Why Writers Retreats Matter: My Time at Rocaberti Castle

As writers, we spend so much time alone with our thoughts that it can become easy to forget storytelling is ultimately about connection. We sit at desks moving scenes around in our heads, rewriting dialogue while making coffee, solving character problems in supermarket queues. Creativity can be deeply fulfilling, but it can also become strangely isolating.

Just the best group of people EVER!

That’s why my time at the Rocaberti Castle Writers Retreat will stay with me in a way I wasn’t entirely expecting.

I was fortunate enough to attend the retreat in Spain , and before arriving, I think part of me expected inspiration in the cinematic sense. Beautiful scenery. Interesting conversations. Maybe the occasional breakthrough moment staring dramatically into the distance from a castle tower.

And yes, the setting is extraordinary. The castle sits high in the Catalonian countryside, surrounded by mountains and history and the kind of views that almost feel fictional when you first arrive. It genuinely looks like somewhere you would invent for a film rather than somewhere you would actually stay.

But what affected me most was not the castle itself. It was the atmosphere inside it.

From the moment I arrived, there was this immediate sense that everyone was there for the same reason. Not to compete. Not to posture. Just to create, improve, and talk honestly about storytelling.

As someone who spends a lot of time thinking about scripts, structure, tone, and character arcs, there was something incredibly refreshing about being in an environment where those conversations felt completely normal. Nobody looked confused when someone started discussing emotional stakes over breakfast or analysing endings over wine late into the evening. Creativity was not treated as indulgent or strange. It was simply the shared language of the space.

One of the things I loved most about Rocaberti was how personal the experience felt. The retreat keeps numbers intentionally small, which meant conversations never felt rushed or performative. We were split into smaller mentor groups, and the discussions quickly became less about formal networking and more about genuine creative exchange.

My little mentor group of horror fans

What surprised me was how open everyone was. There is something oddly comforting about realising that even experienced writers and industry professionals still wrestle with uncertainty. It makes the whole thing feel more human.

And the mentors were incredibly generous with their time. Some of my favourite moments were not the official sessions, but the quieter conversations in between. Talking story structure over drinks. Hearing industry experiences over dinner. Watching people become animated when discussing films they loved. Those moments reminded me that storytelling is not just technical. It’s emotional, personal, alive.

Hanging with Scott Myers talking film, doesn't get any better!

One of the unexpected gifts of the retreat was the friendships that formed so quickly and naturally. There’s something about being surrounded by other creative people, all equally passionate, sleep deprived, ambitious, and vulnerable, that breaks down barriers fast. Conversations skipped small talk entirely and went straight to the things that actually matter. Films that changed us. Projects we were scared to write. The fear of failure. The hope that maybe, somehow, this strange creative path might work out. By the end of the retreat, it no longer felt like a group of strangers. It felt like a small creative community built on encouragement, honesty, and a shared love of storytelling.

My lab ladies!!!

The retreat also interrupted something I didn’t realise I needed interrupting: routine.

At home, writing exists alongside everything else. Emails. Deadlines. Notifications. Laundry. The endless background noise of normal life. At Rocaberti, there was space to think properly. Space to let ideas breathe long enough to evolve into something clearer.

I found myself approaching projects differently there. Ideas that had felt tangled suddenly seemed manageable. Conversations with other writers sparked entirely new ways into stories and even new stories completely. Sometimes simply changing environment changes perspective.

But more than inspiration, what I really came home with was momentum.

Not the loud kind. Not the cinematic “everything changes overnight” kind. A quieter momentum. The feeling of being creatively reconnected. Reminded why I started writing in the first place.

I think that’s the real value of retreats like this. They don’t magically remove self doubt, solve every creative problem or break you into the industry straight away. What they do is refill the well a little. They remind you that storytelling matters. That creative community matters. That there are other people out there wrestling with the same questions you are.

And that matters.

When I think back on Rocaberti now, more than anything, I remember the people. The conversations. The generosity. The feeling of being surrounded by individuals who genuinely believe stories were important.

As writers, we spend so much time trying to create momentum alone. Sometimes it takes stepping into a space like this to remember that storytelling has always been communal.

And honestly, that might be the most inspiring thing of all.