Inspired by Joy:
Writing on the French River

By Lianne Thompson

My car nosed over the forested ridge, and I stared down the hill, catching sight of the bright glimmer of water through the trees. Navigating the long drive, I finally pulled into a spot on the bank of the French River.

I had been excited for weeks about this week-long solo adventure. It was May 2023. Post-Covid, I was now self-employed after a successful 35-year career. My consulting clients had been great. I had lots of flexibility working from home. My children were grown and stepping out into their own futures, and something kept nudging me.

Chatting with a friend over coffee just a month earlier, the topic of writing stories and fairy tales came up. Not the kind of corporate work I had been doing for decades. I remember staring into my cup as the vision of a cardboard box came to mind. Tucked in a mostly disregarded corner of my basement, it was filled with notes and a 3-ring binder full of old-style printed pages — the children’s novel I had started more than 25 years before.

I loved that story. Never finished it, though, and as we talked, I wondered. Was this the time to dust it off, dive back in? My creative writing muscles were sorely out of practice, and I would need something to jump start those juices. I googled for ideas, and there it was. Write on the French River was the top result delivered to my laptop.

Finding space

The week-long writers’ retreat is an annual event held each May at The Lodge at Pine Cove. Almost four hours north from my home west of Toronto, I traced the route on the digital map, finding it nestled in the forest along the historic French River. I had never been to the area, but the photos were gorgeous. The lodge — spectacular. Add to the location: gourmet meals, classes, workshops, time to write.

Then I looked up the bios of the instructors and mentors. Oh, my. These were real writers. They’d won journalism and literary awards. Their books were on bestseller lists and the shelves of bookshops and libraries. My unpublished, quiet self felt intimidated, but I couldn’t get the place out of my mind. After a couple of days, I sent off an inquiry, and Alex, the owner of the lodge, responded immediately. Yes, of course, this was for me! All writers are welcome, whether starting out or well established.

So here I was. With a deep breath, I grabbed my bag and walked across a carpet of pine needles into the main lodge. The timbered building was filled with light reflected from the river, the walls and soaring ceiling supported by wooden beams. It is a space intended to invite and comfort, especially with a library chock-full of books, and with deep chairs facing the windows.

The staff welcomed me, and a team member took me to my cabin.

We crossed the long walking bridge spanning the Pine Cove inlet and climbed a hill to a cluster of timber cabins built into the hilly and rocky shoreline. My home for the week was fully fitted out for comfort. I knew my favourite spot was going to be the screened-in porch. It would be perfect for early morning coffees — to my delight, delivered with fresh pastries to my door each morning! This was a place to immerse oneself in writing and do some dreaming.

That first night our group of 20+ gathered. There were published writers and journalists, individuals working on memoirs and poetry and essays. To my relief, I was not the only one working on their first novel. As we chatted together over the first of many scrumptious gourmet meals, I watched the sun redden and set over the river.

The next morning, I settled in at a table for our opening workshop with renowned author, Don Gillmor. As I opened my notebook and glanced around at the group of writers, it felt like standing on some kind of threshold. With my partially written manuscript tucked in my bag, I listened to Don talk about bringing our writing to life. No matter the topic of our novel, essay, memoir or article, when we bring what we know to the work, that is when the work comes to life — when the reader recognizes something real in the words. I listened to Don. To all the instructors. I took it all in. I wrote it all down.

And as the week progressed, my notepad and my mind filled with ideas. Special guests — including a literary agent and a publishing house editor — provided a glimpse into the publishing world. Something I knew little about. That knowledge, and the chance to have a talented author review my writing and provide feedback, was a gift. The opportunity to meet other writers, exchange ideas and encouragement on our various projects was eye-opening and rewarding.

Between workshops, small group discussions with our assigned mentors, and meal after mouthwatering meal, I walked the property. Some of us leapt off the dock for quick swims or went for boat rides with Alex, who brought history to life with his tales of the area. Every day I drifted through the woods, alone with my thoughts. In a place that felt far removed from the everyday, I was rediscovering something forgotten.

On the last night, we each read an excerpt of our work. Reading my words aloud to the group was a little terrifying but brought with it a keen sense of satisfaction. In that moment, I realized I could finish my novel. My original tale of magic in another realm was evolving into something I had not envisioned all those decades ago. This was life-changing for me.

Over the top? Perhaps. However, attending this retreat, in this setting, reawakened the storyteller in me.

Before the retreat ended and I left this magical place, I had a plan: Set aside blocks of time to write. Finish the manuscript. Hire an editor. Don’t give up. And continue to return to the woods to find my younger self — the one who still believed in fairytales.