As writers, no doubt we’re all familiar with the over-quoted saying, “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” Whether this was really said by St Augustine or not (and there are those who have doubts), there is a lot of truth in the phrase. The world is filled with adventures completely outside the scope of the Six Wonders of the Isle of Wight.

We’ve all seen photos of Ayers Rock, the Great Pyramid, the Grand Canyon and the Parthenon, but it’s only by visiting them that we can really comprehend what they are like. It isn’t just their size and magnificence, but the whole experience.

Until we’ve heard the thunder of Niagara Falls for ourselves, stumbled through dusty Jerusalem alleyways to the Dome of the Rock or gazed down on the rooftops of Paris from the Eiffel Tower, we can’t hope to write about those places convincingly. But, more than that, inevitably, our creative writing will be enriched by those experiences, even when writing on topics closer to home.

The fourteenth-century Moroccan explorer, Ibn Battuta, had this to say of travelling: “It leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”

A few weeks ago, Yvie waved goodbye to Island Writers and flew off to live in Dubai for the next two years. She’ll be sharing her exploits on her new blog, Delving Into Dubai.

Perhaps she could start at the vast Ibn Battuta shopping mall, containing nearly 300 shops, as well as stunning hand-painted ceilings. Now there’s an experience you probably won’t get in Union Street…

For the rest of us, back here on the Island, that doesn’t mean we won’t have any experiences to write about – far from it! Our new group project is a chance to explore the many beauties of our beloved little isle – including, let’s hope, some of the special places which grockles never find.

Our latest assignment title, The perfect writing space, was chosen as a useful point to ponder for those of us who haven’t been doing any (ahem) much writing lately.

Quite a few of us have been off on our travels or away on visits. In some cases, we returned empty-handed, saying we were too busy to write.

Geoff, on the other hand, returned from his cruise with a couple of new chapters. So, was this brilliant writing progress conclusive proof of just how incredibly boring his holiday was? I’d like to think so – but I’m only jealous! Could it be a token of how devoted he is to his writing, that he could manage to write, even while on holiday? Or perhaps it was due to the inspiring nature of the places he visited? I’m sure this must have helped, if only subconsciously.

Have you felt energised to write in a special place? Or about it, after you got home? How do you feel when you try to write in different places?

Some writers can feel creative anywhere – they just need their laptop or a notebook and pen and they can get started. For others, only their familiar desk will do, and writing will just have to wait until they get home.

What’s special about the place where you feel most comfortable doing your writing? Is it the equipment you have available and the way it’s laid out?

Maybe it’s the smell of cinnamon and the sound of a purring cat, or a particular snack or drink, or the view from the window? What elements constitute the perfect creative writing space for you? What do you find motivates or distracts you? Have you found your perfect writing place yet?

If you prefer, feel free to write poetry or fiction on the topic. Perhaps your main character is searching for the perfect writing space, or is that merely an excuse? Or maybe they have found a place which changes their style of writing?

Anyway, you’re all wrong. The perfect writing space is Ryde Library, on Tuesday 18th June, 7-9.30pm. Be there and I’ll prove it.

I couldn’t sleep last night.

I’d just read a horrific item on Quora about a girl of 16 who was abducted, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The article gave sickeningly graphic details of exactly how this poor child was tortured for a month, before she finally died in agony.

Please understand, I’m not criticising the writer of the article. He was making a point about the justice system: what legal punishment could possibly be adequate for the perpetrators of these atrocities? His account simply gave the facts, in reasoned and unemotive language. I won’t add a link, because I know you couldn’t resist reading the whole grisly tale, any more than I could. And, trust me, you don’t want those images in your head.

But what if that story had been fiction?

Are we, as writers, justified in creating evil images in our readers’ minds for the sake of entertainment? Is it all okay, as long as the victim escapes and the bad guys get arrested or killed in the last chapter? And, of course, in the horror genre, that often isn’t the case.

Conflict is the basis of every plot. If we don’t create wicked, cruel characters, our heroes have nothing to fight against except natural disasters. And we can’t put tidal waves, forest fires and earthquakes in every novel.

Society these days is difficult to shock, so writers try harder.

At what point – if any – does a graphic description of gratuitous violence go beyond ‘only writing a story’ and become socially irresponsible behaviour?

These scenes may not be always necessary to the plot, but the emotions they inspire in readers are part of the experience of reading that novel. If a character suffers, we need to suffer with them, or we cannot truly understand.

This is why I was particularly pleased to get an email from John today. He hasn’t joined us yet, and he can’t make it to our meeting tonight – but he’s already sent in his first assignment!

In Through the Window, the main character suffers from combat stress, but instead of including nauseatingly graphic descriptions of his physical sufferings, the start focuses on his memory of emotions : Hands clawing, mouths snarling, teeth bared, people shouting, a mass of confusion and terror, the stench of sweat, desert and fear in his nostrils.

When it comes to producing our own creative writing, I feel graphic violence is like swearing – a single occasion generally produces a more powerful effect than a constant repetitive flow of such scenes.

These episodes may not be to our taste, but we cannot censor and castrate every strong piece of writing without expecting the overall standard of fiction produced to fall. Do we really want to read a Disney version of The Silence of the Lambs?