Inner writing

For a long time, I believed that leaving meant going far away.

For twenty-five years, I lived in the era of airplanes, borders, and stories to be told quickly. Major reportage, continents passing by, faces encountered, landscapes traversed. Everything moved fast. Too fast to truly allow anything to settle.

And then one day, another way of leaving becomes necessary.

Go inwards.

It starts with finding a location.

Open and grounded at the same time.

A place where time stretches out undisturbed.

I found it here, between the sea and the mountains.

In a living scrubland, crossed by the wind and the scents of juniper, mastic and fig leaves.

This is where I started to write differently.

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I — A place to write,…

There's something the report taught me:

The truly important things happen when you stop looking for them.

Writing works in the same way.

I walk to find botanicals to distill, I come back with emotions and writing prompts.

The paths become lines of thought.

The plants I pick — immortelle, cistus, myrtle — perfume memories, ideas and invite me onto other paths to explore.

The body moves forward. The mind follows.

We don't sit down to write.

We create the conditions for the writing to appear.

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II — Time as Matter

We all live under pressure.

Messages. Decisions. Deadlines.

And the writing always remains afterwards.

After this meeting.

After this period.

Later.

And yet, the need to write does not disappear.

He waits.

Writing is never urgent.

But that's probably the only thing I might regret not doing.

So I decided to approach it like a journey.

An appointment.

A date.

A place.

An intention.

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III — A simple method

Beyond all methods, I believe in conditions.

Find a place without notifications or outside gaze to listen to yourself and journey from within.

Allow the need for structure and direction to impose itself in turn.

Why write?

For whom?

On what?

How ?

That's what prevents you from getting lost.

Returning to the present when writing constantly pulls us towards the past or the future.

what I feel, here, now.

That's where the text becomes accurate.

To schedule a real date

Open your diary.

Choose a date.

Book a venue.

Simply scheduling this appointment already creates movement.

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IV — What here and now have taught me

The maquis imposes a rhythm.

It slows down and transforms time into an inner journey.

Like plants that are distilled, writing works by assemblage.

Memories.

Emotions.

Fragments of life.

While the still is working, ideas are taking shape.

Something is becoming clearer.

What everyone writes here is different.

A letter.

A story.

An unfinished story.

But the movement is still the same:

This is not a leak.

It's a comeback.

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V — An invitation

If you feel this need — even if it's vague —

this writing in limbo, this postponed project, this recurring thought —

So perhaps only one thing is missing:

a place

and a moment.

The rest will follow.

The Corsican maquis has room for your words.

And here, silence works with you.

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WRITING RETREATS · U VIAGHJU — BALAGNE

Immersive stays in small groups

Writing · Distillation · Maquis

Dates on request.