What will it be like?

I see all manner of writing spaces, quiet spaces, open spaces, a cafe; bookshelves covering every wall providing ambience and sound-proofing; old typewriters, pictures of pipe-smoking poets, desks and sofas and armchairs; and writers, writers everywhere.

People will be writing, talking, waving their arms excitedly with wild new ideas, whispering, silent.

There will be book launches, writers groups, cards on the cafe tables which can be turned to say "talk to me" or "do not disturb."

There will be spaces to find that elusive hypnotic creative state: open fires to stare into, front loading washing machines to watch going round and round, easy chairs in the laundry so those who choose can be lulled by the driers and the metaphor for the cycle of life that is turning washing.

There will be books for sale, dog-eared paperbacks and leather-bound classics; there will be a historic collection of rare New Zealand literature. There will be magazines and art books and books for inspiration.

There will be writing classes run by one of Christchurch's foremost poets and creative writing teachers.

There will be life, lots of life, and lots of writing.