My writing group recently went on a retreat to rural Victoria. The three of us booked a house overlooking a forest and we took along our mascot, Ruby the dog, for added company. The dedicated time away felt to me like being on a big, peaceful sailing ship travelling through tranquil waters. All we had to do was read, write, talk and rest.
No sooner was I there, however, than I went on an excursion into town. On the day of our arrival, I’d spied a small, cosy café in the main street, which looked perfect for writing. Sure enough, it turned out to be a lovely, muted space with excellent hot chocolate to boot. I’d become one of those people who dreams of travelling to Paris, but once there immediately plans on where to go next.
On the first day in my regional café, I asked the barista why it was named The Himalayan. He explained that it had something to do with the area’s geographical ‘ley lines’ and their connection to the powerful energy of Nepal. If this was so, then I’d found my spot. On the following day, the cafe’s electricity went out, forcing the other patrons to vacate. Only writers might say to themselves, oh good, now that it’s gone dark I have time to write and think. My piece was about Remembrance Day for soldiers (and their daughters), and in that instant I’d found my peace.
Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts on the spirit of place and right decision-making. The Himalayan café was a good reminder of this.
Back at the house, the other members of Elwood Writers had found their spaces. Some days people wrote on the back deck where the trees beyond – in certain lights – resembled the green waves of a smooth-flowing ocean. Ruby, our muse, contentedly slept her way through the nightly readings (well actually, she snored her way through). By day we found different country tracks suitable for walking off the day’s writing (or for walking into it). Over dinner we chatted about our goals and writerly dreams, all agreeing by the last day that sometimes – in ‘right’ situations – the earth does move a little closer to the heavens.

Some places have a special Calma.
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They do.
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It was quite magical Margaret. I found my happy place on the back deck gazing into the forest finding inspiration.
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I’m trying to remember where mine was, Helen. Maybe the back garden. Or the hot tub. The whole house!
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Ha ha. That house was made for you and Ruby.
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Yours was truly the back deck, Helen.
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oops – that’s me HMcD above!
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Great Helen. We’re lucky, aren’t we.
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Margaret, sounds like a little piece of heaven. Beautiful. What a wonderful writing group. I can feel the inspiration from here. Thank you for sharing (and please give a good pat to Ruby). ❤️
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Sounds like an awesome trip. In the evenings, did you read what you wrote that day? Do you have a current large scale project like a novel or a memoir?
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We each read in the evenings. Mine is memoir and slowly I’m getting back into my draft manuscript. Thanks for asking Jeff.
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Sounds magical. The perfect setting for a writer. I remember those days but its been a while.
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I love the line “that sometimes . . . the earth does move a little closer to the heavens.” Beautiful, and captures the magic of this time away ❤
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