Briefly: May and June day retreats in Kent, UK | Emma Gannon on How We Live Now | My live appearances | Catch my interviews on Moms Don’t Have Time To Read and How To Be Human

Hello,

If I’ve learned one thing about book launches over the years, it’s that at some point I’ll desperately need to stop talking and take a break. So for the last couple of weeks I’ve been in Greece, staying between the mountains and the sea in the beautiful Peloponnese. One of the first things I did was to get into the clear, cold water and swim. For me, it’s about stretching my limbs and absorbing myself in the sensory landscape that surrounds me. Neck deep in saltwater, I become part of a place.

I didn’t take my laptop on holiday. I have to admit I usually do, but for once I wanted to actually stop working for ten days while my body shook off the last shades of the illness that took me down at the beginning of the year. That’s not a moral stance; it’s just a practical one. I took my notebook instead, and of course I had my phone. Work, for me, is not something that stops and starts in any simple way. It’s hard to ever leave it behind. Writing is a lived experience rather than a job with clear boundaries, and ideas are far more likely to visit me during rest than in busy moments. Denying it is almost physically uncomfortable for me, so I just indulge it when it comes knocking. I get bored on holiday anyway. I’d far rather sit down and write on rainy afternoons than watch re-runs of old movies. Work and play for me are often the same. 

Over the years, my writing has impacted our holidays in many different ways, and not only because I often use my book research as an opportunity to travel. I foolishly booked a holiday on the week that my first novel came out, and then realised that my only reliable phone signal could be found via a 20 minute drive to a layby which also hosted a dead badger. During another memorable week away, I was offered the opportunity to pitch to an editor over the phone midway through the week, and of course couldn’t miss that. I outlined The Electricity of Every Living Thing while pacing Kingsbridge Harbour, trying to stop the line from disintegrating altogether (never change, Devon!); and I did the same again with Wintering from the spare bedroom of a house swap in Donegal. I have no regrets. 

I am, of course, enchanted with the notion of retreating completely, but in reality it’s often impractical. There are moments in each holiday when both my boys (the adult and the child) want to do something noisy like going to an arcade or playing computer games, and I’d rather have a little moment with my screen. It’s the thing that I like to do the most, really - to sit and think for a while, to generate words. Why would I cut myself off from that, just to prove a point? The item I’d save from a fire would be my laptop, every damn time. In the unlikely event that I get invited onto Desert Island Discs, I’ll choose my laptop as my luxury item at the end (my desert island has plug sockets and, God willing, wifi). 

I would not do this for someone else. I would absolutely refuse to work on holiday for a company or organisation that was employing me. I would happily put on my Out of Office and trot off into the sunset, whistling as I went. I hold strong opinions about organisations that expect otherwise. But what I do now is my work, my passion. It is inseparable from me. I don’t want to let go of it for weeks at a time. I want to hold it, to nurture it. At the same time, I want to rest off its most extreme moments, to make space for processing and reflection, to change up the rhythm so that new ideas can find their way in. I need to spend time with my family without constantly, apologetically, escaping them. Making work sustainable is part of the work.

How do we conceptualise work in this peculiar age? I find my own attitude hard to unravel. I’m horrified by the way that work has crawled into every hour of our days, like some kind of a relentless, obliterating fungus. But, equally, that’s just the kind of work that I’ve always pursued: absolute, compelling, entwined. I’m troubled that technology has evolved not to save us work, but to give it an addictive, persistent quality that makes it hard for us to switch off; but I’m also grateful for that technology, because it lets me work when and where I want, without having to drag myself into an office. I don’t understand why work has to be in competition with family and social life, or why we still don’t have a plan that covers the normal human care required at the extremes of our lives. I wonder what we’ll do when we’ve incentivised the last teacher and nurse to leave their poorly-paid, overworked roles to find jobs that pay enough for them to afford to live. 

I sometimes fantasise that we would all rise up, seize control of the land, and remake the connection between work and living, but I also know that I would hate that, and would quickly find a quiet room with a plug socket so that I could type some words again. That’s my problem: I like the flow of ideas far better than getting dirt under my nails, and ideas are exponential. A nurtured garden will automatically limit its demands on you. A nurtured idea will just keep on demanding your attention. 

That is all a very long way of saying: I checked my emails while I was on holiday, and I’m not sorry, either. In fact, I downloaded an email app especially, because I don’t usually have email on my phone at all. I didn’t reply to very much, and some days I didn’t check at all, but I found it helpful to stay loosely on top of things. It made the back-to-work dread significantly less agonising, and it allowed me to solve a couple of problems that might otherwise have escalated. 

But at the same time, I immersed myself in that beautiful, unhurried Mediterranean culture in which lunches are cheap and endless, and no-one has their phone next to their plate. I clambered around ancient ruins, and spent some time sitting in an olive grove, breathing in the scent of spring wildflowers as they rustled in the breeze. I took time to talk with strangers, to exchange jokes and curiosity. I kept a careful watch over the surrounding mountains, noticing their perpetual dance with the light. 

I feel like I witnessed a more leisurely society, where work has its place but so does relaxation; where the social life of cafes and tavernas is an essential part of life, rather than the privilege of a wealthy class; where all generations - all stages of life - share a table together, and gossip, and drink Sprite or tiny tumblers of rough wine. It made me wonder whether our problem isn’t just the over-abundance of work to do, but also the scarcity of restful spaces for us to inhabit, our insistence that everything outside of work is a frippery. 

How do we find balance when there is just so much out there that needs to be done? I don’t honestly know the answer to that. But I do feel certain that the solution will be communal rather than individual. It’s not your personal fault that work demands more than you can give. And it’s our responsibility - our work, if you will - to create a world in which rest has an equal gravity to work. Work is heavy though, massive. It will take a lot of us to counterbalance it. 

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Retreats & subsidised places

I’m running two gorgeous day-retreats in my native Kent on 24th May and 28th June this year. Set under the enormous skies of Elmley Nature Reserve, they are an invitation for burned-out people to enter a process of reflection and slow change in a gentle environment. I see these events as little conferences of rest, where a range of deeply interesting people gather to share their weariness and wisdom. You can find out more and book here.

As ever, it’s really important to me that the people who need to come can come, which is why I offer the chance to apply for free and subsidised places for those who can’t afford the full cost. If this is you, please don’t be shy - apply here! We don’t ask for details, only that you apply in good faith rather than treating it as a prize draw; and we pick at random from everyone who applies. The closing date is Monday 24th April.

I think these will be the last events I run in this format, so if you’d like to work with me in a small group and a beautiful setting, take the plunge!

I hope you find a way to rest this week, whatever that means to you.

Take care,

Katherine

Upcoming Events

Online

April 27 @ 7:30pm Boozy Book Club. Tickets available here.

In person

May 15 @ 5pm Bath Festival. Tickets available here.

May 26 @ 6pm Norwich Festival. Tickets available here.

June 3 @ 11:30am Hay Festival, Hay-on-Wye. Tickets available here.

June 11 @ tbc KITE Festival, Oxfordshire. Tickets available here.

June 24 @ 6pm Seven Fables, Dulverton. Tickets available here.

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