowledged as shared, there is strength to be gained form that kinship. And often delegates find someone else has come out the other side and is more than happy to shared how they managed such a miracle.

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