New Norcia: A Retreat is not an Advance

The above is a quote that my college chaplain said when I was on retreat with the Episcopal Chaplaincy in New Hampshire, and it is very true. I packed myself off for a four day three night writing retreat at New Norcia, a monastic town two hours away from Perth, and just got back yesterday. It was a productive time, being by myself in the great Australian loneliness, and I got on track with my novel, The Utopia Machine, again. I’m on my fourth draft now, and I have been working on and off on it since 2011, so it’s been a long haul. However, for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling optimistic about it.

New Norcia is filled with 200 year old buildings in the Spanish style – it was settled by Benedictine monks seeking seclusion in the desert and in order to convert the aboriginals and educate the local population – it ran four schools altogether in its heyday. Although there are murkier patches in its history (including being involved in housing “orphans” who were not actually, part of the Stolen Generation), it is a peaceful and beautiful place today.

The monastery runs a guesthouse, where people are offered traditional Benedictine hospitality – room and board, for a suggested donation of $80 a day, which is eminently reasonable. The food is hearty fare, with thick soups and roasts and breaded fish and potatoes, as well as pudding during lunch.

I spent most of my time in the reading room, an upper room lined with books and comfortable armchairs. Mostly I glued my butt to a wooden chair and desk, typing away or scribbling in my notebook. Although a little cold in winter, it was excellent for concentrating on the work at hand! No wifi, which is a plus in my book, as it prevents Facebook timewasting…

This armchair is incredibly comfortable. I got through about a third of Liu Cixin’s Death’s End, the third book in the Three Body Problem trilogy, in this chair. Yup, one can’t write ALL the time, even at a writing retreat.

Here is the view from the window of the inner room of the reading room, of the little church that is in front of the guesthouse.I even managed to take a break from novel writing and pen a poem…

From New Norcia

 

I hear a Kookaburra

going hoo-hoo-hoo-haa-haa

 

I hear a passing car

like a shooting star

 

arcing suddenly across

the cross

 

of New Norcia.

 

I have no guitar

to serenade these stars

 

but wide

is their silence.

 

I have no breath

to describe the depth

 

of how far

they are

 

from New Norcia.

 

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