January 2022 was a month of mixed emotions. I didn’t particularly want to retire from the world of work, but having a slightly dysfunctional line manager, and realising I was now the old person in the team tipped the balance. I hadn’t wanted to be set free in the depth of winter either but when they offered to pay me in lieu of notice I took the hint and slipped away, never to look back.
Finding things to do wasn’t ever going to be an issue. Weeks passed, spring arrived and several long overdue jobs about the house and garden were completed. Any initial concerns about living on a pension subsided and a new normal was forming. Thankfully Covid was behind us, places were open and social gathering was no longer illegal.
As the year advanced, I felt I needed a holiday. I wanted something different and to go alone. I hasten to add that I’m forty plus years happily married. My criteria were simple: go away for a week, be looked after and learn something new. I quickly exhausted obvious candidates like: “Elementary Blacksmithing”, “Build a Windsor Chair” or “Pottery for Beginners”. Of course, themed vacations were on offer across the country but not for late Autumn. By that time most of the tutors are exhausted and needing to jet off to the sun.
A writing course caught my attention. The ARVON foundation apparently had lots of residential courses and three UK venues to choose from. Why would I have heard of ARVON? I’m not a writer, certainly not a fiction writer. Whilst I can string a sentence together my writing was limited to standard operating procedures and the occasional technical report. A beginner’s introduction to writing fiction and non-fiction was the course, the location was rural Shropshire, a week’s duration and I should learn something.
A quick email exchange with the course coordinator confirmed this was totally suitable for novice writers. No previous experience required, I booked. As the departure date approached, I found myself becoming genuinely excited. It’s a bit of a distance from Fife to Shropshire and getting there for a Monday midafternoon start would be a long day on the road. My plan to set off in my rebuilt Land Rover Ninety on Sunday with an overnight camp in the lakes was scuppered. The weather took a turn for the worse and a common cold virus had taken up residence. I had to rise early Monday morning and do it in a oner.
The Landy didn’t miss a beat and we arrived at The Hurst on schedule. To my surprise I was not the oldest and I quickly got a sense that the fifteen other wannabe writers from all over the UK were going to make interesting companions. Tutorials started the next morning, and the first session went ok, but morning coffee things took a turn for the worse.
‘Now I want you to invent a character, age, gender, occupation, physical features etc,’ said Elise the tutor.
You’ll know that any writer needs characters, right? Well, I could feel the panic rising. My mind went blank, not a clue. Palms start sweating, clocks ticking, added pressure by giving you just ten minutes to do something that would need at least a week. Somehow, I managed to scribble some stuff down - badly written but at least I tried.
‘Now I want you to pass your paper to the person on your right and they will write a scene involving your character. You’ve twenty minutes,’ she said.
I started to melt down. I couldn’t pass my untidy, rubbish character description peppered with poor spelling. I wanted to tidy it up, do it again, not do it. How would she read it?. The tutor sensed my extreme anxiety. I wanted to escape, this was not for me, I’d made a mistake. I got up to leave.
I didn’t leave. I caught up with Rachel at lunch and offered my sincere apology for failing to deliver anything of worth. She confided that she was also close to leaving, not because of my failing but worried that everyone else was far brighter. She then said that she thought my character was perfectly ok and she had produced a rather witty scene based on Pete. She shouldn’t be worried.
Over dinner we share stories, people started to bond, and it all began to feel ok. By Thursday I didn’t want it to end, but end it would on Saturday morning. Friday evening was reserved for readouts. We were encouraged to share a piece written during the course. A creative side I never knew existed had emerged. Characters were being imagined and scenes written. It was truly liberating.
My piece had been prompted from two random words; a technique used in one of the final exercises. We were encouraged to stretch our creativity, so I went for it and came up with Bridget, a young single mum and their story prompted by the words Poverty and Zoo.
Don’t ask me where the idea came from but just over a thousand words later, I had a short story which I was proud to read aloud. As I wrote, it had occurred to me that Bridget and son Andy had a lot more to share so I set myself a challenge. I would write an eight-thousand-word story about them. I would get it printed as an A5 booklet and gift a copy to my fellow wannabe writers.
I completed my challenge and posted fifteen copies to my new writing friends five months later. Retirement has been a challenge but now, two years on, I can say there is life after work and a rich one at that, and, before you ask, yes, I am still writing. Thankfully that creativity I discovered is still there, some of the time.