A guest post by Marni Henrickson
Marni was one of our wonderful writers at the workshop in Collioure in September 2018. We’re delighted to offer her thoughts on the experience.
Why would I go all the way to France just to write? I have a lovely view out my window, a quiet space, and it’s already all expenses-paid. Perhaps so I could peek into other peoples’ windows just a little, let a little noise into my life, and enjoy the smell of fresh baguettes wafting up the cobblestone walkway every morning. Eighty steps (I counted) from the blue door, down to the main street by the harbor where I had to make a decision every morning: was I going to go left to the market for fruit and cheese first, or right to the bakery for bread or a croissant. Then another 100 yards if I wanted to get my toes wet in the Mediterranean Sea while tasting my “Beignet de Catalan.” Back up the street past the roses and the open windows for breakfast and to write. Life was simple. Good food to eat, beautiful village, vineyards, olive trees, cork oaks, and coastline, almost all on foot. Museums, monasteries, and “Soup de Poisson”—it was all amazing.
So, why would I spend any time indoors in France sitting at a desk writing when I could be out exploring, eating my way up and down the streets of the villages, or exploring Paris and the Louvre, walking through the French Botanical Garden, seeing what was once Notre Dame? I came home and felt like I had done something on my trip. It felt like I was myself. I lived my own life in a different place. I didn’t feel like a tourist really; I had a bit of a purpose.
The first day of the writing workshop Char and Debbie posed an intimidating opener: “Tell us about your life as a writer.” Hmm. What will I say? That I wrote a novel when I was eleven? It was terrible. That I always wrote good nurse’s notes? My annual Christmas letter is better than average? My life as a writer is a better story because of Collioure. Because I didn’t think of myself as a writer, I carefully prepared a list of topics I could write about before I left for Collioure. Looking back a few months later at that list and that exercise, I am amused. It’s a flood like the Nebraska farmlands. I have some catching up to do. Is this what they mean when they say “finding your voice?”
Some days, I think of those wonderful afternoons in France, how I would write for an hour or two, then take a break to walk to the little market and pick out a perfect juicy peach or fresh fig for an afternoon snack, stopping at the bakery for a dinner baguette from the afternoon round of baking. I hold on to the magic of that simplicity. I’ve begun to taste it.
Editor’s note: You, too, can experience the joys of writing in France! Click here for more information.
Photos by the author.
