The particular magic of Lumb Bank
It is a truth universally acknowledged that to knuckle down and write a novel, a gruelling and often thankless undertaking, the novelist ideally needs a room of one’s own.
Apologies for mixing my literary references there. I’ve just returned from an Arvon tutored residential week at Lumb Bank in Yorkshire, one-time home of former Poet Laureate Ted Hughes. Nestled in the spectacular Calder Valley, the cosy and characterful house enjoys stunning views and, a half mile from the nearest village, just the right degree of ‘away from it all’ ambience to enable a true retreat.
I have been curious about Arvon courses for years and am not sure exactly what has prevented me from going until now. The twin scourges of time and money, of course (never seeming to have enough of either), but maybe something else, too, was holding me back: the belief that I couldn’t justify such an investment in my writing, such an investment in myself?
I know from the writers I speak to that this kind of ‘impostor syndrome’ is all too common and hope that this blog encourages anyone who might feel similarly, who gets this opportunity, to seize it.
I’m incredibly fortunate and grateful that with support from Artful Scribe and Arts Council England, South West, I was able to stay at Lumb Bank for five nights on a retreat named ‘Strengthening Your Novel’.
It couldn’t have come at a better time for me: I have two published novels under my belt but indulged in some wound-licking after my third novel failed to sell. I’ve felt pretty energised about my fourth novel but had recently hit the 20,000 word ‘wall’ and was starting to let the self-doubt demons creep in. What’s more, although I’d recently shifted work around to make more time and headspace for writing, the demands of that work coupled with a busy homelife meant that I still wasn’t fully connecting with the book.
I was joined for the week by two terrific tutors, Cesca Major and Ayisha Malik, and eleven other writers, all at varying stages of their writing journeys and indeed their books. The week comprised a mix of workshopping, guest speakers, one-on-one tutorials, and a lot of free time for working on our novels.
Meals were provided and part of the ‘Arvon Experience’ is that one evening you cook alongside some of your fellow writers (ably supported by the wonderful Arvon staff), providing the opportunity for additional bonding as well as a welcome break from the sometimes overly cerebral practice of novel writing. There’s also the benefit of being in beautiful surroundings which, even in the autumn mizzle, afforded some lovely walks.
On the last night of the retreat each of us read from our work. The quality of what I heard was extremely high. I can speak for myself but also got the sense from others that the work was stronger, and read with greater self-belief, than it would have been at the start of the week – which is, after all, what it’s all about.
What Arvon gave me and how any of us might try to replicate at home:
Time & Space
Most, if not all, of us in the group had commitments at home that necessarily kept us away from writing. Day jobs, caring responsibilities, domestic duties. These things don’t just take up time, they take up energy and sometimes sap creativity. Here for a few precious days we were able to truly prioritise the activity we all cared about so much, yet which so often gets relegated to the bottom of the list.
Of course, we can’t take a week out every month to go to Hebden Bridge (though some of us joked wistfully about it more than once). But the truth is, for myself at least, most of the work was done in short, focused bursts; so, if I can carve out the time at home, and make writing a priority instead of the nice thing to do once all ‘duties’ are out of the way, perhaps I can replicate the productivity I experienced there.
The company of other writers
There are two key pieces of advice I always give to budding and beginning writers: (1) read a lot, and (2) find your tribe. There was plenty of opportunity for the first part, thanks to Lumb Bank’s considerable library, but the second part is what made the week special. Hanging out with other people who also do this weird thing that you do, of dreaming up stories, creating characters and making them do stuff, is so good for the soul – and for the writing brain. Having people to talk to about writing, people who ‘get it’, is so important. It’s a lonely business, otherwise.
Nourishment – figuratively and literally
Hopefully by now you’re getting a sense of the figurative nurturing that goes on at Lumb Bank, but oh my word, I have to mention the food. Each day’s menus promised fresh, flavoursome food that managed to be both healthy and indulgent. There was also a lot of cake (again freshly baked). The Yorkshire tea flowed. Even speaking as someone who enjoys cooking, having the mental load of shopping for and preparing meals lifted was incredibly freeing, and the dinner table provided a great space to come together and discuss our progress.
Hope!
The overwhelming feeling I left Lumb Bank with was positivity and hopefulness for the future of my book, and of my writing career. My foundering confidence has been bolstered; the way seems clearer than it has in years. I have fallen back in love with writing.
For this I need to thank all the staff at Lumb Bank, our amazing tutors Cesca and Ayisha, Artful Scribe and ACE South West, and my fellow travellers on this transformative journey: the novelists who, when I came out of that room of my own, were there with smiles, tea, and encouragement.
I’ll miss you – and look forward to reading your books one day!
