A Writer's Holiday?

In which I go on holiday, finally learn to relax - and get to refill my 'well of inspiration'

I'm always joking about how I need to get out more. You know what I do all day; I've blogged about it here. If I'm on a deadline, weekends and bank holidays can completely pass me by. I'm not complaining; I love writing and it doesn't feel like work. But sometimes it can be so easy to not leave the house. Too easy. I can use social media to talk to people all over the world, Tesco can deliver my groceries, I get to wear my PJs all day and any research can be done online - so why on earth would I want to go out?

Well, my family had other ideas. They wanted a holiday and last week they dragged me off to Tuscany. They made me leave my laptop at home but I packed my tablet with the idea of keeping up with emails and social media - with any luck, no one would even notice I'd gone. I loaded my Kindle with my work-in-progress. I imagined tapping out blog posts over cappuccinos all around Italy and I packed my biggest notebook for all my new stories.

I was certainly 'getting out more' but I don't think I'd quite grasped the concept of 'on holiday'.

I tried to write on the plane. Seriously, I did. With my MP3 turned up to drown out background noise, just as I do at home. Well, it might work with sheep and tractors but it's not terribly effective at drowning out an Airbus. So I gave up and read a book (not written by me).

I spent the first few days lounging by the pool, reading other books also not written by me, and it didn't feel like skiving at all. I forgot about social media and left my ideas book in my suitcase. I was finally 'on holiday'.

But the writer part of me wasn't entirely neglected. I took hundreds of photos while out sightseeing, I made notes about the beautiful and historic buildings, and collected lots of new stories - snippets of Italian history I can twist into something new.

In Lucca we came across what appeared to be a derelict tower with trees growing out of the top. This was the Guinigi Tower and the trees were ancient holm-oaks, planted deliberately in a little garden at the top. There were 230 steps (I remember each and every one of them) but the reward was a beautiful view of the city. This will definitely be going in a book.

Torre dei Guinigi, Lucca



View of Lucca
from The Torre dei Guinigi

I've always preferred flawed to perfect so I loved the Leaning Tower of Pisa - built on sand with no foundations, hence the 'leaning' bit. It started leaning before they'd got past building the third floor, and still they kept going. (A bit like being a writer; despite all those rejections we never give up!) Here I learned about Count Ugolino, the Mayor of Pisa, accused of treachery in 1288 and imprisoned with his sons and grandsons. The key to their cell was thrown into the River Arno and they were left to starve. A terribly sad story that I'd like to rework with a happier ending!

The Torre Pendente
(The Leaning Tower, Pisa)

The Torre Pendente
(The Leaning Tower, Pisa)

In Florence I admired the Duomo (cathedral) and  the Ponte Vecchio (Old  Bridge), and found shops selling beautiful handmade paper and notebooks - heaven for a writer! I also learned about the Medicis,  a fascinating family who held power in Florence for three hundred years. Larger than life characters just waiting for new stories ... 

Handmade Notebooks
Florence, Italy

I took photos of ancient walls, statues, ruins, rivers, sunflowers, beaches and sunsets, because I've always found inspiration in pictures. But I completely forgot to Instagram my coffee and cake - which was a shame, for some of those cakes were works of art. Nor could I bring myself to photograph those lavishly-decorated glass coffins found in several of the cathedrals, which turned out to contain the mummified remains of saints! 

The Duomo, Pisa

Will I ever write a story set in Tuscany? Maybe. It was a fabulous place to visit. I have written stories with foreign settings before - I had the idea for The Indecent Proposal after visiting Sorrento and The Accidental Proposal was set in New Orleans. I have my notes and my photographs so my 'well of inspiration' is now completely topped up, if not overflowing.

What more could a writer want?

The Duomo, Florence