Any Excuse …

All I need -laptop, wine, mags and room service
Writers need absolutely perfect conditions in which to write, and will devote hours to finding reasons why they cannot perform. I am an Olympic displacer. Even a tax return or a pile of ironing can take priority over the simple task of Getting On With It and Making Things Up For A Living. Honestly, it’s not hard once you get down to it – so why do we spend so much time trying to avoid it?

It’s the fear, isn’t it? The fear that the wondrous yarn you are spinning in your head will read like turgid dross once you have committed it to paper – or screen. We all do it – we look back over what we have written and think, with a sinking heart, ‘Why on earth would anyone want to read this?’

It’s no wonder we do everything in our power to avoid grasping the nettle. And everyday life throws up myriad opportunities for work avoidance. Which is why I was so delighted when the chance to be writer-in-residence at the Hotel du Vin came up. I would have no distractions. I would have the perfect conditions. And I would be able to devote myself entirely to the task of writing.

So here I am, at the Hotel du Vin in Poole, in a wonderful suite with a bed like a cloud, a bathroom to die for (with the most flattering lighting I have ever encountered), a fresh sea breeze coming through the window, and nothing to distract me but the sound of birdsong.

I feel hopeful and optimistic. And excited for once. So maybe this is what writers need – the opportunity be cut off from the outside world, protected from the humdrum reality of day to day living, so we can be alone with our imaginations and not distracted by family or housework or paperwork or the telephone?

Perhaps the government should subsidise a luxury writers’ retreat? After all, we contribute a significant amount to the coffers and to export – we should be nurtured and cosseted. Somehow I suspect it won’t be a priority … maybe the Hotel du Vin could offer ‘writers’ rates’ instead, for those of us needing a few days of blissful peace to complete our masterpieces …

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About peter

'Death by Sushi' Fish can kill me. When I was very small (maybe 3 or 4 years old) my grandfather, who lost the sight of one eye from a bullet fired by a German sniper (fortunately not a very good one) during the Battle of the Somme in World War 1, wiped my face with the corner of his apron, an apron he had used to wipe his filleting knife on. He was a grocery shopkeeper who specialized in wet fish.