There was always a sense of excitement before a new group arrived for one of the courses that were regularly run at Glendrochatt, the tall house on the hill, which looked out over rolling Scottish landscape to a stunning backdrop of mountains beyond. Surely the view in itself should be an inspiration to aspiring writers, thought Isobel Grant, who lived there and never got tired of marvelling at the beauty of her surroundings. A few years earlier, she and her husband Giles, spurred by financial necessity to do something – anything – to enable them to continue living in his old family home, had turned it into an arts centre and it was now a flourishing concern.

Isobel looked at the names of the expected participants on the list in her hand. Though the format for the courses had been tried, tested and honed over the last five years, it was the unknown factors that created the buzz of anticipation. You never knew what surprises were in store, what hidden talents might be discovered in seemingly unlikely people; what conflicts might arise from throwing a set of strangers – albeit ones with a common purpose – into close proximity in an isolated environment for several days; what unlikely friendships might be formed in a short space of time; what life-changing decisions could result from chance encounters and the opportunity to investigate secret aspirations in a supportive environment.

‘What can you tell me about any of this lot?’ asked Catherine Hickman, the respected poet and teacher of creative writing, who was to be the main tutor on this particular course.