How to plan a DIY writing retreat:

 You will need:

1.       A cabin in the woods. Not the creepy kind, this is the start of your novel-writing career, not the start of a horror film. We found a charming place on AirBnB and it couldn’t have been more perfect — secluded, peaceful, and with a resident pheasant. They also left us scones, clotted cream, and chuckleberry jam (don’t worry, we’d never heard of it either) on arrival which was a nice touch. There were moments that the cabin gave sauna vibes, but it was so festooned in fairy lights that it mostly just felt cute. The highlight was the porch out the front, we’d sit and write out there whilst watching the many birds and squirrels; for October it was remarkably warm, and it was a great place to sit and iron out errant plot points.

2.       Appropriate supplies. As a suggestion: crisps, wine, an entire wheel of camembert… Whilst the kitchen contained everything you could need to whip up a multi-course meal, the kitchen is also not the place I want to be spending any more of my time in than absolutely necessary. This is where of course Girl Dinner comes into its own. The camembert was baked in the oven and eaten with garlic bread, whilst we ate roughly the equivalent of our bodyweight in crisps each evening. For lunch we did soup and sandwiches, but the star of the show was of course the 24 pack of diet cokes which we were certain there was no way we could get through in 4 days and promptly finished. By the time we got home I was certain you could cut me and I'd bleed diet coke. We also did bestie bags for each other filled with essentials like chocolate, fluffy socks, and a frog hat— the height of sartorial elegance.

3.       A partner in crime. Perhaps the most important ingredient of all, because choosing the wrong person to spend almost a week in a cabin with could very easily end in disaster; in fact, it’s the premise of many a horror movie. Luckily Tabby and I have been friends for over 10 years, and she’s quite used to my idiosyncrasies by now. She's also the only person who really gets my writing, never failing to offer up brilliant solutions to plot holes I can't seem to climb my way out of. She was relegated to the porch most of the time whilst I sat inside otherwise we were at risk of doing no writing at all and instead chatting about how we’ll spend our lottery winnings when one of us eventually wins the Euromillions, which is our very favourite and inexhaustible topics of conversations. Considering we were spending nearly all of our time together, we successfully avoided any fallings out, even when following the world’s worst written directions on one of the local walks.

4.       No distractions. Shoutout to Paul, the owner of the cabin, who very kindly blacked out the wifi password in the welcome information pack for us. I cannot be trusted with internet, my addiction to Tiktok is chronic and shows no sign of abating. Did it feel like I'd travelled back to a time before the invention of mobiles? Absolutely, but that was perhaps also because we were in the very depths of Somerset, where I'm not sure such technological advances had become mainstream yet. After half a day of religiously checking whether somehow my phone had found a tiny shred of data to connect to I accepted my fate and committed to no outside communication and living in the moment. I did things I hadn’t done in months, like reading actual physical books, managing not to share every thought that popped into my head with people on the internet, and letting the repetitive strain injury I sustained in my thumb from scrolling too much recover (I wish I was joking). Luckily there was a family of squirrels that provided plenty of entertainment, and of course long conversations about everything from the perfect man to dark omens (which in my experience often go hand-in-hand).

5.       Extra curriculars. Everyone loves fun. The best kind of fun? Organised fun. One day I will be able to plan a trip somewhere without micromanaging each minor detail, but probably not one day soon. I wanted to do bestie boxes, so bestie boxes we did. I wanted to toast marshmallows, so we had a friendship-testing 20 minutes of trying to build a fire with just some kindling and newspaper (harder than anticipated without firelighters but these gals were determined for those sweet, sweet smores so we persevered). And I wanted to document every moment, so Tabby patiently waited for me to continually set up the world’s worst tripod and then waited some more when it inevitably fell over. I'd also seen that the National Trust were doing free tickets for October, so we visited Montacute House on the way there and Stourhead on the way back. Both were stunning, and we found lovely volunteers in both who chatted to us about some of the lesser-known facts about the places, and even spilled the tea about all the behind-the-scenes drama in regards to the staircases at Montacute— truly a rollercoaster. We also cake, which characterises any good outing.

6.       A slightly sinister village. Now this isn't a necessity, but it will truly bond you and your fellow writers if where you travel to reminds you of the village in Hot Fuzz. Everyone was friendly, but you also felt like they somehow knew you weren’t from around these parts. We also got slightly lost finding the cabin and ended up in a hamlet that gave off such rancid vibes that it was actually quite frightening. It did however provide a talking point for us, one that we brought up every single day we were there, and will probably have been absorbed into our friendship lore. For years it will be: ‘do you remember when we found that really cursed little place and thought we were going to die?’. I also haven't got over the funeral home in the village that was connected to a residential house, where (presumably?) the funeral director lived. The funeral home was in his garden? Is that weird? I thought it was weird.

7.       A routine. Up, dressed, and writing before 0930; lunch at 1300 followed by a walk; afternoon of writing; gin and tonics by 1830; girl dinner; bed. This is the part where you actually have to do some writing (shocking news on the writing retreat). Tabby and I were strict with ourselves, and both ended up writing over seventeen thousand words each, so it was clearly somewhat successful. Even if you're like me and work on three different projects, periodically sneaking out to the porch to admit to starting something new, the writing ended up being fun and it was nice to catch up at meal times about what we’d been writing that so far that day. The routine helped us really get our heads down and write, and we also had a little whiteboard where we’d add our daily wordcount to help keep us accountable.

So there you have it, how to plan a DIY writing retreat in seven easy steps. More than anything, it was a long overdue phone detox, with the writing obviously being an added bonus. Coming back to the real world and back to work was a bit of a downer, but I think it would be fun to repeat the experience again next year. Autumn was the perfect time because if the weather is bad it doesn’t much matter as you're inside writing anyway. Tempting though it was to remain off-grid in a cabin in the woods forever, it was nice to return back to civilisation and of course, my beloved Tiktok.