Somewhere I Can Remove My Mask

As part of our employability project, we are able to offer two bursary places each autumn on the prestigious Haven For Stories retreat at Villa Pia in Umbria. Our scholar Xavier, who graduated this summer and is building a career in screenwriting, film and publishing, describes the experience and how it quietened the war going on inside him

I recall sitting on a bench on the last night of the retreat. The silence in the village always impressed me. In the evenings a car drove past every half hour, if that. And with the war going on inside me, that peace was precious.

The moon and stars were the brightest I had seen them in years. Their ability to be so luminescent in the night strangely mirrored the theory on my mind at the time. Perhaps I’m not a writer after all. Perhaps my abilities were praised and shone solely because I have mostly displayed them in darkness, in places where stars are easier to see because they are few and far between: in prison classrooms or amongst old friends, who could tell you how much a list of illicit substances cost anywhere in Europe at this precise moment quicker than they could name a Charles Dickens novel.

Nevertheless, I had somewhat earned my place here, an opportunity I was grateful for. And my mask had melted away and the real me sat alone on this bench, displaced and full of angst.

‘Back with crime, tragedy or prison’

Throughout the week at Villa Pia, we were often challenged to talk or write about quite personal things: sometimes as part of one of the many writing techniques taught to enhance our abilities or broaden our perspective.  Each time a conversation or exercise like this was put in front of me, I tried to evade it, tried to seem as normal as possible.

Despite my efforts, when I was instructed to remember a time when I felt this or that, I ended up back with a story either centred around a crime, a tragedy or prison. I have never been a fan of these things being my story, never wanted to be a case study, or to be pitied for being a kid that grew up around gangs in a ‘bad’ neighbourhood.  I wanted people to meet and appreciate me first, then be compelled by the fact I have become this person irrespective of my troubled past. I simply didn’t want to fit the stereotype I felt people would likely have of me – regardless of how true it was.

Avoid dark avenues

I had smiled my way through the villa’s activities and conversations, avoiding walks down the dark avenues of my mind, but I could not hide anymore. Imposter syndrome had prevailed and lead me to this quiet bench, alone, whilst the other guests and new friends read parts of writing they had worked on throughout the week.

I thought back to the hike through the hills on the first day, to the readings and valuable workshops throughout the week, to the merry conversations over dinner each night, to the laughs we shared by the fireplace that got louder with each glass of Tuscan red. ‘Live life blissfully!’, that was the life advice I had received from an 85-year-old man, who became my friend there, partially because he spends most of his time back home with his wife and her friends and likely needed some male company. Then there was tthe enchanting imagination of a young writer from London who shocked me when she said she was impressed by my writing. And an American lady that was so full of life and a warmth that reminded you of your favourite auntie growing up.

I truly admired how she’d mastered the art of being direct, but not disrespectful when she spoke. And the way our tutors on the course, Toby and Clare, would stay up until we all finished chatting away, even though they were clearly shattered.

Enjoy the Last Supper

I had learnt so much about these people and grown to really like them. Even those who were brave enough to confess their darkest thoughts, that would normally offend most, but for some odd reason this time they didn’t. They fascinated me, they intrigued me, it was truly a haven.

Everybody had a different story to tell. Everybody embraced one another, regardless of those differences. Why was I feeling so alienated? It plagued my mind for the whole trip. From the moment I stood in awe at the picturesque hills of the Tuscan/Umbrian border around Villa Pia, coffee in hand, and took a deep breath and told myself, ‘be present! Live in this moment, realise where you are, understand why you are here, internalise it and put it to use.’

Time had passed, and I hadn’t written anything I felt confident to read to the rest of the group. I was embarrassed and felt like I had let everybody down. More importantly, I felt I had let myself down. Here I was again, the smile wiped off my face, and I had exposed the rebel I have been for years. It was reminiscent of when I’d leave the classroom to complete my work on the school field as I just had to do things my own way. I never understood the concept of sitting in a classroom for an hour when I could buy the textbooks and teach myself within minutes.

Although, this was nothing like that but how do you manage to break a rule in a place where there aren’t any? I laughed to myself at the thought of spending years in prison not scared of the hardened criminals, but now here I was intimidated by sitting in a room full of lovely writers because I haven’t written to the best of my ability.

Crazy, I know. Nobody had done or said anything to make me feel uncomfortable, apart from myself. After accepting this fact, I decided I better get back to the villa, change into something smart, and enjoy the last supper.

Gathering material

I had spent a lot of my time on the writers’ retreat in a pensive mood, paying more attention to the people and wondering how their lives were. The rousing scenery and the people I shared my time with enriched my experience. Whether it be fiction or non-fiction, I draw inspiration from my experiences. My characters are usually created with somebody I’ve met in mind. How that character feels wherever they go is often based on how I have once felt visiting the different parts of our vast and ever-interesting world.

So, even though I hadn’t pushed myself to write a certain number of pages for a script, or finish off a first draft of a novel, my time was not wasted in the slightest. In fact, the things I learnt about myself on this trip were pure gold. And to all the people I met, keep your eyes open for a character that seems eminently familiar. After all, you are my inspiration. Thank you for helping me remove the mask.  As my fellow Longford scholar toasted on the last night, whilst sharing our one cigar and whiskey with a small gathering of other writers: “Never above me, never below me, always side by side.”

Our thanks to Morag Cleland, Ellie and Patrick Begley at Villa Pia, and to the writers who led the retreat – Tobias Jones, Elise Valmorbida and Clare Pollard – for the bursaries that they have provided these past three years to enable two Longford Scholars to attend the annual Haven For Stories retreat that takes place there.