the writing residency post

I knew, in 2024, that I wanted to take a week to devote to writing. I had still incomplete thoughts about packing up, stealing away with heatable meals (and gin and coffee) and just holing up in an airBnB to work furiously.

So that burgeoning idea was already in my head. Then, I saw in the WritingNSW newsletter, a residency being offered by Lighthouse Arts at the Nobbys-Whibayganba headland.

It was the lighthouse that sparked my curiosity. In my current work in progress (WiP), the main character has an affinity for lighthouses. Lighthouses, in the WiP, are symbolic. They provide guidance.

So I applied for a five day residency in April 2024.

In the lead up to the residency, I was excited and maybe a little worried. Mainly, I was worried about my muse. After all, my intention was to take time off work, travel four hours up the coast, and write. I really hoped I didn’t leave her behind and end up spending a week googling things on my phone. Spoiler: she accompanied me, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Monday 11.07am.

I’m sitting, trying to settle, looking out over the water.

To get here, I ruck my laptop, keyboard and too many notepads along past the art deco bathers pools and up Maquarie Pier. By the time I get to the gate @10am, I’m sticky with sweat.

I’m going to respect everyone’s privacy and keep everyone nameless, so this will suffice: other writers, artists and creatives are milling about, looking up the short, but steep, climb to the lighthouse arena.

Up there, we see some small white buildings, and a lighthouse.

After we say hello (I’m always awkward with greetings) we’re welcomed by the director of the residency program. We walk up the hill to the lighthouse. There’s an intense sort of anticipation clinging to us, we’ve walked into it as we climbed up on this hill. We’re all brimming with optimism at what the week can offer. 

We have a rota of different rooms sticky-taped to the windows. I find today’s space and unpack.

I decide to set myself some daily intentions. What I’d like to achieve while I’m here, what would make me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I’m addicted to progress measures.

I will start each day with a timed writing exercise, taking on the POV of my protagonist, and writing as her for ten minutes to see what happens.  

And, importantly, I will keep a daily journal of my experience here.

2.10pm

I’ve been writing all morning, with a cool breeze blowing in from my north-facing windows. When I took a break, I sat out in the sun with a magpie prowling for crumbs. He already caught a giant grasshopper, I watched him tenderising his meal on the grass, but he was looking hopeful.

Whenever I look up from my screen, and I’ve been amazingly productive today, I’m gazing out the mouth of the Hunter River, watching the big ships escorted out by their tug boat bodyguards. It’s serene, and removed. There’s something different here, something about being up on the hill, away from everything and every one. I’m excited about the rest of the week.

Tuesday 10.37am

Today, I am in a studio facing the lighthouse. I can see right into the eye. Amazing for my WiP, where the main character, who is an AiG in a bionanotechnological body, has an affinity for lighthouses.

The lighthouse has four circular, fractaled lenses, and I can see them reflecting the sunlight even without any internal light. They rotate the whole day, as the sun moves overhead. I love it. I decide after a while its both an eye and a heart.

12.05pm

A bit about the site as I break for lunch: The lighthouse itself is a squat white circular structure on a headland connected to the mainland by the landbridge of the Maquarie Pier.

The site itself has three cottages, the lighthouse, a shed/music room, and a control building (?) which is the tallest structure.

Around the buildings runs a white wall, in a circular shape.

The cottages were old keeper’s cottages. Each has multiple rooms, which act as studios for the residencies. Each resident is assigned a different studio each day, so you might be looking at the lighthouse one day, out at Knobby’s beach the next.

It’s a great system, because it there is something new to look at, maximising the chance of that spark of creativtity. It’s working, I am completing those progress goals I set.

When we arrived, the director (remember, I’m keeping things anonymous) spoke of a sort of magic that occurs in the site, that you suddenly become committed to the work. That you are resolved. I feel that. There’s this importance to my writing here, the change in location, the effort of getting here, being here for my work makes me want to get everything I can out of these days.

Wednesday 10:24am

I am on a south-east facing room, looking out over Macquarie Pier. The sea, south of the Pier, is wild and foamy. The river, northside, is calm, business as usual. This dichtomy is wonderful to watch. Ominous clouds gather and the wind is gaining ferocity, whistling up the hill, rattling the old windows. I’ve wedged a piece of paper into the old wooden frames. This is all a part of the cottages charm. I’m in a closed room, and the keyboard echoes mightily. I feel a sense of something oppostite to grounding looking back at the city with its crane-indicated development and the glimpses of workday people. Sitting up here at Nobbys-Whibayganba. I feel like I’ve accessed a special realm.

11:25am

I continue to power through the hopeful list of intentions I created Monday morning. The productivity at Nobbys-Whibayganba is definitely other worldly. This idea keeps coming up in this journal, this ‘other world’. The weather exacerbates this vibe.

Giant shipping tankers crawl in and out despite the weather. The studio is creaking. The waves fling themselves over the road and crash over the bather’s pools, foam spray leaping high as the art deco building. The chaos is wonderful for what I’m writing, a big climatic scene. I’m sucking up the energy through a straw.

1:30pm

Every day I catch glimpses of the residency members exploring the grounds. There’s a lunchtime gathering I keep missing, I’m so absorbed in my work but I resolved to go today and was glad I joined. We discussed our pieces and our progress.

2:46pm

Gale force wind warning so we’re finishing early. Nobbys-Whibayganba is an exposed site and Definitely feels like it, every step outside is into bullying wind. But I’ve got my intentions for the day done (already) – written the 2nd draft climax, and also 1st draft of an ending to the manuscript.

Thursday 1.14pm

The isthmus is sandy and salty in the wind, but that doesn’t stop the people, they’ve walked, biked and dogged up and down Macquarie Pier day. The beach is still closed, and I’ve watched the poor bathing pool get hammered all day.

Looking out across the Pier today, lovely and sunny, and the bullying wind has died down. Just had lunch with the other residents, and sparked a conversation about cults because who doesn’t like to talk about cults.

I’ve returned because I feel a sense of urgency: I want to get the most from that lighthouse magic that makes me so committed to the work.

Friday 10:21

This is my last day here so I’m spending some time this morning reflecting on the past week, realising how much I got done. I’ve been able to devote my week to this work, and that focus has really produced.

When the residents met at lunch to share, I expressed I felt like I was on a speed run (to use gaming parlance). I somehow managed to do more than a month’s work of work up here. We discussed how to capture this energy and work ethic. How to bring the lighthouse home?

2:31pm

I’m looking out two windows. On my left, the window that opens, the lighthouse is still turning overhead. Before me, the window is painted shut, there is magpie grass, and a white wall, and then the sea stretching out to a line on the horizon. It is just blue, white and green. It is so surreal.

What I’ve noticed at the lighthouse is how the sea is always moving. Different colours, different purposes for different people, different velocity… but always moving. From here, I can’t see waves but I can hear them; there are rocks around the base of the headland and it’s against these the sea hushes.

A giant ship heads out to horizon and from its perspective, the little cottage in which I’m sitting is getting smaller and smaller. I’ll be packing to set off soon… and already I want to return.