I live to travel. I also travel to live… and write. After visiting 143 countries, I have realised that some of my best ideas come to me on trains and planes. I wrote much of my new novel Future Perfect on flights between London and continental Europe, with trans-Atlantic flights being equally productive places for writing. The idea for the ending of my debut novel Yesterday came during a train journey from London to Winchester. I remember calling my partner as soon as I stepped off the train, screeching down the line that I had finally worked it all out.
Future Perfect
Numerous great books were conceived on train and plane journeys. Agatha Christie was inspired by the multiple Orient Express trips she took to visit her husband who had worked on archaeological digs in Mesopotamia. J.K. Rowling’s idea for the Harry Potter series famously came on a train between London and Manchester. History is full of examples of novelists who travelled to finish their masterpieces. Daphne du Maurier wrote much of Rebecca in Platres, a mountainous village in Cyprus full of towering pines and singing nightingales. The landscape of Manderley, with its menacing woods that ‘crowded, dark and uncontrolled’ onto the drive, bears a striking resemblance to the forests of the Troodos range. Ernest Hemingway penned For Whom the Bell Tolls in the pink-granite town of Stresa (Italy) and returned regularly there to write. Having visited both places, I can attest to their magical qualities.
Back in 2016, I swam to Goat Island in Tobago, a tiny islet where Ian Fleming reportedly wrote some of his Bond novels (and apparently went diving each morning on the reef below the villa where he had stayed, now aptly-named Reef #007). It isn’t easy for boats to dock at low tide; the island is surrounded by treacherous rocks. However, the skipper of my dive boat kindly offered to anchor off the island and wait for me. I jumped off the vessel, propelled my way ashore and staggered onto the beach in dive flippers.
The little villa was dilapidated to the extreme, having been abandoned for years. I climbed the rickety wooden stairs, hoping they wouldn’t crumble beneath me, stumbled into an upstairs room that smelt of mould and mildew. Broken furniture and litter were strewn everywhere. Yet the view from the windows was stupendously beautiful. Turquoise-azure waves crashed against rocks, spraying them with white foam, as olive-brown chachalaca birds screeched and cartwheeled overhead. I could almost picture Fleming seated in front of the window, chewing his pen as he contemplated the view and listened to the ocean.
The stunning view got me thinking: why do novelists write better on trains and planes? It’s because these travelling platforms elevate us above our terrestrial concerns, tear us away from mundane reality. As the world rushes by, often in a surrealist blur through frosted glass, we often gain new perspectives on familiar things. If we see the world differently, from a new angle, there’s a chance we can understand it better. Movement opens our eyes to the minutiae of life. Yet it also opens up our brains by causing the cogs in our heads to turn differently. While good views (like the one from Fleming’s window) are often inspiring, it’s the change of view that makes the difference.
When the world re-opens for travel again, I know where I will be. I will be on a train or on a plane, heading somewhere far, far away to dream… and write. I travel because it makes me happy. It keeps my brain agile, helps me connect with new people and possibilities. It heightens my understanding of the world around me. In short, planes and trains are good for writers because they are good for the mind, body and soul. Travel makes our stories come alive.
Future Perfect by Felicia Yap is published by Wildfire (hardback, £18.99)
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