by Lucy Coleman
‘When the group arrive, I usually give them half an hour to settle into their rooms and then we convene back here for a buffet lunch. Antonio, from the local restaurant, La Pergola, will arrive with a waitress to lay out the food in the dining room sometime between noon and 1 p.m. On the second sheet is a floor plan of the bedrooms, with the guests’ names written on them. It will be quicker if we split the group into two to escort them to their rooms. I’ll do the first floor if you can take the top floor.
‘Once everyone is gathered around the table we’ll have a leisurely lunch sitting out here while people introduce themselves. It’s a format that seems to work well.’
He looks up at me for the first time, as if suddenly wanting to seek my approval. I give him a casual smile and then focus on the agenda.
‘Sunday is a free day and very informal, to allow the newcomers to settle in and get to know each other. The five main sessions run from Monday to Friday and each one lasts around three hours, starting promptly at nine o’clock. You’re down for the session on Tuesday.’
I glance at the workshop titles.
Monday – Style, Structure and Plot
Tuesday – Make Your Characters Jump Off the Page
Wednesday – Surviving Writer’s Block and the Editing Process
Thursday – Book Blurb, Synopsis and Pitching to an Agent/Publisher
Friday – Your Author Platform and Marketing Essentials
‘You’ll notice that there are two organised tours; one into Salò on Tuesday afternoon and one to Verona taking up Wednesday afternoon and evening. Following on from the workshops I’m flexible about arranging one-to-one sessions. The take up for that varies; some prefer to fit in as much quiet writing time as possible. I’m assuming you’ll be open to handling any one-to-ones requested with regard to characterisation issues?’
‘Of course. I only have one prior commitment I must honour this week and that’s a Skype interview at three o’clock on Friday.’
‘Good. I think we’re sorted, then. Is this a publicity interview?’
‘No, research. I’m talking to Jordan Lewis, you might have heard of him.’
Arran looks at me, shaking his head. ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘He’s a cage fighter and one of the top names in his sport.’
The look on Arran’s face is priceless.
After that we lapse into silence and I crack open my bottle of water, taking a few mouthfuls just for something to do. At least there is plenty to distract the eye and I turn my head away from Arran and gaze out at the sparkling blue lake. It’s already hot even though the sun is still low in the sky and I pull my sunglasses down from on top my head to reduce the glare. The sun’s rays seem to envelop me, sparking a surge of energy. It’s one of those days when it feels good to be alive. The warmth seeps through to my core and I feel at peace; content. It’s been a long time since I felt this way and could take a moment to actually appreciate it.
Arran busies himself filling a stack of folders with a writing pad, some leaflets and a pen. He doesn’t seem to want any help, so I get up and walk across the terrace, stepping down onto a large grassy area sloping down to a low wall.
All I can hear are the birds, the occasional rasp of a cicada somewhere close by, and every now and again the rumble of a car engine slowing on the road that winds down the hill. The view out over Lake Garda is indescribably beautiful and I know that even a photograph wouldn’t quite do it justice. The distance and depth of the scene in front of me makes me feel like a dot on the landscape. If I was down there looking up, I might even be a little afraid of standing here, on an outcrop of rock, perched halfway up such a commanding and steep hillside. And yet, I don’t get the feeling that the villa and its gardens are clinging on – it feels more like they’re nestling against the terrain quite happily.
The bonus of a villa set up here in the wooded hills is the panoramic view and Arran’s description of the shape of the immense lake springs to mind. It is indeed long as it stretches out ahead of me and looking down over the wall as the hill falls away, the lake widens considerably into something that does resemble an ancient axe head. But some of the outcrops of rock jut out far enough to obscure sections of the view around the lake itself.
I hear the distant roar of a plane flying high overhead and it reminds me that the villa will soon feel a lot livelier than it does right now. I turn to see that Arran has finished assembling the packs and has disappeared. He’s put everything back inside the box, which is now tucked away beneath the table. I guess it’s time to get in some steps then; if I do a couple of circuits of the garden now I can hopefully fit in a longer walk later.
*
Arran is all smiles and handshakes as he greets his guests when they alight from the minibus. The driver ferries their bags inside, leaving them in the hallway as Arran escorts everyone out onto the terrace. I follow on behind, bringing up the rear.
‘This is where we’re going to be conducting the sessions this week and gathering for lunch in about half an hour. We’ll do the formal introductions then. If Rick, Tom and Will would like to follow me, and Silvia, Kris and Yvonne go with Brie, we’ll escort you to your rooms.’
I don’t know if it’s a coincidence that there is a male and a female floor, or that the group is a fifty-fifty split. Carrie said he had a waiting list, so presumably he can pick and choose his attendees. I wonder why he doesn’t run more courses? But then I suppose there are several strands to his career and it must be a constant juggling act.
The general buzz of chatter as the attendees grab their cases and we negotiate the stairs, is lively. Everyone is on a high and excited about the week ahead.
Silvia and Yvonne are probably in their early forties, but Kris is a few years younger than me, I’d say at a guess. After consulting the floor plan and showing Silvia and Yvonne to their rooms, I lead Kris into the room adjacent to mine. As she follows me in through the door and we get that first glance out over the front of the property, she stops to gasp at the view.
‘Awesome! And I can’t believe I’m face to face with the Brianna Middleton. It doesn’t get any better than this! You look so different to the photo on the back of your book. You’re much slimmer and your hair is so stylish now.’
She looks like she’s having trouble containing her excitement as she drops her case onto the floor with a clatter.
‘Oops, sorry about that. Are you here all week?’
I give her a reassuring smile. ‘Yes. Kathy Porter’s foot is in plaster so I’m the stand-in.’
‘It feels wrong to say I’m delighted about that, but you know what I mean. Poor Kathy and all that, but wow! I mean wow! Getting writing tips from my favourite author is going to blow my mind.’
Well, it’s lovely to receive a positive reaction but I’m beginning to wonder what I’ve let myself in for as I beat a hasty retreat. Rejoining Arran downstairs in the kitchen he’s laying out a tray of glasses and a selection of cold drinks.
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, I’m almost done here. Oh, there’s the doorbell. If you can let Antonio and his staff in, then we can retire to the terrace and leave them to it.’
The smiling face and babble of Italian that greets me when I swing open the rear door takes me by surprise. I know a couple of dozen words in Italian at best, from my previous visits. I do, however, know how to apologise for my lack of fluency.
‘Buongiorno. Mi dispiace non parlo molto bene l’italiano.’
‘Good morning to you. Is not a problem. I am Antonio.’
I usher in the team of three, standing back so they can carry the platters through to the kitchen. After all, they’ve done this many times before.
With the villa feeling more alive, I feel less daunted by the prospect of what lies ahead. The amount of alone time I’m likely to spend with Arran from here on in is probably quite small and that’s a welcome relief. My phone pings and as I yank it from my pocket I see it’s from Carrie.<
br />
I hope all is going well. He’s an interesting guy, isn’t he?
A horrible thought flashes through my mind. Did Carrie talk me into this because she was trying to set us up? Is this some ghastly attempt at matchmaking, because I’d mentioned the online dating thing? If that’s the case, she’s way off mark. My fingers fly around the keyboard.
He’s tetchy and arrogant but I can rise above it.
That’ll stop her in her tracks and it puts a wicked smile on my face.
11
Writers Anonymous – Stand Up and Be Counted
Arran is a very considerate host and the buffet lunch is a real feast, from the Caprese salad, with mozzarella, tomatoes and fragrant sweet basil, to the unusual, pumpkin based pizza dressed with caramelised apple with a hint of cinnamon and topped with Parma ham. Then there are platters of bresaola, air dried salted beef, moist slices of porchetta, and boneless roast pork stuffed with fennel – all to be followed by tiramisu! It’s a real taste of Italy and my stomach grumbles just looking at it.
I’m careful over what I choose, though, and keep the portions small. To be honest, no one notices whether you take one small scoop of dessert, or a huge dollop. However, I will pass on the tiramisu today and help myself to a low-fat yoghurt from the fridge instead. But I intend to taste everything, simply reining back on the items I know should be eaten in moderation.
There’s nothing better to get people talking than to share food. Doing introductions during the meal makes it much less intimidating as everyone continues to eat and drink throughout the process. You don’t feel quite so firmly in the spotlight. Arran begins.
‘First of all, I would like to welcome you to Villa Monteverdi and what I hope you will find to be a most encouraging, informative and relaxing writing retreat. Right, I’ll kick this off. I write under my own name and I’m the author of five history textbooks and eight novels; I’m also a TV presenter and historian. I hope everyone will enjoy participating as that’s the key to getting the most out of the week. But please, only share what you are comfortable with and I ask that anything that is said remains confidential and is not repeated to anyone outside this group. It’s important everyone adheres to that principle so that we can all relax and speak freely.
‘I will be distributing information packs containing the agenda for the week and details about the area. The two tours listed on the agenda, as with everything else, are optional and together with transport, are included in the fee you have paid. Dinner can be taken at the local restaurant, La Pergola, where prices are very reasonable, and I think you can tell from the standard of the buffet that the food comes highly recommended. If you want to venture further afield there is a full list of restaurants a short taxi ride away inside your welcome pack. I usually book a table each night for La Pergola and if you wish to be included please indicate on the sheet of paper you will find each morning pinned to the wall in the kitchen.’
Arran stops to check everyone has what they need and seems content, so he continues.
‘Breakfast is self-service; the fridge is always stocked with plenty of fruit, yoghurt, cheeses and cold meats, so please help yourselves at any time of the day or night. A wide variety of chilled drinks can also be found in the fridge, with spare supplies in the walk-in larder. A plan of the ground floor is in the pack, as are instructions on how to use the washing machine and tumble dryer. Oh, and the code for the WiFi.’
He pauses, probably going through a mental checklist.
‘Anything I’ve forgotten will be in the pack. You’ll excuse me if I start eating but I’m starving.’ There’s nodding and a little ripple of laughter.
He looks directly across at me.
‘Hi. I’m standing in for the lovely Kathy Porter, following her rather unfortunate accident. My name is Brianna Middleton, but please call me Brie. I’ve recently begun writing my thirteenth novel. I’m just an author, I’m afraid.’ That garners quite a peal of laughter and I look back at Arran, surprised to see he’s frowning. I figured I’d try to inject a little humour. I wasn’t making fun of his style and I hope that’s not how he’s interpreted it.
‘And what a writer of romantic fiction,’ Kris jumps in.
I give her a warm smile and then I turn to look at the man sitting next to me and give him an encouraging nod.
‘Hi everyone. I’m Rick Preston and an avid fan of Arran’s. It’s taken me nearly six years to complete my first manuscript, which is a story based around the Cold War. It’s a spy thriller with lots of action.’
Rick is quite a tall, wiry guy and it’s obvious he’s very excited about the prospect of having his first manuscript ready to go.
Next to him is Kris.
‘Waves from me, I’m Kris Lacey, with a “K”. I write romantic fiction WAG style. My first book is being published in four months’ time.’
Kris is an inch shorter than me but probably three dress sizes bigger. She has one of those happy, rounded faces and I bet her head is full of questions as her enthusiasm brims over.
There’s a lot of nodding of heads in between the eating.
‘My turn. I’m Silvia Day with an “I” and not a “Y”. Can I just ask Kris what wag means?’
Kris breaks out into a broad smile. ‘Wives and girlfriends of sporting personalities, Silvia. Lots of glitz and glam and money; not always a lot of common sense.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Silvia winks at Kris, laughing. ‘Well, I’m not sure some of my characters have very much of that, either. I write about the 1920s; purely fictional but inspired by some of the stories passed down in my family. It seems my great-grandmother was a bit of a party animal and we have some delightful photographs to prove it.’
She’s lovely. Very elegant, classic good looks with shoulder length blonde hair, immaculately straightened and perfectly made-up. We all look up in interest, even Arran.
‘I’m Tom Carpenter and it’s great to be here among fellow writers. I began writing about six months ago, so I only have half a manuscript so far. Believe it or not, it’s a romantic comedy. What do I know about romance? Well, probably not that much if I’m being honest but that’s why it’s going to be a comedy… of errors, most likely!’
I can already tell that Tom is going to be the comedian of the group. He has a face guaranteed to make you laugh because it’s so expressive. I would guess that he’s in his mid-forties, but his forehead is heavily wrinkled because his eyebrows keep shooting upwards at the end of every sentence he utters. This man seriously needs to learn to use his hands to express himself, as the Italians do, to give those muscles a break; but I guess it’s his facial acrobatics which help create that characterful persona. I find myself chuckling away and he gives me a cheeky wink in return. I immediately look towards the person on his right for fear I will burst out laughing.
‘I’m Yvonne Stone and I write historical fiction. I have three published books and I’ve recently signed another contract for my next two novels. I do find writing rather a solitary pursuit though, and that’s why I thought this retreat would be a perfect working holiday.’
Yvonne and Silvia are going to get on very well together, I think. I should imagine they both come from upper middle-class backgrounds, although Silvia does have a surprisingly wicked glint in her eye.
We all turn and look at the final attendee with interest.
‘Bringing up the rear, I’m Will Peterson. I have two self-published novels and I’m hoping to try to polish my latest manuscript enough for my agent to pitch it to a publisher. If I can get up the courage, that is. I’m actually a vet, so while my stories are fictional, the day job provides the inspiration. And the humour, if you’re into farmyard muck, of course.’
I like the look of Will, he seems to be the sort of person whose style is rather laid back. He’d be great to have around in an emergency, exuding a very calm and patient vibe. He has hazel eyes and his hair is probably no more than a quarter of an inch long all over. It makes him look outdoorsy and he’s sporting a natural
tan that probably means he’s quite fit; I suspect he’s a jogger. And I suppose it helps to be quite muscular to handle livestock; his work will involve a lot more than dealing with small, domestic animals who fit nicely on the vet’s examination table.
Arran gives Will a nod then wraps it up.
‘I can’t stress enough that this week is as much about the informal discussions that will break out amongst you all, as it is about the morning tutorials. Both Brie and I are free to arrange one-to-one, hour long sessions if you want advice on your work in progress, or if there’s a particular problem you would like some help with. If a number of you want to delve further into a specific topic, then we can arrange an ad hoc session. Is everyone happy with that?’
There’s a chorus of general affirmation.
‘I’m about to look at setting up a website, Arran, so I’m particularly interested in the topic covering the author platform. How detailed is that? I’m quite IT literate in general but I’ll be honest and say I don’t have a clue where to start.’ It’s nice to hear Rick acknowledge the help he needs as that will allow Arran to tailor the session.
Arran looks around at the group. ‘Anyone else looking for guidance in that area?’
Kris and Yvonne raise their hands.
‘Great. Well, maybe we can get together on Friday afternoon, continuing on from the morning session which will link in to this topic. Maybe have a two hour lunch break and then retreat to my study so I can go through what to do in greater detail? I also have some step-by-step instructions I can print out in addition to some general advice. How does that sound?’
Three heads nod and I can feel the excitement building. When you get a bunch of creative people together we tend to feed off each other and writers, I’ve found, are such a supportive network. I guess it’s because we spend so many hours alone with a keyboard and a screen. Fictional characters are great but sometimes it’s nice to be around people who understand the angst of being a writer and can actually talk back to you. This might turn out to be more fun than I thought.