‘Something that beginner writers struggle with is finding their writing voice,’ Sandy began. ‘The one that identifies them, sets them apart from other writers. Developing your natural voice is a combination of reading a lot, writing a lot and in that writing being as honest as possible as to who you are deep inside,’ she said. ‘So today we are going to talk about childhoods. Specifically the memory you have of your own particular one.’
‘So long ago, I’m not sure I remember that much,’ Isobel said.
Everyone laughed before Sandy continued.
‘Today’s exercise is designed to help you reach deep into yourself and find your true feelings. Right, you have five minutes to write down something you remember about your childhood. It can be a good memory, a sad memory, a reflective one – you just need to write down your true feelings about it.’
Sandy pressed the alarm button on her phone and sat back. Five minutes later, everyone except Becky, was still writing when the alarm burst into life.
Sandy took a breath. She’d seen Becky give an almost unnoticeable flinch at the mention of childhood memories. Watched her fiddle with the pen before writing the occasional word or phrase on the piece of paper in front of her. Something about her body language disturbed Sandy. She sensed that Becky was confronting some bad memories and inner demons and that should always be done in private, not with an audience. Everyone was entitled to have their secrets.
‘Okay. I’m not going to ask anyone to share what they’ve written this morning, but what I want you to remember from this exercise is that authenticity for your characters comes from within you – that is how you find your true writer’s voice. Let’s move on,’ she added briskly.
Watching Becky exhale a breath and screw up her piece of paper, she knew she’d taken the right decision.
* * *
An hour later as everyone drifted off to do their own thing for the rest of the morning, Becky picked up the piece of paper she’d screwed up with relief earlier and returned to her room. Standing in front of the window looking out over the bord de mer towards the sea, she gave a cynical laugh.
Remember and write about her childhood? Discuss it with everyone? No chance. Perhaps if she’d known that Sandy did not intend them to share their writing, then she might have written down the stark truth about her upbringing. The childhood she had buried so deep in her subconscious, memories of it rarely disturbed her. No, she would never be able to put words on paper about it.
Instead she’d tried to list the things that, for her, were part of an ideal childhood. Even that had been harder than she’d expected. A loving safe home. No rows or bangs in the night to frighten. Food lovingly prepared and on the table every day. Cuddles at bedtime. Books to read. Toys to play with. All things missing from her own childhood.
Sandy’s words about authenticity and your writer’s voice coming from within you echoed in Becky’s mind. She enjoyed writing and taking the photographs for her Instagram and other social media accounts. She preferred to showcase her current world – that was her authenticity. There was no need and absolutely no way she was going to delve back into a past she had deliberately left behind.
15
After the morning session, Liz decided she’d find a spot in the shade in the garden. Working outdoors was always a treat and it seemed a shame to ignore the beautiful weather down here.
Fetching her laptop from her room, Liz remembered to put on sun protection but hesitated before grabbing her wide-brim sun hat with its silk scarf tied around the crown, the ends floating freely down her back as she placed it on her head. The hat had been a mad impulse buy in Exeter shopping for clothes for the retreat. She’d seen it and fallen in love. It was such a joyful piece of feminine clothing. She’d adored wearing hats before she was married, but Ralph had always criticised her choice for one reason or another, so she’d stopped. This one seemed perfect for the South of France. But, once home, she’d tried it on again and had immediately heard Ralph’s voice, ‘What a waste of money, doesn’t look right on you at all.’ She’d felt foolish then for imagining it suited her, for imagining it made her look elegantly sophisticated. An expensive mistake. The hat had stayed on the wardrobe shelf until the last moment of packing for the retreat when she’d thought,Sod it. I love this hat, I’m taking it with me,and she’d carefully placed it in her suitcase. Now, as she caught an unexpected glimpse of herself in the mirror on the landing outside her room, as she made her way downstairs, she gave a small smile.
Once downstairs, she placed the laptop on one of the small tables in the garden and went to fetch a cold drink from the fridge in the dining room. And bumped into Guy. Not literally, of course. He was placing some more coffee pods in the container by the Nespresso machine, and turned as she walked in. There was a second or two tense pause before they both went to speak.
‘Please,’ Guy said. ‘I know I should say ladies first, but I owe you an apology for the way I reacted to your comment. I’m sorry I walked away like that.’
Liz gave him a soft smile. ‘Apology accepted. I was going to apologise to you. I felt dreadful about upsetting you, for not choosing my words more carefully.’
‘Good, I’m glad we’ve cleared the air between us,’ Guy said. ‘Wouldn’t want you to put me in one of your books as the villain.’
‘Now there’s a thought,’ Liz said, laughing. ‘I might bear that in mind.’ She suspected Guy could never be the inspiration for a villain in her mind, although she could see that he would be a perfect model for one of her hero characters.
‘Is it too early to ask how you are enjoying the retreat?’
‘A little early to say, but I am enjoying being here. The villa and the garden are wonderful – the food’s good too,’ she added, her eyes sparkling at him.
‘Thanks – I have to admit I am enjoying being back in the kitchen doing simple things. How’s the writer’s block?’
‘I’m happy to tell you your garden has given me an idea, which, hopefully, I can develop into a story.’
‘Good. Positives all round.’
Liz nodded as she opened the small fridge under the table and took out a bottle of sparkling water. ‘I’m going to sit in the garden for an hour and work on my idea.’
Guy’s next words took her by surprise.
‘Can I tell you how much I love your hat? And how good you look?’ He gave her a worried look. ‘I’m never sure these days whether it’s allowed to comment on a woman’s appearance or whether it’s totally prohibited.’
Liz looked at Guy. She almost asked him if it was over the top but stopped herself. The man had paid her an unexpected compliment, for goodness’ sake. Accept it graciously. It was a long time since Ralph, or any man come to that had complimented her.
