The place to write
It was the perfect place for inspiration. There were no artificial sounds to pollute the natural rhythm of life. Everything seemed so much calmer in the countryside. So much more fulfilling.
It was a place where those seeking the true meaning of life would head to, searching for a state of mindfulness and relaxation; to re-connect with their inner core.
But the villagers knew very well how to survive without thinking about it too much. They had found their tempo long before self-help books and seminars sprang like tech manuals.
Life was simpler here. Less complicated. Much less stressful. And for this life lasted longer too.
Food produced locally tasted differently.
People emitted a brighter aura. They were more friendly, more talkative, more polite.
Sounds were heart-warming and peaceful.
The landscape itself was calming and tranquilising.
It was a natural sedative that was also cost-free.
It was the perfect place for inspiration.
The stone-built house had been renovated to attract the tourists looking for traditional luxury associated with history. But for him – a writer – they hid in their walls stories waiting for someone to bring to light.
He took out his notebook and his favourite pen and as soon as he drank a first sip of freshly-brewed perfumed coffee, he began to write.
He had already ran the story in his head, as if having watched a film and now was imprinting it all on paper. This was the easy part.
His next bestseller would be ready in a matter of weeks.