Róisín Ingleheaded for the island of Skyros for a few flashes of fiction-writing inspiration. She'll be starting her novel any day now. Really
THERE'S A JOKE, as old as the hills, about two journalists who meet in a pub. One says: "I'm writing a novel." The other replies: "Neither am I."
Recognising myself in this lame gag for more years than I care to remember, I booked a place on a writer's course on the small Greek island of Skyros. Reader, I had high hopes.
These morphed into my wildest of dreams when I learned that our tutor was the Sri Lankan writer Romesh Gunesekera, author of several gorgeous novels, including the Booker-nominated Reef.
I'm not saying I expected to come home with the makings of a top literary prize in my newly purchased stash of hardback notebooks, but I will confess to daydreaming, just a teeny bit, that the extra tuition under blue skies could elevate me to Enright-style acclaim.
My oh-so-hilarious younger sister, when I told her this, said "Ahern-style acclaim, more like", which, in fairness, would have suited me, and my bank manager, fine. If nothing else, this lofty dream of Booker/chick-lit glory proved that, despite years of reporting the facts for this newspaper, my imagination hadn't deserted me completely.
I had been on Skyros before, on a holistic holiday - a week of much wine-drinking, feta- eating, dodgy jiving, moonlit skinny-dipping, painting, singing and communing with my higher self.
In the months since, I had turned into a kind of Skyros bore. Somebody would say "Oh, I can't think where to go on holiday" and I'd say "I know what would be perfect: Skyros; there's dancing and meditation and dreamwork and spontaneous drumming!"
Or friends would mention they had some extra time off and I would thrust a brochure under their noses with the endorsement that "your woman Mariella Frostrup loved it".
When a friend was asking for honeymoon-destination ideas, she wasted no time in throwing me an evil look that seemed to say: "If you dare mention that Skyros place I will force you to be chief bridesmaid and dress you in a tight peach-taffeta minidress with Jordan-style bling and Amy Winehouse hair." (This last anecdote was made up, just a little stretching of the creative muscles that got more exercise in my Skyros week than they've had in years. Mr Banville, be very afraid.)
Usually the Writers' Lab is held at Skyros Village Centre, in as pretty a spot as you could wish for, all meandering cobbled streets and roaming cats - the first World War poet Rupert Brooke is buried nearby. But this was the first Writers' Lab of the season, so we were based in Atsitsa Bay, the location of my last Skyros holiday. It's a stunning little cove with pebble beaches and, still visible in the ocean, the ruins of a railway station.
Most of the accommodation is in romantic bamboo huts dotted around a pine forest. Although that was a lovely experience when I came with my boyfriend, last August, this time I opted to stay in the Atsitsa Bay villa, reckoning that having an en-suite toilet might prove more creatively inspiring.
I knew this Skyros holiday would be different because of the writing, but I hoped it would still have all the elements that made the last one so special.
The rest of the crew on the coach - we were picked up at a hotel in Athens for the transfer to the island - were looking forward to the pick-and-mix version of the holiday, combing salsa with yoga or sailing with trapeze. Six of us were here for the Writers' Lab, and we meant business. Or, as we gathered on the shady terrace for the first morning's workshop, aircraft from the island's airbase whizzing overhead, we tried to look very hard as though we did.
My fellow writers looked as petrified as I was at the thought of reading work out loud, which was comforting. There was Jess, a businesswoman based in the Caribbean, Deborah, a trapeze artist who was also teaching people how to swing out of ropes elsewhere on the Skyros itinerary, Sylvia, a sallow Italian capable of writing mouth-watering kitchen-based scenes, and Mason, a wealthy South African who proved a natural teller of tales featuring murder and sex.
Gunesekera, in crisp linen trousers and sandals, had earlier broken the ice by telling us that most people have an idea that writers are moody, pensive and unapproachable. "I am all of those things," he said with a smile. He also inspired a collective groan when he said he couldn't actually teach anyone how to write a bestseller or a literary masterpiece over the course of a four-day workshop. (Bit of a swizz, if you ask me.)
"What I can do," he said, "is help you learn about your strengths and your weaknesses as a writer. You might want to write War and Peace, but that might not be who you are. You might be better off with nursery rhymes." I may have imagined it, but I felt his gaze linger on me at this point.
Then he asked us to write something that had happened just before we had come on holiday. He only gave us two minutes, so I scribbled something about running around Marks & Spencer in a sweat, buying holiday clothes without trying them on. Reading this piece of rubbish to the group was excruciating, and I blurted it out as fast as I could. Gunesekera said he wanted us to expose ourselves through our writing. I was exposed as a jittery bundle of neuroses, but, thankfully, the workshop became less mortifying as our small group began to trust each other.
The week settled into a routine. Breakfast at 9am, then writing with Gunesekera for the morning, which brought us up to lunch - unforgettably delicious food cooked for carnivores and vegetarians by Jonathan - and an afternoon filled with whatever activity we fancied.
I chose singing and guitar, joining a group calling themselves Ernie's Raggle Taggle Gypsy Band, who had a repertoire of one song, a tortuous version of Leaving on a Jet Plane, which we, er, performed at a cabaret on the last night.
There was plenty of time to wander, notebook or even laptop in hand, up to Marianna's cafe for sour-cherry ice cream or to sit on the rocks watching the changing colours of the Aegean or observing the bay's own pelican, a comical bird called Poseidon.
The Skyros set-up is community based, so there was always someone around for a chat, but if you wanted to be alone to dream up Booker-winning plots there were plenty of private spots in which to do that, too.
By the end of the week I had loosened up in the workshop and even produced a couple of pieces I could be proud of. Not so proud that I would rehash them here, you understand, but quietly pleased. Under Gunesekera's supportive eye we invented words, practised writing dialogue and listened in wonder to the stories that unfolded.
This group of wannabe writers moved each other, made each other laugh and, most importantly, gave praise where it was due.
I learned that you get can get a lot written in five- or even two-minute bursts and that my daily protestation "I just don't have enough time to write" might not be strictly true.
So am I writing a novel? The answer is still no. But after a week on Skyros I may be inching ever closer to making a start.
5 writing holidays at home and abroad
1 Get started on your memoirs at a four-day writer's retreat in the Burren, Co Clare, from July 12th to 15th. The course takes place in Ballyvaughan, where facilitators at the Creative Writer's Workshop (
www.thecreativewritersworkshop.com) will guide you through "right-brain exercises" to stimulate the imagination. The course costs €425, excluding accommodation.
2 Also in Co Clare, you can participate in weekend writing workshops by the River Shannon at Killaloe Hedge-School of Writing ( www.killaloe.ie/khs). Journalist and author David Rice hosts 10 workshops during the year, catering for fiction and non-fiction writing. Beginners are welcome. There is lots of good accommodation nearby. The two-day courses cost €235.
3 Release your novel-writing potential in Italy with the author Anita Burgh at an ancient watermill in the Tuscan village of Posara from September 27th to October 4th. The bedrooms in this listed villa have views over an inspirational backdrop of lavender gardens, rivers and mountains. Prices per person sharing start at about €1,000, with a small supplement for those travelling alone. The price includes accommodation, meals, wine, tuition and transfers from Pisa airport. See www.watermill.net.
4 On holiday in Canada? Learn how to write a historical novel with Russell Barton at a weekend getaway in Liverpool on Nova Scotia's stunning south shore. The two-day workshop on June 28th and 29th costs €121, with the average price of a hotel €50 per night. "It's so beautiful here the only danger is you won't want to go home," says the host. See www.tallships.ca/creativeholidaysns.
5 Travel to Gardoussel, one of the most untouched parts of the Languedoc region of France, to take part in Crysse Morrison's workshop on finding your voice in writing. It runs from Saturday, August 9th to Saturday, August 16th and is for anyone from beginner to more experienced writer. Located 85km northwest of Nîmes, the hamlet of Gardoussel is set in 18 hectares (45 acres) of meadow, mountains and woodland. If you can get a group of 12 participants together you can book the entire place. The workshop costs €570 per person, including all tuition, accommodation and meals. See www.thesuncentre.com.
Go there
Aer Lingus (
www.aerlingus.com) flies from Dublin to Athens four times a week. Its Friday flight is suitable for Skyros participants.
How the labs work
Róisín Ingle took part in Writers' Lab as a guest of Skyros Holidays (
www.skyros.com).
Week-long labs cost from €722. Two-week labs cost from €1,100. Prices include tuition, half-board accommodation and one-off events such as yoga, salsa and Greek cookery but not flights. Participants usually share twin rooms; private rooms cost an extra €175 per week. The company is offering up to €163 off holidays departing this month.
This year's Writers' Lab facilitators include Booker nominees Christopher Hope (June 28th-July 11th) and Michèle Roberts (September 20th-27th).
A night at the Dorian Inn in Athens, with excellent views of the Acropolis from the roof terrace, plus transfer by coach and ferry to the island, costs €157.