Saturday 2nd September
“O K, everyone. Please put your pens down. I hope you all enjoyed your first free writing session.”
To Jo’s surprise, her voice sounded less shaky than she’d expected. She looked around the table. Everyone was nodding except Iain, who was staring at the screen of his tablet.
“Any issues? Or comments?” Jo didn’t want to single him out and was glad when he looked up at her.
“I don’t think I get it. Everyone else was scribbling away, but I only have two or three lines. And I’m not even sure those make sense. They’re certainly not great prose.”
“Honestly, Iain, they don’t have to be. Let me see if I can explain free writing better. Some people would say that writing is like a muscle, that the more you exercise it the stronger it gets. And free writing is just that– an exercise. I had a tutor once who even made us throw away what we’d written, but personally I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing because sometimes it sparks an idea.”
“So you just write anything on the topic that comes to mind, and that’s good enough?”
“Yes. Nobody else is ever going to look at these pieces. They’re just for you.”
“Mine reads more like word association than anything else,” Susan chipped in, “but my creative brain does feel a little more awake now. It needed to after all that wine and glorious food last night.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one incapable of putting together a sentence,” said Iain, who was looking happier by the minute.
It was time to move on to the main business of the day: her first tutorial. Beneath the table, Jo knotted her fingers together, then unknotted them, before standing and walking to the whiteboard on the wall opposite the door.
“OK,” she said. “I guess it’s obvious why I chose ‘beginnings’ as the writing prompt, but it’s also our topic for the day. Every novel has to start somewhere, so shall we brainstorm a few ideas about what makes a good opening?”
Silence. Oh god, were they not going to interact? Were they expecting her to spout knowledge at them for an hour?
After what felt like an age, Karmela spoke. “It has to grab the reader. Make them want to carry on.”
Susan nodded. “Even better when it tells you something about the main character too. Like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time . It sets up that there’s a mystery, but also that the narrator has quite a specific world view.”
“Or a beginning that reveals something about where the book’s going,” added Iain. “Like in 1984 with the clocks striking thirteen.”
“Perhaps Pride and Prejudice too,” said Diana, “but I’m not really sure. I know it’s often listed as a classic opening and it certainly sets up the book, but it doesn’t exactly grab the reader. Maybe that wasn’t as important when Austen was writing.”
“You have a very good point there,” said Jo. “There were far fewer books, and people who could read had more time to read them. Now novels compete with all sorts of other leisure activities.”
“I had not thought of that.” Karmela frowned. “My students only read what they need to for the course; for leisure they watch films or television.” She shrugged. “It is their loss. But there are still plenty of people who do love books. And plenty of books for them to love. Maybe too many. If you are thinking of books in English, on Amazon for example, there must be thousands to choose from.”
“Millions, actually,” said Jo. Should she have said that? She certainly didn’t want to discourage anybody. “But the first and most important thing is to write the best book you can. Whether you’re writing for your own satisfaction or with a view to publication. So, let’s get back to what makes a great, reader-grabbing beginning. Let’s think practically and specifically.”
“Like two people meeting in unusual circumstances?”
Jo wrote Diana’s idea on the board.
“Or there being a mystery to solve. That works in just about any type of book.” Karmela sounded excited, and Jo could almost see the possibilities whirring around in her head.
“I guess some of this is genre specific,” said Susan, “like action sequences in thrillers.” She frowned. “I don’t mean they have to be fast and furious, just tense, like Lee Child’s Echo Burning . I couldn’t put that one down from start to finish. Or C. L. Taylor’s Every Move You Make . Subverting what should have been ordinary was just the most brilliant way to start a book.”
Soon the whiteboard was covered with ideas. While Karmela had contributed the most, she hadn’t hogged the conversation, for which Jo was grateful. There’d been a moment when she’d worried the professor would be the dominant personality she’d dreaded, and being a teacher as well, it could have been a nightmare. In fact, the only one who was worrying her was Sophie, who’d said nothing at all, although she had scribbled a few notes on her pad. Perhaps she was simply shy, a feeling Jo knew all too well.
Iain interrupted her thoughts. “Jessica, we’ve come up with some great ideas, but how do we put them into practice?”
Jo started. The use of her pseudonym jarred, although she wasn’t sure why. Fixing a smile on her face, she said, “I’m very glad you asked that, because now we’re going to try it for ourselves with a little exercise in two groups. Karmela, Sophie and Iain, you’re going to start with action. Diana and Susan, with dialogue. I’m not expecting great prose, but I’d like you to make me want to read on, if you can. I’ll be on hand to assist.”
As she sat down, Jo realised that far from being terrified, she felt excited. Excited for the group and their different aspirations; excited to see what they could produce, not just today, but by the end of the month. If she could help each and every one of them improve their writing, it would be a job well done. Her mother was right– in less than twenty-four hours these people were no longer really strangers, and they certainly weren’t scary. That crippling fear had been in her own head, and nowhere else.
Could her other fears be dealt with so easily? Now that was a question to start a book with. Perhaps she should try it herself. Once the page was no longer blank, surely her words would begin to flow? Of course, in her own real life there were no easy answers. No answers at all. But right now she couldn’t let the thought drag her down. Here on Santorini, she was beginning to feel she might have left at least some of the mind-draining awfulness at home. Maybe, just maybe, she really could write her book.
* * *
Karmela watched as Iain disappeared into the blackness, Sybil straining at her lead, no doubt excited by the endless possibilities of her last walk of the night. Opposite her, Jessica was toying with her almost empty wine glass. It was just the two of them left, and Karmela wondered if, now they were alone, she would have an opportunity to try to bring her out of herself and begin to get to know her. Although Jessica smiled and nodded a lot, she seemed to have little to say outside the confines of the classroom.
The sweet night air drifted around them in an almost imperceptible breeze, the heavy scent of geraniums tickling Karmela’s nose. The sky was inky black, the moon no more than a silver ball perching on top of the hillside behind The Retreat House.
“It is so very peaceful here,” she said. “So calm.”
Jessica nodded. “I wondered how it would be. I didn’t dare to hope…”
“A top-up for either of you?” Zina emerged from the bar area, bottle in hand. Jessica held out her glass, but Karmela shook her head.
“I feel bad now,” Jessica faltered.
Zina sat down next to her. “It’s fine. I won’t let you drink alone.”
There was a moment of silence before Karmela resorted to the most obvious conversational gambit, asking what had made Zina decide to start the retreat.
“When I came back to the island, I wanted to do something different, something worthwhile. Despite all the talk of over-tourism on Santorini, here we are away from the crowds, and I wanted to capitalise on that. Show the other face, if you like. Support the rural economy with something that would work alongside the farm.”
“So do you use your own produce in the kitchen?” Karmela asked.
“Where we can, or we showcase other farmers. I want my guests to experience Santorini with all their senses. Our tomatoes, for example, are not grown anywhere other than the island. And the wild capers, we don’t even have to cultivate, just pick them. In authentic local cookery you will barely find a dish without them.”
“It must be wonderful to be able to follow your dream,” Jessica said.
“I’m privileged, that is for sure. But surely writing is a dream career too?”
“Oh, yes. I am lucky.” Jessica sipped her wine but to Karmela her face seemed closed. Suddenly she looked up. “Karmela, is writing where you see your future?”
“I do not think I would ever give up lecturing. I love my subject too much and I really enjoy the interaction with students, especially the ones who are as passionate about medieval history as I am. Sadly they are few and far between, but if I can inspire just a handful more, then my working life is already worthwhile. And anyway, I have barely started my book, let alone finished it.”
“So what is it really like, being a famous author?” Zina asked Jessica, leaning forwards eagerly. “I imagine you go to lots of events– launches, parties, that sort of thing.”
Jessica grimaced. “Some authors do, but mostly it’s sitting at a desk.” She played with the stem of her glass. “You may have noticed I’m pretty shy. I find the social side… difficult.”
“And yet you stand up in a classroom,” said Karmela.
“No, I couldn’t do that. Not in a million years. The five of you is about my limit and I was perfectly terrified before the first session. You see, I’ve never done this before.”
“It did not show.”
Jessica smiled. “Thank you, Karmela. I have seen how easy you find it to chat to people, and you too Zina, and I’m filled with admiration.”
“I can’t really imagine being any other way,” said Zina. “Before I came back here I worked in marketing in Athens so I was constantly putting myself out there, and I loved every minute.”
“So why did you come back?” Karmela asked.
Zina raised her hand to her mouth, as if pondering her answer, then shrugged. “The time felt right. My father died last year and my mother needed my support.”
“That is such a lovely thing to do,” said Jessica. “So selfless. You must be close to your mother to do that. I have to say, my mum is my absolute rock and I’d do anything for her too.”
“Then that’s something we have in common.” Zina beamed.
Oh, these women were lucky to have such warm relationships with their mothers, but Karmela did at least have something to add to the conversation. “My mother gave me the retreat as a gift. She said I needed to get out of my comfort zone and actually write my book.”
“I love a new challenge,” said Zina, rubbing her hands.
“I have to say, I am looking forward to this one,” Karmela agreed. “The retreat is giving me the freedom to do something entirely new. Perhaps, Jessica, it is the same for you if you have not led one before.”
“Perhaps.” She looked down into her glass, swirling the last of the wine around, before gulping it down. “Anyway, I think it is probably past my bedtime.”
“Mine too,” said Zina, standing as well.
Karmela looked up at both of them. “I have really enjoyed our chat. A great way to wind down at the end of the day.”
Zina nodded. “One thing… the one thing I have missed since I’ve been here, is talking to like-minded women. Women with careers, opinions—” She ground to a halt, biting her lip.
“Then we must do it again,” said Karmela.
Jessica stopped a few feet away from the table. “I think I would like that as well.”
They went their separate ways, Karmela pausing in the courtyard, listening to Zina’s footsteps on the track. Yes, there was potential here, potential for real friendship, but she had the strangest impression that the other women were holding something of themselves back. With Jessica it was shyness, for sure, but Zina? She could not quite put her finger on it. Was she seeing something that wasn’t there because not eighteen months before she had been the one in that position?
Only time would tell, but for the moment she was already looking forward to their next conversation.