Rae - School holidays and writing make for awkward bedfellows in the Cowie household, mainly
of sorts.
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| Chiswick House |
And it was brilliant. Chiswick’s vibrant café culture makes
it easy to discover a quiet corner to set up camp and happily tap away. But as
well as drinking copious amounts of cappuccino, I also spent writing time in
the local library and in the stunning gardens of Chiswick House – a Palladian villa
built in 1729 by Lord Burlington (a great patron of the arts) as a meeting
place for artists, composers and writers. The perfect spot! My mini writing
retreat turned out to be just the creative shot in the arm I needed. Now I’m raring
to spend time in my own, far more humble, writing den, now everyone has returned to school.
Victoria - Like many debut writers, I also have a day job which is not writing related.
This means that due to work commitments, I am unable to
go away during the holiday season. As I live in Cornwall (a holiday destination
in itself), I grab the odd day out from work and pretend I am a tourist by
doing all the things our holiday visitors would do, one of which is walking the
coastal path. To date, my husband and I have walked just over a quarter of the
coastal route. It was during one of these walks I was inspired to write The
Thief’s Daughter, which is based on the North Cornish Coast. This summer we
walked from Newquay to Holywell Bay, which is approximately 8 miles of moderate
walking. Holywell Bay is one of the locations where Poldark was filmed,
particularly the love scenes between Morwenna and Drake. It was a beautiful
walk and the last one we did with our beloved dog before he passed away. I have
many happy memories of beautiful scenery, sunny weather and sharing new
experiences with our canine buddy, which I will cherish for years to come.
Jennifer - What did I do on my holiday? Well, that's a question. I did have a holiday - I must have done, because I have the photos to prove it - but it passed in the blink of an eye, caught between the deadlines and events of a frantic summer.
My holiday, or what passed for it, was four days in northern Italy, in a hotel with surely the most spectacular view of any I’ve ever stayed in. I spent some of it staring at spectacular Lake Maggiore from my balcony, occasionally glancing up from my Kindle to experience the lake in its many moods. And I spent more of it staring at the scenery around me, from a boat, from a cable car, from a train. And in these, and every other place, I watched people, salting away their actions and their interactions, their laughter and their irritations, their spoiled lapdogs and their tantrumming two year olds, for a future cameo appearance in a book. Oh, and I ate a lot of pizza.
Linda - As a teenager, I spent most sunny summer days (and they were all sunny back then, or so it seemed) on the beach with school friends. In those days the big factories 'oop North' closed down and you'd have girls and boys from Manchester and the like, and then Glasgow, all slathering themselves with olive oil mixed with vinegar to get a good tan but getting horribly sunburned on the first day. Conversations would be struck up. 'Where are you from?' someone would ask. I'd vaguely point back up over the town to the trees on the skyline and say, 'Up there.' That answer was always met with very puzzled looks. I think many of them thought this was a place full of hotels and B&Bs and tripper shops and that no one lived here the rest of the time.
And then would come the question. 'You live here? But where do you go for your holidays?' This said slightly aghast and with more than a hint of jealousy that I might spend my entire days on the beach. But the answer was that I didn't go anywhere. My parents sometimes - about three times before I left home at twenty-one - went to visit relatives in Wales or Essex for a week but they were not travellers. My Dad never set foot on the beach either, his constant reason being he'd seen enough sand when he'd been fighting during the war in North Africa and he didn't want to set foot on it ever again.
Back then I didn't feel the need to go anywhere else ... I had it all here really. Not only the beach but glorious countryside out towards Dartmoor just ten minutes walk from our back door. When I was old enough (and even when I wasn't!) there were numerous bars where I could get a Babycham or a rum and blackcurrant. Oh, and a bag of chips to eat on the way home. I knew plenty of people who owned a dinghy of some description so there were plenty of trips along the coast cove-hopping. I even got myself a holiday job selling ice cream from a wooden hut on the beach - the hut is still there, amazingly! Mr Whippy made his appearance around this time and I became a dab hand with the old swirly cone technique, although I hated the stuff and still do. I knew there was a whole world out there to be explored some day. But what did I go and do? I married a man who doesn't do holidays, that's what. But that's another story ....
Gill - Because summer is the best time of year to be in Scotland (in theory!) I haven’t really had a holiday this year, unless you count holiday as time spent having fun with people who have visited. In that case, I’ve had quite a few holidays. Having people here really encourages us to explore this area (mid-Argyll, west coast of Scotland) where we have now lived for 18 months. We went for bike rides, boat trips and walks, enjoyed the amazing scenery, the not-always clement weather and the fantastic food. And (almost) all the time I was squirrelling bits of information away for when I got back to my writing: that story someone told about a relative, that view from Ardnoe Point, that disastrous fall from the bike … It’s definitely true that nothing goes to waste in the life of a writer.
Jennie - My husband always tells me living in France is like one long holiday! Hmm not sure that I agree with that. We've lived over here now for 18 (!) years and have been back 'home' just three times in all those years. The third time was this summer. Our daughter was planning a 'big' birthday party for her August birthday and we had to be there, didn't we? Husband didn't argue and so ferry tickets were duly booked and I dusted off the suitcases. I also took the opportunity to make arrangements to sign copies of my latest paperback in the Dartmouth Bookseller. Devon in August is always busy and this year was no exception. Several of my books are set in Devon and in Dartmouth in particular and it was good to go back and fill the well with new impressions and meet up with old friends. Dartmouth has a special place in my heart, lots of life changing things happened to me there over the years and more good memories were made this year. And the ferry trip gave me hours and hours to people watch and make notes! (The birthday party was good too!)
Jennifer - What did I do on my holiday? Well, that's a question. I did have a holiday - I must have done, because I have the photos to prove it - but it passed in the blink of an eye, caught between the deadlines and events of a frantic summer.
My holiday, or what passed for it, was four days in northern Italy, in a hotel with surely the most spectacular view of any I’ve ever stayed in. I spent some of it staring at spectacular Lake Maggiore from my balcony, occasionally glancing up from my Kindle to experience the lake in its many moods. And I spent more of it staring at the scenery around me, from a boat, from a cable car, from a train. And in these, and every other place, I watched people, salting away their actions and their interactions, their laughter and their irritations, their spoiled lapdogs and their tantrumming two year olds, for a future cameo appearance in a book. Oh, and I ate a lot of pizza.
Linda - As a teenager, I spent most sunny summer days (and they were all sunny back then, or so it seemed) on the beach with school friends. In those days the big factories 'oop North' closed down and you'd have girls and boys from Manchester and the like, and then Glasgow, all slathering themselves with olive oil mixed with vinegar to get a good tan but getting horribly sunburned on the first day. Conversations would be struck up. 'Where are you from?' someone would ask. I'd vaguely point back up over the town to the trees on the skyline and say, 'Up there.' That answer was always met with very puzzled looks. I think many of them thought this was a place full of hotels and B&Bs and tripper shops and that no one lived here the rest of the time.
And then would come the question. 'You live here? But where do you go for your holidays?' This said slightly aghast and with more than a hint of jealousy that I might spend my entire days on the beach. But the answer was that I didn't go anywhere. My parents sometimes - about three times before I left home at twenty-one - went to visit relatives in Wales or Essex for a week but they were not travellers. My Dad never set foot on the beach either, his constant reason being he'd seen enough sand when he'd been fighting during the war in North Africa and he didn't want to set foot on it ever again.
Back then I didn't feel the need to go anywhere else ... I had it all here really. Not only the beach but glorious countryside out towards Dartmoor just ten minutes walk from our back door. When I was old enough (and even when I wasn't!) there were numerous bars where I could get a Babycham or a rum and blackcurrant. Oh, and a bag of chips to eat on the way home. I knew plenty of people who owned a dinghy of some description so there were plenty of trips along the coast cove-hopping. I even got myself a holiday job selling ice cream from a wooden hut on the beach - the hut is still there, amazingly! Mr Whippy made his appearance around this time and I became a dab hand with the old swirly cone technique, although I hated the stuff and still do. I knew there was a whole world out there to be explored some day. But what did I go and do? I married a man who doesn't do holidays, that's what. But that's another story ....
Jennie - My husband always tells me living in France is like one long holiday! Hmm not sure that I agree with that. We've lived over here now for 18 (!) years and have been back 'home' just three times in all those years. The third time was this summer. Our daughter was planning a 'big' birthday party for her August birthday and we had to be there, didn't we? Husband didn't argue and so ferry tickets were duly booked and I dusted off the suitcases. I also took the opportunity to make arrangements to sign copies of my latest paperback in the Dartmouth Bookseller. Devon in August is always busy and this year was no exception. Several of my books are set in Devon and in Dartmouth in particular and it was good to go back and fill the well with new impressions and meet up with old friends. Dartmouth has a special place in my heart, lots of life changing things happened to me there over the years and more good memories were made this year. And the ferry trip gave me hours and hours to people watch and make notes! (The birthday party was good too!)
I love that summer, whether at home or further afield, generated such lovely memories for everyone. Packed away my cut-off trousers today. It's jeans weather again!
ReplyDeleteI agree with Rae, great to share other people's thoughts and memories. The writing-retreat-on-your-own sounds especially lovely.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading about how everyone spent the summer. Some great ideas for next year too. :)
ReplyDeleteI think these joint blogs are a great idea .... I feel a short story coming on just reading some of these .... :)
ReplyDeleteLoved reading this, especially as I didn't have a holiday this year!
ReplyDelete