Writer's Retreat
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Welcome to the Mayfair Watchers Society.

Anyone mind if I record this? Go ahead. I don't know what pearls of wisdom you'll find. You would be surprised the mundane conversations that can spark the creative process under examination. I think it's a capital idea, young... uh... Isaac.

isaac i shall save the proper introductions until everyone arrives we are still too short i do hope they have not got lost we are rather in the middle of nowhere out here

That's the whole point. Hauling my ass out here and leaving my phone at the office is the only way I can keep from doomscrolling eight hours a day instead of actually writing. Quite so. The aim of a writer's retreat is, after all, to retreat from the constant demands on our attention the world seems intent on providing. And to share ideas, right?

Of course! An idea shared is an idea doubled, to coin a phrase. Why there? Is this the Wordaholics Anonymous meeting? Ah, the full number is assembled. I trust your journey was not too harrowing? Got a little hit and miss once we were off the freeway, but we made it.

Thank goodness for GPS. And thanks again for giving me a lift, Mitch. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. No problem. Beats listening to dad rock for three hours. Take a seat. Take a seat. I should take this chance to welcome everyone to this writer's retreat. I am Bartleby Higgins, and Whitestag Lodge has asked me to be the facilitator for this little group.

They have given me all the details of the lodge, facilities, emergency numbers, and so on. So you organize this little shindig? Organized would be an exaggeration. It sounds like you all organize yourselves online more effectively than I could. Shall we go around the room and introduce ourselves? And perhaps talk a little about what brings you here?

Well, I'll go first, I guess. I'm Matilda. Matilda Reyes. My youngest left home last year. She's at college up in the city doing something mathematical. I don't know. She takes after her father. Anywho, I always wanted to write and be creative, but you know how things are with a family. Hardly have time to breathe, let alone write. So now the old nest is empty, I thought I'd come to this retreat to get the whole writing thing kick-started.

Okay, I'm Isaac Prince. I'm studying English, and the big assignment is creative writing. So, I'm here to soak up some ideas. We're doing this. I'm Mitch Tavistock. I write horror novels. And I just feel I need a bit of a spring clean in the attic. Know what I mean? You're Mitch Tavistock? Yeah, I had a few books out. Last one a couple years back. We used to carry the bestsellers list.

I've seen you on there a couple of times. Not for a while. Your turn. I'm Janice Farber. I was a reporter till I clambered out of that cesspit and I figured I'd written about enough crap and had even more crap squashed by editorial that I could file off the serial numbers and turn it into a novel. I

I thought I could find out a little more about how writers do things and make a start on plotting out my masterpiece. Ah, quite the eclectic mix we have then. Perfect. Of course, most of our time here will be spent writing, I hope. But I thought we could meet up in the evenings to chat about what we're working on and our different processes. I have a list of discussion topics. That sounds like fun.

Super. And there is a nature trail marked out nearby for if the weather holds out. For now, I'll let you all get settled into your rooms and get the brain juices flowing. Better not forget this. Hello? It's Janice. You awake? I think so. What time is it? Sorry. I thought us writers were all night owls.

I only spent 20 years shut on the next generation to school and back. I should let you get back to sleep. Why did they even put the phones in the rooms? I'm sorry, Matilda, I'll... It's fine. I'm awake now. What's up? I just, um... Listen, did you see anything? What? When? Just now, or before. Kind of around.

What sort of thing? Outside. A person or an animal, maybe. You mean outside the lodge? Should I be worried?

No, I don't think so. It was pretty far away. A deer, maybe. Well, you don't sound too sure. Look, I know that Bartleby guy is itching for a frightened dove to take under his creepy-ass wing. It was just me and him in the car over here, and I could feel him trying to become a father figure, so this stays between us ladies. Okay? Of course.

I'm trying to iron out the kinks in the plotline for the novel. It's based on this corruption case I had to leave alone when I was on the crime desk. That's a long story. Anyway, the bad guy is a real well-connected mobster. He's a real guy I was looking into, with a different name. He was a high school football player, dad was a marine, real hard-ass. He was built like a panzer tank. And when he was a kid...

He had half his teeth pulled by the local wise guys, so a big chunk of his lower lip was missing. Goodness me, is this the book character or the real guy? They're pretty much the same. Tonight, I was writing up a character sketch here in my room, and I looked up from the desk, and... I saw him. The mobster? The real one? He's here? Oh, God, no. He died years ago. He's somewhere in the foundations of the MetLife Stadium. I mean the character.

he was in the forest watching the lodge same linebacker build shabby suit shaven head and then the light shifted and i saw his face half his lip gone it was just for a moment but it was him

Janice, are you okay? A little shaken, maybe. Not crazy or high, if that's what you mean. Oh, no, I wasn't implying that. Just, you know, sometimes people see things that aren't there. It does happen, especially out here. We all know someone who's seen Bigfoot or a bunch of little gnomes. I don't mean you're crazy, Janice, but our senses play tricks on us. If it helps set your mind at ease, I haven't seen anything strange out here. Thanks.

I think I just needed to get it out of my head. I appreciate you not telling me to go to hell and let you sleep. I'm always up for a little gossip. Especially with the weird bunch we got here. Do you think Bartleby's accent is real? Even if it is, there's no way that's his real name. Okay, I better try to get some shut-eye or I'll be self-medicating with coffee the whole stay. Good night, Matilda. Good night. Sleep tight.

Session four. This time I'm taking a stroll on the nature trail. With luck, that will spark the imagination. I have the bare bones of the plot darned, I believe, but the twist eludes me. The murders at Mistletoe Hall led themselves to a conventional solution where one of the shooting party was responsible, but I feel the reader can see this coming.

yet it is poor form to introduce a character at the end merely to serve as the antagonist maybe i should plant the twist in the protagonist's background inspector vance blackmore hasn't received much in the way of backstory perhaps i would be able to flesh him out and establish the seeds of the denouement at the same time

Yes, devilishly good thinking, Bartleby. I think we might be onto something. This is a fairly handsome part of the world. I haven't seen much wildlife except the occasional squirrel, but the trees cling to the hillsides in a picturesque enough manner. Taking a walk was a good idea after all.

Although... Although, I wish I had bought a packed lunch. I'm getting rather peckish. What? What was that? If it was a bear, then let this recording stand as my last will and testament. Oh, my God. You're a real... I... I made you.

Okay, we're set up again. What's the topic for tonight? I think he said it was how to write a compelling opening.

Sounds like a YouTube video. I don't know. I can use all the advice I can get. What's your project, then? Mine? Oh, well, it's silly. Can't be that silly if you're here. I wrote 90,000 words about a possessed jet ski. No judgment here.

I always wanted to write a romance. One of those big, sweeping ones. Multiple generations, a period of upheaval like a war or revolution. You know, destinies entwined, forbidden affairs, love conquering all. It's cheesy, but it's what I like. And I think other people like it too. I started a draft, but I was all at sea. I didn't know where it was going.

So I went back to the drawing board. And that's when I came here. So I spent a few days really focusing on what I want to achieve. How about you all? Non-supernatural horror. The genre's all demons and ghosts right now, but by the time I finish anything, it'll have passed. It's about time for serial killers to come back around. I got a plan down. I just have to dive in and really take a big bite out of that first draft.

Oh, Lord, that sounds a bit much for me. You're looking at a historical novel, right? There's nothing I can come up with that's rougher than real history. I was going to set a book in Chile during the junta, but some of that shit was too much even for me. I feel I want a more comforting idea of the world for my book. The world ain't a comforting place. Well, maybe that's why some of us want books that take us away from it all. Yeah, just being realistic.

So who's your killer? I've been working on this guy for a while. The toy maker. He's a little bit Henry Lee Lucas, a little bit Ed Gein. He's one of these drifter killers, so the cops are always on the back foot. When he realizes they're closing in, he moves on and leaves behind his workshop for them to find.

The book opens him when they find one of these places with all these body parts hanging over and the tools he uses to make them into furniture, utensils, decorations, that kind of thing. Then he shows up in a new location with a new identity and starts again. Twist is he's secretly the heir to a big estate somewhere and he's trying to furnish the whole place with stuff he's made out of the bodies.

What's his motivation? Yeah, well, that's one of the parts I haven't nailed down yet. I'll come up with something. Does he have a backstory? Nah, it's either...

standard bad mommy stuff or he's an MKUltra test subject. I haven't decided yet. This kind of thing is all about the kills. The story is more of a framework for all the gory parts. It's what the readership wants. As long as it basically makes sense. It doesn't matter too much why anything happens. I'm not so sure. I want to know what's driving a character to do what they do. Especially if it's so unnecessary.

Sure, for a doorstep horse opera, you gotta know everyone's tragic past and their most thoughts. I get it. But the toy maker can't hang around. I have to get to the blood and guts or the reader will lose interest. It's the PlayStation generation. They all grew up with ADHD. You grab their attention and keep it. I read your one about the haunted high school. People say that's your best. If I remember, it went pretty in-depth with all the characters.

I'd even say it was kind of a slow burn at first. That was then. Times have changed. So have I. So your creative process has changed over time. That's really interesting. We haven't heard about your project, I think. I'm still in what you might call the feeling out phase. I'm more coming up with ideas at the moment.

So you haven't really got a project. I will do by the end of the retreat, with all your help. Sorry I'm late, everyone. We started the juices flowing without you. You were going to talk about openings. Yes. Apologies again, but I think I'm going to have to cancel this evening's little symposium.

Everything okay, Bartleby? I'm afraid I'm feeling a little off tonight. I'm going to head to my room and hibernate for a bit. Are you sick? Do we need to call someone? No, nothing like that. Just under the weather. You all keep it up, though. Sounds like you're all doing quite happily without me.

You sure? Last thing we need is to go down with the Legionnaires or something. I'll be fine in the morning. No need for concern. It's character sketches tomorrow night, isn't it? That's right. I've been looking forward to that one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should have a lie down. They won't let me smoke inside, so I have to go out to the porch here.

I do my best thinking when inhaling cancer juice. It's 11:30 on Tuesday. Just had what was supposed to be a session on first line and so on. Thankfully the English guy was feeling sick so it turned into a general talk about nothing. I had the idea I could use these recordings to make a kind of behind-the-scenes piece about riding the Toymaker. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

The more I really think about the process, the more it feels hollow. Matilda, the homely homebody, thought my book was trash. I could feel the disapproval radiating off of her.

The worst part is, I think she's right. There's nothing wrong with trash. I grew up reading it, writing it, bought my house. There's always a heart to it. It's quick and dirty and it's full of cliches, but if the writer has a love for what they're doing, it's still worth the ride. Sounds like Disney-fied bullshit, but I'm starting to think it's actually true. Weird. It took me so long to start realizing it.

Toymaker isn't just trash, it's soulless. It's like painting by numbers. Creepy names, check. Graphic gore, check. Couple of sex scenes, double check. Square-jawed hero acting as the audience surrogate, definitely. Special Agent Slater's like a reader-shaped hole in the middle of the story.

But I don't give a shit about it. It's boring. I'm bored coming up with it all. Even the kills aren't interesting. Just pile on the grossness. What does that say about me? All the horror I can come up with and I don't feel anything. It's like packing meat. They're not characters, they're carcasses. I think I should tear the whole thing down and start again.

Make a new agent Slater. Give him less of an action hero name. Mark out who he is, what he wants. How that can get challenged on a case. Keep it bloody as all good out, but make it come from somewhere.

Maybe that's why I really came to this stupid retreat. I knew I needed to face up to the Toymaker being crap. Can't believe that was Matilda who made me see it. She's trying to write some sweeping western epic like the last century didn't happen and she's the one who saw through me.

Christ, I haven't written a cent's worth of damn in 15 years. At least I have a couple more days to change that. Here and now, might as well make the most of it. How are you, Janice? I figured you'd be a slave to the nicotine, too. Janice? Hey, who's there? Ah, Jesus, I'm not scared of you. I know you're not real. I left you all behind when I quit the hard stuff.

Back the hell off, you imaginary asshole. Back off.

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I don't think we need that thing switched on. It's just in case we need to refer back later. This isn't on the discussion list, Isaac. Turn off the recorder. Okay, leave it on. Crazy enough, I might need to hear it back just to believe it happened. Hey, I heard the commotion. We all go pathetic here? Not really.

Matilda, you look like hell. You're not red carpet ready yourself, Mitch. I mean she looks shaken up. And yeah, I'm on a rough evening myself. Thanks for your contribution. Oh God, shut up, both of you. Here we are. Hot tea with heaps of sugar. Just the thing when you've had a ton. Thanks. There you go. You want to tell us what happened? You ran in here like something was chasing you. I saw something. What is it?

It's stupid. Not if it scared the hell out of you. Is it... is it still out there? I don't know. Are we discussing a person or an animal or something of both? It was the Copper Mine Kid. The what? The Copper Mine Kid. It's from my book, The Western Romance. I said it was stupid. Go on, Matilda. We've all seen strange things, right?

"'I called you about one just the other night, remember? "'We think we see some weird animal across the street "'or a face in the window that doesn't look like a real person. "'You're not supposed to admit it, but everyone's got a story like that.' "'In my school days, we were all convinced "'there was some sort of mutant living in the ceiling space. "'If you stayed behind after school, "'you'd see it climb down and scuttle around the corridors. "'I knew people who swore blind they'd seen it.'

where did you see him matilda i was outside getting some fresh air to try and clear my head trying to make this damned plot make sense and it just wouldn't he was standing on the ridge at the back of the lodge the sun was behind me and it just lit him up perfectly he's a legendary figure in the book he's an outlaw a gunfighter the characters have all heard of and the mystery of who he really was sets all the relationships and conflicts in motion you only find out his identity at the end

Kind of the structure of the whole thing. Calfskin hat, woven poncho in red and yellow, sandy hair, handsome, with a pearl-handled revolver. Scar on his cheek that only made him better looking. It was him. Oh, God, it was him, and he looked right at me. Happened to me, Matilda. I saw Sonny Lamaggio through my window, remember? The gangster guy with the busted lip? My bad guy? Wait, you saw something from your book.

Yeah, same thing. It was this mob asshole based on one of the cases I covered. My brain decided to play tricks, and it took the form of what was on my mind at the time, which was the plotline of my book, which had Sonny Lamacchio all over it. Matilda, honey, maybe the same thing happened to you. Could be there's black mold or something in the water that makes us see things.

When you saw it, your brain made it look like the copper mine kid. Oh, shit. I thought it was an acid flashback. What was? I saw the toy maker.

Oh my god. That's the killer from your story, right? The one who makes things out of people? I did a lot of crazy stuff when I was younger. Not as bad as some of the other guys I knew, but I had some crazy times. I got cleaned up after college. Relatively clean. A lot of the bad trips went into the early books, so I thought that's what was happening. I kind of delayed flashback. It was

It was while I was having a smoke. We're non-smoking. Relax, it was outside. The freaking Toymaker walked right out of the woods, just like I described him. He wears an apron of skin with a belt of ears. Ears? Dear Lord. That's nothing. Ed Gein had one made of nipples. The Toymaker's this ordinary-looking guy, balding, kind of a bland face with little round glasses like an accountant.

so it's creepier paired with all the body horror stuff right it wears heavy rubber gloves and has a medical saw as a weapon so did this whatever it was that i saw

Like I said, I put it down to the old college days catching up to me and hightailed it back inside to calm down. Were you scared? Scared? I guess so. More confused. But you didn't think it was real? No, I thought the fictional character appearing out of nowhere was probably not an actual serial killer wearing an apron made of people's faces. What's with a third degree?

Hope you're not feeling too left out, Bartleby. You're the only one who hadn't had a close encounter with their own character. Not at all. I'm happy to say I, too, have had the pleasure. Excuse me? I saw the Hound of Mistletoe haul.

Do you think you could say that a little more dramatically, Bart? I'm not sure I got the whole effect. What the hell, Mitch? In my murder mystery, the killings are perpetrated by a trained hyena the antagonist keeps in the hidden wing of the mansion. Rather far-fetched, I admit, but I didn't think the reader would see it coming.

and would you believe it as i am out taking in the woodland air i see this great mangy brute padding out of the trees towards me it even has the collar with the tiny key hanging from it

The key is an important plot point, you see. It explains the whole motivation of the antagonist. But that's not the point. The collar is how I knew it was definitely the Hound of Mistletoe Hall. And not a regular North American Force hyena? Well, yes. It would have been quite the coincidence there happened to be another random hyena wandering around. But the collar meant there could be no coincidences involved.

and much like you i assumed it was a trick of the mind but now everyone who has a writing project has encountered someone from that project well i'm honestly quite at a loss to say what on earth the explanation might be

You have to admit, it's exciting. Exciting? I don't know what the mob boss or the cowboy are like, but the, uh, toy maker is a serial killer, and I doubt the hound of the Baskervilles is friendly either. I don't have you know, my work has many key differences that make it distinct from that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sure it has. We're not thinking this is real, are we?

It's just like Janice said. There are strange things out there. It seems like everyone's seen a thing that shouldn't be there. Not just at the lodge, but all their lives. Perhaps we've just seen them closer up than usual. I'm still thinking mold. That stuff that grows on corn and drives people crazy. They say it's behind half the dancing plagues and UFO sightings. Bartleby, tell the owners to get the place fumigated. Doesn't look like there's anything out front, just the cars.

The cars. Yeah, the cars. They're both there. Two of them. Two of them, like there were when we got here. Like there have been the whole time. Nothing strange through the side window, either. Should we walk around the perimeter? Just to be sure we're alone. It's the cars. I don't think Sonny Lamaggio is a car. I get we can misidentify things, but that goes a bit far.

Janus, you got here with Bartleby, right? You mentioned it. It was you and him in the car. Sure. And Mitch, you gave me a lift from the train station. It was just the two of us in that car as well. What are you getting at? So who brought Isaac? What do you mean, who brought me? Why does that matter? Of course!

i have been a blessed fool when i looked through the bookings i saw we were due four guests and on the first night that's what i counted four guests but i forgot to count myself we have one extra

Who are you, buddy? I told you all, I'm Isaac Prince. I'm an English student. I need to come up with a creative writing project for my course assignment. Maybe the right question is, what are you? It's okay, Isaac. I don't think you meant to hurt us, but you scared us all. Don't you think we deserve to know what we really saw?

To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. Oh boy. I don't think there are very many of us. I haven't seen another one. I assume there must be more because I had to come from somewhere. Whatever we are, we don't have a shape.

Shape? You all have shapes. You're this height, or you're that hair color, your skin, your clothes, the color of your eyes. All these things that make you this person, and you another. We don't have that. We just are.

but i wanted a shape i saw everyone talking making friends arguing living dying you're happy or sad sometimes you get sick you're born and then die all these amazing things every day i wanted that

And I can decide what I am, but it's so difficult. It was all I could do to make this unremarkable person. Just an everyday kid with an everyday face. If you put Isaac Prince in a book, he would be the most boring character in the whole story. You'd have to give him a dark secret or a strange quirk just so the reader remembered who he was. But this is as creative as I get.

But you, you make these whole worlds full of people, all different. I've heard you say how you're not happy with what you write, but to me, every project is like a whole planet you have conjured up out of nothing. If you could see them like I do, you'd understand how amazing that is. Jesus H. Christ, you want a new shape for yourself. Is

Is that it? Lots of them. New ones I can take on so I can live a proper life. You can't imagine what it was like before. I was outside everything looking in. It was as if everything good was behind glass, and I was out there in the cold. I couldn't touch anything. Nobody could see me.

I don't know how long it took me to make myself into Isaac. It took me most of the time I have been alive. Then I realized what people can do. They make whole new people out of nothing, just with their minds. So I set out to find some people who did just that, and I found this place. I saw that you were going to come here and write, so of course I came here too.

And you've been trying on our characters for size? I wanted to see what they could do compared to Isaac. Although, honestly, they didn't work out that well. Because you chose the creepiest characters we could invent. I picked the characters that were biggest in your minds. I thought they were the ones you liked the most. You're not wrong, but thinking a character is cool and wanting to actually meet them are two different things. Can you...

Read minds? Just the surface. I don't know how it works, to tell you the truth. There's no manual. Can you change whenever you want? I can, as long as I have a shape to turn into. Do you want to see? Jesus, no. That might be a bit much. So, what do we do now? I don't think we can just go back to the discussion topics after this.

i have what i came for i can go find out what your world is like nickels worth of advice buddy don't walk around looking like the toy maker i gathered that i think the copper mine kit is the most useful shape

Not too many cowboys walking around these days. Not too many hyenas either, to be fair. Maybe stick with Isaac for a while? I could try that. You all got on with him fine. I'd like to be more interesting, though. Someone who would have a story written about them. Perhaps you could find someone who writes soap operas or romantic comedies? Someone a little less weird than us bunch. Writers in general aren't great if you're looking for balanced, normal-seeming people.

i'm starting to understand that do you have any suggestions for where i should start the nearest town is mayfair i don't know a great deal about it but i gather it's a place much the same as any other it's a bit far to walk though

Distance isn't a problem when I have no shape. I should say goodbye. You have been a great help to me. I understand much more now. I'm sorry I scared you. Perhaps we can meet again when I am better at living the way you do. Maybe here. Maybe. Be careful, Isaac. Or whatever name you'd like us to use. I haven't decided on a name yet.

Perhaps I will have several. Goodbye, all of you. I will remember you.

Well, at least we know the toy maker isn't on the loose. That really all happened, huh? It certainly did. We have it all on tape. I was starting to think it wasn't worth my coming here, but I think I just got the idea for my next book. Thank you for listening, neighbor. Mayfair Watcher Society is based on the works of Trevor Henderson. Writer's retreat was written by Ben Counter.

Bartleby Higgins was played by Vic Collins. Isaac Prince was played by Brandon Nguyen. Janine Farber was played by Alyssa Park. Matilda Reyes was played by Ashley Jones. Mitch Tavistock was played by Scott Paladin. The dialogue editor was Daisy McNamara. The sound designer was Travis McMaster. The music is by Matt Roy Berger. Showrunner is Pacific Esopadaya. The creative director is me, Trevor Henderson. And the producers are Tom Owen and Brad Miska.

A Bloody FM Show.