Luxury / necessity
A writing residency and the shed as a mystical conduit
I recently told a friend that I’d be late giving feedback on a script because I was away on a writer’s residency.
“Oh, I love those things” he said, “they’re so indulgent”.
As I was, at that very moment, staring out across Tomales Bay from a perfect little writing shed, it felt hard to argue his point.
But ever since, I’ve swung between thinking of that time as an incredibly vital step in my career, and an impossible luxury that I should mention quietly.
I was lucky enough to be given a residency at Mesa Refuge to work on my latest film.
I’d applied for a few residencies for the first time - mainly because the idea of them sounded so idyllic. A special place to write. Being treated like a writer. Waking at dawn with coffee, silence and unending inspiration. Also, I really did want to push what this film could be, and I felt like time away writing it meticulously would allow me to really go deep in form and style.
Applying doesn’t really take that long, and when you’re as used to rejection as directors are (I have a whole post on that soon), then it was all pretty painless.
(Apart from one application that is. An application that I thought was an incredible long shot, so when I woke early checked my email from bed and saw a ‘Congratulations, you’ve been awarded a place’ subject I almost yelped with joy. Unfortunately, the next email said ‘ERROR - We are so sorry for the confusion – unfortunately our system printed the shortlist and not the final list of residents’. A brutal rollercoaster all before 6.15 in the morning. )
Now I think that romantic idea of being a writer is actually a pretty crucial one.
I came to long-form writing late. I didn’t try writing a screenplay for real until I’d already made several documentaries. And the first stages of writing that first script were hard — facing the empty page, finding a rhythm, and realising you don’t have to match what all the screenwriting podcasts say. That’s a tough, bumpy lesson.
I knew I had a lot to say and wanted to try writing seriously, but it took ages to settle into it. I put it off for so long that I eventually forced myself: I booked four days in a foreign city I didn’t know, and told everyone I was going there to finish the outline. That kind of carrot-stick works for me. And it helped me start seeing myself as someone who spends time writing.
The romance and desire wrapped up in filmmaking and writing is part of the fuel that keeps me going. It’s indulgent, yes — but in the utterly crucial ‘indulging your fantasies’ kind of way.
If I couldn’t picture myself writing a great screenplay in a lighthouse somewhere, or directing a film that makes people weep with joy and heartache, then how could I wade through all the other shit that comes with it?
Part of the joy of doing something like filmmaking for a living is reconnecting with your impossible early dreams. Where I grew up, things like having a foreign-language poster for a film you made, or closing a street down with a crane shot, felt like wild fantasies.
So did spending two weeks in Northern California on a writing residency.
Impossible dreams. But of course they’re indulgent. That’s the point.
But the difference between luxury indulgence and necessary deep digging is, at best, a very fine line. It might even be the same thing. To dive deep into a subject is an indulgence, but without doing that how do you ever make something good?
So when I was given the chance to try out a full, proper residency in a beautiful place like Mesa Refuge, I leapt at it.
The refuge is a three-bedroom house near Point Reyes Station. Each resident gets a bedroom and a writing space. It’s simple, thoughtful, and comfortable without being exciting or distracting. Here’s mine:
There’s also a large library, several shelves filled with books by former residents like Michael Pollan (
), and Rebecca Solnit.Being in a space where other people created great work is inspiring and intimidating. It made me feel like these writers were my peers — so if they could do it, I could too. Or at least, I better try, otherwise I’d be a sorry disappointment.
It quickly became apparent to me that the physical space is part of the magic, but that the mental space is the truly special part.
Taking ten solid days to really immerse in a project and not really break from that, is indulgence in the best possible way. I even left my laptop in the main house and wrote by hand in my shed.
I found that the ideas and connections I was making in my writing reached a new level.
I really did wake at dawn, make coffee, shuffle to my shed, and write as the sun came up. I got to push what this film could be. I felt like a real writer.
I would write until around 11, then take a two-hour walk. Maybe say hello to a passing housemate in the kitchen.
And I was lucky to have two brilliant housemates. Whit Missildine, who was adapting his beautiful podcast series This is Actually Happening and Angelica Chazaro, who’s working on a book that’s immensely important (and hopefully not ruined by me suggesting silly sub-headings for it).
They added inspiration and solidarity, but were never obtrusive. The atmosphere was respectful — never one of those showy, soul-baring circles where everyone tries to out-profound each other.
We got on so well, we all even went on local radio together:
This time spent in deep thought about a single project, without it being tied to a deadline or a pressure-filled pitch, has given me a totally new perspective on the film.
Since then, I haven’t had to prepare what to say when I talk about it. It just comes out — because I’ve already done the deep-rooted work.
If you can carve out some days to do your own immersion in a project, I can’t recommend it enough. Yes, it is an incredible joy and privilege. It’s a luxury.
But it’s also the most inspiring and productive thing I’ve done for a while.
A residency or retreat is something I want to include in my yearly work from now on.
And not only as an indulgence, but as a true necessity.
** The same friend also recommended Carmen Maria Machado’s brilliant story ‘The Resident’, which also led me to her great substack post on residencies:
