In a desperate attempt to relocate my elusive writing mojo I signed up to a writing retreat and course on commercial fiction and headed to north Devon. My destination was Sheepwash, an enchantingly pretty village full of cob and thatched cottages – and the most gorgeous-looking pub.

On a more serious note, look at the amount of names on the war memorial. All those men from such a tiny village.

I was to share with seven strangers. How would I cope? A whole bundle of anxieties nagged. Would they like me? Would I like them? How would I cope sharing a bathroom? What would the food be like? Would The Imposter Syndrome strangle me and would the tricksy writing mojo be found? I can happily report: I think so. Yes. All fine. Yummy. Oh yes. Possibly. Follow that if you can!

Each day consisted of workshop sessions which included a writing exercise, followed by free writing time. Hard work but oh so stimulating. A session on character has unlocked the hero in my WIP and the whole plot.

For four days we were homed in a seventeenth century ex pub situated on the edge of the village square. Brimful of character, it had a cosy welcoming atmosphere helped along by the enormous wood burner in the beamed inglenook. If there were ghosts, they were exceptionally hospitable ones.

I had a sweet room with a shuttered window nestling under the thatch, a supremely comfortable bed and Christopher Robin to inspire when I worked at the desk. Just look at the thickness of these walls.

On Thursday morning we woke up to this!

By this time we’d all bonded. Cue much plotty talk involving strangers stranded in the snow and being picked off one by one. There was talk of axe murderers – I think it was a joke …

It was no hardship, though, to sit in the dining room being fed delicious soup and homemade bread and watch the weather unfold outside.

And, even though the temperature dropped to teeth-chattering depths, I still found a sunny spot to sit and read about the history of the village (you know me, can’t resist a bit of history).

Sheepwash once boasted four pubs, was self sufficient in all trades needed, including a bonnet maker (what is life without a bonnet?) and a rag and bone chancer called Diggy Pinkham who owned a rabbiting greyhound. A fire raged through the settlement in the seventeenth century whereby the houses were all rebuilt in the cob and thatch we see today and which have a conservation order. The village shop has now closed but a Post Office van trundles along now and then and you can still dine well in the one remaining pub, The Half Moon. It may lack facilities but, if it’s anything like the rural villages I’ve lived in, it will have a vibrant and caring community spirit. I’m a smitten kitten and am currently browsing Rightmove.

I had a fabulous few days. Learned loads, laughed a lot and met some fascinating people. My sincere thanks go to Debbie for feeding us and looking after us so thoughtfully, to Janet our tutor and to Andrew, David, Kajal, Farah, Susie, Alison and Jo for making it so memorable. Big love to everyone and happy writing.

Love,

Georgia x

PS If you want to find out more about the writing retreat, and I recommend you do, here’s the linky thing:

Writing Retreats in the heart of North Devon, UK