An interview with Russ Litten on writing, teaching, and the power of Arvon
18 Feb 2025 / Lumb Bank
In this interview, Arvon spoke with novelist, poet, and spoken word artist, Russ Litten, as he shared his journey with Arvon.
Russ Litten shares his journey with Arvon, where he has tutored extensively, contributed to community projects, and witnessed the profound impact of writing on individuals. From unforgettable moments at Lumb Bank to his belief in writing as a tool for empowerment, Russ reflects on the magic of storytelling and its ability to inspire and heal.
How did your journey with Arvon begin?
I was invited to read as a guest writer at Lumb Bank in 2014. I arrived on the Wednesday evening and thought I’d wandered into a parallel universe. A warm manor house full of lively souls discussing words and books and art on the side of a gorgeous Yorkshire valley? Yes please! It was a lively and inspiring evening. I felt bereft when I had to leave and head back to normality.
What initially drew you to writing and teaching and how has your experience with Arvon shaped that journey?
At the time of my initial involvement with Arvon, I was a Writer-in-Residence at a Category C men’s prison. I also had experience running workshops in Youth Offender Institutions, Pupil Referral Units and Rehab and Recovery centres. This made me a good fit for the variously similar groups that frequently visited Lumb Bank.
Most notable of these has been Start360 from Belfast, who have forged an enduring relationship with Arvon. I am a big believer in the redemptive and healing properties of the creative writing life and one of my biggest motivations is to help empower those who would most benefit from having access to help and encouragement with their storytelling and powers of expression. Arvon has been the temporary home for many such groups, and I have been lucky enough to witness the very real change brought about by the power and beauty of Lumb Bank’s ethics and setting.
Can you share a memorable moment from your time tutoring at Lumb Bank?
There have been so many. There have been moments of pure raw emotion, like when a shy kid gets up on a Friday night to read out loud for the very first time and grows ten feet taller as a result of the outpouring of love and support in the room. Those kinds of evenings are incomparable. I have read early draft manuscripts that have vibrated with raw promise and then gone on to have that promise fulfilled. That is always very fulfilling. I have seen the power of writing weave its magic on people in a hundred different ways. I have read the work of people who have quelled internal storms and the work of people who have been sparked into delighted frenzies of creative activity.
What sets the residential experience at Lumb Bank apart from other writing programmes?
The actual physical setting is breathtakingly beautiful. It is hard not to wake up on a clear day and look out across the valley and not marvel. There is a sense of being perched on the edge of something both powerfully eternal and peacefully reassuring. This feeling reverberates around the dining room and the barn and the library and the kitchen and all the other comfy little fireside nooks and crannies throughout the house. The staff are incredible, like a warm and supportive extended family. There is a sense at Lumb Bank of a better, more positive world orbiting at a more leisurely pace away from the pressures of modernity. Lumb Bank is basically how life should be lived, in my book. Always.
Are there any funny or memorable anecdotes you can share?
Well, I did manage to break my ankle in a stationery-related incident one wintertime, dashing back from the barn with a flip chart across freshly fallen snow. I had no idea I’d broken my ankle till I got back home and noticed it had swollen to the size and colour of an aubergine. I suppose dancing on the dining room table to techno with a load of Belfast teenagers didn’t help. I have also had a couple of strange experiences, one of which involved a gift from Ted, the resident cat. On the forms you fill out before you stay at Lumb Bank there is a box marked “any special dietary requirements”. On mine I always put “I don’t like prawns”. On my last visit I heard a scraping and mewling at the cottage door, round about midnight. I declined to answer my late night feline caller, only to find a small, perfectly formed greyish-pink prawn laid on the doorstep, by way of tribute or warning I know not, but there it was.
Another strange event involved two of the writers on the course finding something in common, many miles from home. One of them was an 82 year old Icelandic lady, an ex-model who used to own a bar in New York City. The other was a 23 year old stand up comic from LA, whose parents used to live in NYC in seventies. The comic rang her parents and said hey, do you remember a bar in New York called The So and So? Remember it, came the reply, that’s where we met. We went there all the time. The owner was this beautiful tall Icelandic lady, we always thought she should have been a model. Yeah, said the comic, I’m standing next to her right now. We’re at a writing retreat in Yorkshire together.
I’m convinced Lumb Bank is built on a ley line charged with supernatural powers. Strange and beautiful things happen there.
You’ve worked with organisations like The Basement Recovery Project in Arvon’s community work. How has that experience influenced your understanding of writing as a tool for empowerment?
I think this kind of work always reminds me that for many people writing is both an act of self-actualisation and a very positive form of exorcism. The amount of satisfaction and relief that people experience from being empowered and encouraged to express themselves in a safe (and sometimes new) way is a joy to behold. It also serves to remind me that writing should be perceived as simple, accessible and not something that is above and beyond us.
What role do you think creative writing plays in fostering connection?
I think creative writing can foster a healthy connection with the self, first and foremost. There is also a glorious unity in the room when a workshop stumbles across an epiphany together, and also the warmth and encouragement between a group reading freshly written work to each other. My favourite definition of literature is one borrowed from Kerouac, the “tale told for companionship”.
You were a tutor for the NHS mental health and wellbeing app launch where Arvon were partners. How do you see the link between writing and mental health?
I think the actual act of writing can be construed as akin to talking to oneself in a slightly stylised, self-conscious kind of way. As a result, it can be an interesting way of unburdening your mind and examining your own personal feelings. I strongly advocate free writing exercises as a way of vacuum cleaning one’s head, if it is becoming too cluttered or dusty.
Can you share any personal experiences or insights on how writing has been a therapeutic outlet for yourself or the people you’ve worked with?
I continue to work in prisons and rehab/recovery units, where the need for therapy of some kind is never far away. I see the benefits of creative writing everyday in these environments. From a personal point of view, writing has been a source of self-help for all of my life. I imagine I would be a very unhappy and damaged person without it.
Lumb Bank, the former home of Ted Hughes and one of Yorkshire’s most iconic literary houses, is on the brink of a major transformation – but we need your help to raise the final £75,000 to get over the finish line.
Redevelopment will make Lumb Bank sustainable, accessible, and open to more writers than ever before, ensuring future generations can find their voice in this inspiring setting. With your support, we can future-proof this historic literary home, expanding opportunities for writers of all backgrounds while preserving its rich heritage.
