Why Every Writer Needs a Week Where Nothing Happens

Last week we were on holiday in the Lake District. I look forward to this week all year. It’s the only definite time I can get Mr M to spend some time in Evie the campervan with me. You know, with him thinking that Evie is a tin can on wheels!

Knowing that we would be away in no-Wi-Fi land, as a one-person band, I had to get all my admin done, schedule posts, write Florence and Debra Considers for LinkedIn, and make sure everything was on track for the launch of my new YouTube channel on 5^th July.

Then there was the packing to do. Makeup, hair dryer, hair straighteners and all my moisturising lotions. Only kidding. My packing consisted of a clean pair of knickers and socks for each day, and a couple of spares. A clean top for each day. Shorts, trousers, waterproof trousers and waterproof coat. Oh, and a couple of warm jumpers for the cold evenings. My phone’s weather app told me we were in for some rain. Well, we were going to the Lakes.

Then, once I’d packed all my stuff, I had to pack all Mr M’s for him. But after 20 years of marriage, I’ve drawn the line at actually deciding what he will take with him. If it’s not on the bed for me to put in the van, it stays at home.

After packing for the humans, it was time to sort everything for Florence. Food, treats, bedtime chews, dog bags, water and food dishes, toys, towels and a waterproof coat. Not because she needs a coat, but if you’ve ever experienced a dog shaking themselves inside a small campervan when they’re dripping wet, you’ll understand why she needs a coat.

Obviously I also needed to take my writing notebooks, pens, and laptop for all the writing I had planned. I’m busy writing another book, Celia the Accidental Cyclist, and was aiming to finish a few more chapters. My holiday reading was a book I’ve wanted to read for years but never seemed to get round to it – Jane Eyre.

With everything squashed into Evie, we were off. It was a bit of an eye-opener watching the fuel pump going on and on filling her up. Yes, we nearly spent all our spending money on diesel just to get there! But there’s always dry bread and water to live on.

Here’s what really happened.

Arriving at the wonderful Skelwith Fold Caravan Park just outside Ambleside, the weather was OK. Not brilliant, but not raining, so we could get the air awning up whilst it was still dry. Yes, with a dog and a husband, I felt the need for the extra space. When it’s just me, and Ursula the bike, Evie is plenty big enough. Mr M, despite his aching knees, did a sterling job pumping up the awning – once I’d shown him how to connect it properly. And probably the best photo of the whole holiday was of him carrying out this task, only to realise that I had taken exactly the same photo of little Minnie on our adventure to Yellowcraig last year. She didn’t moan half as much as Mr M!

The campsite is a wonderfully peaceful place – and even has its own library. There’s a small tarn to walk around and well, just plenty of woodland, and stunning views. You could really spend a whole week not even leaving the campsite. Florence, the bone-idle Border Collie, would absolutely agree with that suggestion.

It didn’t take us long to realise that the clothes we’d packed back up in Scotland, where we had been seriously considering putting the central heating on, were totally inappropriate for the heatwave we soon met. Yes, whilst Scotland was getting washed away, we were trying to cope with temperatures above 30 degrees. Totally unacceptable, if you ask me. Mr M was loving it.

Over the week, we had days out on open-topped buses and swam in Coniston Water. Well, I swam; Florence and Mr M paddled. Grasmere, Hawkshead, Ambleside. All the usual favourite places to go were visited. 

Walks were kept short because of my arthritis, Mr M’s wonky knees, the high temperatures, and the lazy Border Collie. In fact, one day, we didn’t even leave the campsite because I did that testing the ground with the back of your hand and it was boiling. So it was definitely too hot for Florence’s paws. She didn’t complain.

With the heat, I didn’t take out my laptop once. I picked up a pen once, but put it away immediately. Anything other than drinking dandelion and burdock and eating ice creams was just too much effort.

All the windows, sky windows, and back doors of the van were constantly open, except at night time. And surprisingly, we didn’t feel like we were sleeping in a sauna. Florence decided that the coolest place was under the table where the sun never shone, and that’s where she spent most of her holiday.

What I did do was read. Not just grabbing a few minutes before bed, I spent hours reading Jane Eyre. I was absolutely loving it. But I found myself thinking about the structure of the writing, the rhythm, the concept, and the whole feel of it. I realised that back in 1847, a writer did with her book exactly what I am trying to do with Celia the Accidental Cyclist. I didn’t go looking for that connection; it just floated its way into my now empty mind. I’m in no way comparing my writing skills to those of Charlotte Brontë, but I realised, without thinking about it, that the template for a novel is the same now as it’s been since stories began. Two people meet. They dislike each other. Something shifts, and they begin to fall in love. Then disaster happens, and the love story falls apart. Until there’s another shift and hope appears once more. Before you know it, they are back together, in love, and live happily ever after. OK, so Jane had a madwoman in the attic to cope with, and once she’d found her everlasting love again, he couldn’t actually see her any more. You need to read the book to find out why.

As I was reading it, all I could think was that Celia was doing the same things. She had a difficult time so escaped. She found love, but something happens. There are more similarities, but I can’t tell you, or you’ll just buy Jane Eyre and not bother getting my book when it comes out.

Packing all those redundant woolly jumpers in Scotland, I never for one minute considered that I might be making comparisons with my writing and that of an all-time classic. But that’s what happens when you do nothing. You give yourself breathing space, time to clear your head, time for thoughts to float around and flourish.

So if you’re a writer, or your work needs your full headspace, take time to do nothing. Give it the freedom to roam, and you never know where your thoughts will take you.

For a week in a campervan in the Lake District with a husband, a Border Collie, and no Wi-Fi during a heatwave, I did nothing, but look at what I actually achieved.

Find your own place to do nothing. You never know what will happen.

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