Back In The Saddle...

 

I came out to my she-shed for the first time in eleven months this morning - to write. There were Miss Havisham like cobwebs all around my desk and chair. I did battle with them and evicted the spiders before I cleared the desk of ten months of detritus and unread books. Yesterday a visit to my brother and his beautiful family brought me a character –Erica Gilhooley. She is fully formed with a great back story and she has a marvellous tale about An Extraordinary Thing that happened to her family during 2020’s Covidy Christmas. It’s a middle grade book and it is flying out of me.

This is why I write.

This feeling - the buzz you get when a character comes and takes you by the hand on a merry walk. There is NO feeling like it.  It’s better than driving. Better than sex. It’s even better than chocolate! I call this feeling freedom and I think most of us experience it when we do something we love. Something we know we’re good at.  

I laughed out loud twice at my narrator’s cheeky sense of fun in Chapter 1 and the love she shows for her family is second to none. I know no-one else might laugh but I'm having fun with her. This part of the writing process has nothing to do with me and I think many writers will agree. I just sit here and give my characters permission to arrive, to dance from my fingers to the screen. During my eleven-month drought of words I dabbled in picture books and crap poems. My adult prose had dried up completely. I was 35k into a novel and I hated ( understood but hated) one of my characters for his weakness. I’m writing  in various voices and writing his chapters really depresses me. I get so angry with him. I started this novel three years ago and I know it’s not as bad as I think it is. But neither is it as good as I want it to be! I loved writing picture books, they are very hard to write as they are for THE most discerning audience in the world – under 6s and their parents. I have three picture books out circling the globe looking for the right publisher and illustrators. If they ever get to print yiz are all invited to the book launchs!

I started to write around the time my husband took up golf. That is two decades ago. We both needed something to replace pints in our lives! Writing just ‘clicked’ with me – it was liking walking into a room and finding people who finally understood me. Jemser loves the camaraderie of the golf course and being out in the air but he gets totally disillusioned with his game.

 ‘It’s a whoor of a game’ he’ll claim after a bad back nine, tossing his golf clubs aside. This happens regularly. 

I pointed out that even Rory McElroy allowed himself to cry when interviewed about The Ryder Cup 2021. He had a bad day. I bet Ann Enright, John Boyne and other brilliant writers have torn her hair out at times with their characters, having bad days. I read Liz Nugent giving out to her character recently on Twitter when she had written several thousand words and the bitch was still alive!

Writing is a whoor of a hobby. I genuinely feel for published professional authors -each book they launch has to be as good as their previous book. Nothing else (barring kids) has given me so much pleasure and so much frustrated pain. Like The Jemser with his golfclubs I throw writing that isn’t working (I have four half written novels) along with my laptop, pencils, and blank creamy paper aside and wander off to pastures new. 

Mind you it would help if I finished things!

 Losing heart in a project and procrastination are as much a part of writing as rewriting is. It’s certainly true for me. I’m a bit like the Mayo GAA team. At my core I don’t believe in myself – and I HAVE to. If I don’t like what I write then neither could anyone else. The boredom will show on the page. The moments of inspiration and euphoria are brief (and exhausting) and do not replace hard work and application to the craft. I’m easily distracted too and the WorldWideWeb is a curse. I go to research something and end up down a rabbit hole with shag all on the page to show for my day.

 

So.  I’m setting myself targets on this middle grade novel – a minimum of 6000 words a week. If I can do that I will have a first draft in six weeks. Then it’ll go into a drawer. Then rewritten by me and sent to an editor. I use purplecrayonediting for my children’s work and Storyline Literary Agency for adult prose. Both editors are excellent and I highly recommend them.

To aspiring writers -it is worth paying to have your MS edited by a professional before you start submitting. There are millions of books already in the world and every story must earn its place. When I write Erica Gilhooley's world I will read mainly middle grade or YA fiction. It taps into the work. Close reading of the genre you are writing is essential as is reading widely. I have two middle-grade novels on the go at the moment – reading one and listening to another. Reading poetry helps me with the rhythm of sentences and paragraphs. Reading crime is great for plot. Reading other well-written fiction takes my mind off my own characters once I have my word count for the day done. Writers learn from other writers and most importantly from readers. Forget about the market. Write passionately in the voice of your characters. See 'Shuggy Bain', 'Iron Annie' and 'The Catcher in The Rye' for brilliant narrators.

Above all never ever give up. BELIEVE!!

The Story Queen's Aul' Owls..............

My favourite children's picture book has long been Martin Waddell's 'Owl Babies'. In fact it is probably my all time, any genre, book. It has a beginning, a middle and an end. It has a little message without being didactic. It is a story about mothers and children and the love between them. It is a beautiful book.

   I dressed up as my alter-ego, Her Majesty The Story Queen, last week and paid a visit to the children in Appleseeds playschool in Swords. Her Majesty met thirty wonderful children, all in or around three years of age. They all have a guileless charm, great innocence and a love of life. They are not afraid to say exactly what's on their mind. We had a great chat and Her Majesty told them all about StoryLand and her Magic Bicycle and her best friend Santa Claus (Storyland is 2nd left after The North Pole) and about The King who is really terribly lazy and doesn't DO books and about her eight children Molly, Polly, Ruth and Rose, Billy, Bobby, John and Joe. Then we read Owl Babies and the children shouted out the recurring line in it, that is - owl baby Bill saying 'I want my Mammy'. One of the wee girls I help look after attends the playschool and although she knows I am The Story Queen she still buys into the fantasy. We pretend that Evelyn the Minder is the Story Queen's cousin and they look alike. The Story Queen left the playschool to a resounding cheer and lots of happy waving.

   This morning I went to the local shopping centre with my little charge and we were wandering around Penneys when I spotted a little owl hat. I put it on her and it was so cute I had to have it. Then I had a brain wave and bought two more hats.
    'Why you do that Ellen' (she can't pronounce my name).
    'Well, I was thinking. Why don't we wrap up these hats  and put in a little note for your two friends'    (they play in the yard together while we wait for their older siblings to come out of school.)
   'We can say the parcel came down the chimney from The Story Queen.'
    Her face lit up, then fell.
    'But they be all dirty.'
    'No no, sure the Story Queen is magic - she just sprinkles some magic dust on them so they won't    get dirty.'

    We bought the hats and some nice red paper and when we got home wrapped them up. She was     beside herself with excitenment as we walked up to the school. As soon as she spotted the pals she was off.
. 'Leila! Leila! Alannah! Look! Look what The Story Queen send you - down my chimbly!' Much excited tearing of the paper. Then they put their owl hats on and beamed at each other, just like the real Owl Babies.
  'Now', said Evelyn the Minder. 'The Story Queen told me to ask you - what does Bill say?' And at the top of their lungs they shouted,
  'I WANT MY MAMMY,' before skipping happily away.

Such joy. Such delight - for  a cheap little hat from Penneys. It's the child's imagination that's priceless.


PS Her Majesty is appearing in The Gutter Bookshop in Temple Bar on Saturday Dec 6 at 10.30am for a forty five minute session - free admission.

On sunshine...actually no - it should be - 'On SunShine'...no, on SUN SHINE...............

What a week! The god-forsaken bog I live on has had four days of unbroken sunshine, blue skies and warmth. It's unprecedented - at least in short-term memory it's unprecedented; and we love it - we Irish becomes even more Irish when the sun shines - in Ireland only of course. I feel like I'm on holidays with all my neighbours. We're all rambling around in shorts and strappy tops and sandals - and that's only the men! Even the older lady who normally walks up the road wrapped up like Michelin Man has been spotted sitting outside her front door stripped down to cardigan, blouse and skirt and ...drumroll...NO TIGHTS!  

It started on bank holiday Monday - it was a gorgeous day after a disappointing Saturday and Sunday which were dry but dull and still a little chilly. So when I woke to the sun I plonked myself out the back garden with books and newpapers and read and dozed my way through the day. Well, that's what bank holidays are for. Then came Tuesday and whaddya know - the sun was still shining. Y'can't do any housework on a sunny day (Housewives Commandments No 5) so out to the garden again with me - this time I did actually take a break from sunbathing to walk the dog and cook a dinner (not at same time natch!). Wednesday - S.L.O.D.G -still sunny! I started to feel guilty over spending another day in the garden so bought a few plants and did a little weeding to ease my Irish Catholic guilty conscience over actually enjoying myself doing Sweet Fanny Adams.

Today is Thursday and I had an appointment to meet an illustrator in Malahide for a series of books I have planned for HRH The Story Queen. I couldn't believe it - the sun was still shining; I've decided it's shining because I decided not to go to the Continent on hols this year . God must've looked down and said 'That poor woman - I better send a few rays her way.'

I walked to Malahide; it was a beautiful morning to walk along the Estuary - drinking in the beauty of Nature on my doorstep. I got on like a house on fire with the illustrator - she's brilliant and on my wave-length so I think we may be poised for WORLD DOMINATION. Or at least 26 county saturation! I walked back to Swords after the meeting marveling to myself that this is now what I call work. Work! Hah!

Tomorrow I'm into Fighting Words in the a.m. and have a Story Queen date with a five year old in the p.m. Oh and yeah - the sun is supposed to shine all weekend as well........I may never leave Ireland again.

Mental weekends

This is a delayed posting because my back went out after the gardening and I ended up in the leaba for 48 hours - slowly crawling about now grumping and giving out and wondering where the jollity of this unpublished post is gone. Away with the absence of alcohol I suppose. Still. 'Twas worth it. A lovely loved up night out with the sisters followed by swimming with the boys (next morning!) and HRH Fingal's story Queen foolacting with kids then my beloved gardening to bring me gently down from HRH's insanity. Written  three days ago. Read on.
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SLoDG - I'm knackered. My life has been mental for the last 24 hours and I am quite sure I will be asleep before my only personally essential viewing - 'Casualty' on the Beeb at nine bells. Thank technology for the ability to auto record a whole series. I can watch back-to-back episodes on whatever insomnia night I have every week.

I was out with 'de sisters' last night. We were supposed to go into town (for town read Dublin city) to celebrate Sister#2 (I'm #1) significant birthday. But we started with pints in sister #4's local hostelry the Beachcomber in Killester - one led to another and we ended up just popping next door to the 'NutHouse' (no wisecracks please - we've heard them all) for a really lovely meal. It's a trattoria type restaurant and really really good. Recommended.

Sister#2 - our reason for celebrating - and myself were the sensible elder lemons and headed home after the meal - of course our bolder young siblings, sisters#3&#4 returned to the hostelry and I have NO IDEA WHAT TIME THEY WENT HOME.  Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose!

So to bed, and an early start today (this was Saturday) - I went for a swim with son#1 and pretend son Oscie. Then a quick dash home to Swords for a change of persona ( btw check out http://www.irishtimes.com/blogs/best-place/2012/04/10/swords-fingal-in-north-co-dublin/  my pitch for Swords as the best place to live in in Ireland).

HRH the Story Queen was running about the North County all morning Saturday, a fabulous session in the the library in Malahide - where the fashion on show was superb by my young friends and I was presented with a beautiful picture of 'Hello Kitty' especially coloured in for me by one young lady who must be magic! She didn't know as she coloured her picture that I had a very stylish pair of size 8 pink Hello Kitty crocs in my bag - HRH needed advice you see as to whether they were suitable summer footwear. It was agreed a queen could get away with them - especially when she is 437 with bunions.

After Malahide The Story Queen dashed to Easons in the Pavilions in Swords - lovely new children's section, check it out. Then a quick jaunt over to Imaginarium - a heavenly place for anyone who never grew up! The lovely staff there presented HRH with Butlers chocs (fit for a Queen) despite her causing havoc - pretend duelling, trying out a red trike and touching EVERY beautiful toy/puzzle/book in the store

Pretty tired by that stage - but one must soldier on. The other me (I'm afraid to say real - because I wonder. I really do wonder!) had trees and shrubs to plant - staking of happily growing summer perennials etc etc - and it was too nice an evening to waste in sleep. I planted a 'wedding cake' tree in our front garden - in a perfectly proportioned hole dug by son#1 - he's finally becoming useful about the place, love you son#1! If my tree grows ( as son#1 said in disbelief - 'that big hole for a stick?') it will -eventually- be stunning.

I didn't cook - I thought it was safer not to at that stage  and the juniors were really quite pleased by the takeout from our local chipper.  Now sitting here, eyelids closing and perfectly aware I'm about to have the lovliest doze.

A good day - a great weekend - and I've still got tomorrow to look forward to!!
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I woke up five hours later completley and utterly crippled - had to crawl up the stairs and suffered ( not silently) for almost two days.

But it was still a great weekend. 

Tyrone Guthrie Centre blog#3

Another glorious day in Co. Monaghan. The drumlins are ablaze with furze bushes and the countryside resplendent with goat willow and rowan flower. It was a little cooler today but still sunny enough to ramble about in a tee-shirt. I ‘discovered’ the conservatory which I didn’t know existed and was delighted to see a passionflower trained up a gorgeous stone wall and some variegated perlagonium full bloom – I sat there reading and writing for a good while – did some good work on Daisy Killer plus fleshed out a short story; to be shaved back brutally at some later stage.

Lavinia continues to encourage me to be fatter – divine potato cakes for breakfast with (I think) shavings of scallions in them. N’yum. Lots of lovely cold meats, salad; including ‘real’ lettuce (as per Jemser) – home grown butterhead. Both meals shared with lovely interesting company. I know ye all think I’m mad and talk too much and stuff. But a lot of these lovely ‘artistes’ are the same. So we all speak the same language albeit in slightly different accents and disciplines. I have never met a person in this house that I was uneasy with. It is home.

After lunch the Story Queen appeared on the lawn in front of the house (singing ‘Nellie the Elephant’ off-key) as she approached and talked and read stories to Lavinia’s wee boys – two dotes. Luke was well enthralled – loved ‘Owl Babies’ and took ‘The Gruffalo' away with him. Lavinia’s heart will be scalded reading it to him for the next few years!!

Then HRH waved goodbye and wandered away singing ‘the wonderful thing about Tiggers’ and decided she would like to have her picture taken riding the lovely girly 1930’s style bike in the conservatory. Esther obliged as camerawoman and Lavinia’s boys were delighted when HRH almost crashed into a garden bed. Much hilarity ensued.

Back to work then and the treatment for the animated feature I’m collaborating on with the lovely Karen was polished up to our satisfaction – well, near enough. So off it will go with a kiss and a wish into the big bad world to see can we get a bite from some nice big fish in the world of animation. I shed emotional tears over a few scenes and laughed at others – but then I am ridiculously emotional and sentimental. Here’s hoping. We had great fun doing it anyway.

A walk around the grounds and back in for one of Lavinia’s legendary dinners where serendipity and crazy crazy co-incidences were discussed – with much laughter . Another successful night. Some have drifted off now to work, others to read or watch a movie. There appears to be some wine-supping going on in the kitchen, but I’m just too tired. Me! Too tired to drink!

There was some suggestion of Scrabble earlier – but these are seriously brainy people and I’m just not competitive enough. I’ll sit here in my lovely room, listen to John Prine, check Facebbok and Twitter, ring my babies and after a nice long bath will head to the leaba with a good book – there is a houseful to choose from.

‘Night x

St Patrick's Day in Swords Co. Dublin

I work alongside the events management staff of Fingal County Council and had to calm down some of my colleagues frazzled nerves yesterday. They were (of all things) worried about the weather for today's parade - the one thing they cannot control! So I assured them that by the sheer force of my will I would ensure that no rain fell in Swords between 10am and I.30pm! I was right! Mammy is always right.....

I had volunteered the Story Queen to tootle up and down Main Street talking to lots and lots of boys and girls ably assisted by my wonderful little pal Rachel Barker, who took the role of Princess Semolina. We had a basket full of St Patrick's Day lollipops which we distributed regally to all. Molly, my badly home-shorn bichon freise accompanied me with a lovely spray of bright green hair colour on the back. She was sumptuous and proud and a huge hit with the spectators. The Story Queen told the children that when she woke up that morning Molly had all this green spray on her and Ihe Queen got a frightful shock!

But Princess Semolina immediately knew what was wrong - 'Mama' she cried 'We must travel to Ireland - the green is a sign telling us to go!'' Well. I was terribly tired, I am 437 years old after all but Semolina was right and we hopped onto the next Space Shuttle (which is the second planet after the North Pole). We popped into Santa on the way and asked him to have a word with the clouds so that they might keep the rain away, Mrs Clause has just about recovered from the exhaustion she felt after Christmas and they are going to take a nice relaxing holiday next month.

So Princess Semolina, Molly and I chatted to beautifully decorated children up and down Swords Main Street, everyone there had made so much effort on their appearance. Everyone was happy and smiling and waving and clapping. I even got one or two little girls out to dance with me! A very nice Garda Siochana linked me for a few steps of little jig and I had my picture taken as I handed out lollipops to the wonderful Civil Defence people - who were petrified I might make them dance too!

The Parade proper started the with the Lord Mayor waving regally from an open top vintage car (my regal wave is of course the correct one - he was just imitating me) - there were football clubs, athletics clubs, dancing schools, all manner of wonderful floats and entertainment. Colleagues Caroline Bradley (who shaved her head last week and raised 1400 euro for cancer research) and Christine Mullen were exhibiting their wonderful photographs on the railings of County Hall - the staff of Fingal County Council are bursting with creativity and dedication to their community. I felt very very proud to say I worked for the Council today. And you will rarely hear me say that!

No staff member who partook today was paid overtime for their work. Some will be given time in lieu at some later date, others at higher levels regard it as part of their roles. We do take our jobs seriously citizens, we make mistakes but for the most part your public service is just that - there to serve you. And I'm your Queen!

It's St Patrick's Day - a day to dream and philosophize and we Irish do that so well! Maith Sinn.

Lovely libraries

I sat in the beautiful library in Rush this morning – an old church converted with great sympathy and sensitivity by Fingal Couny Council as a facility for the citizens of the area. The church’s external structural appearance is as it has been since it was built; walk indoors and you find a thoroughly modern library, with the clean lines and aesthetics of the 21^st century. This,  combined with beautiful wood paneling and shelving (oak I think), glass, off white and red seating areas , creates a very peaceful space. The late winter sun shone through glorious stained glass windows and ensured that the hush throughout the library was honoured with dappled multi-coloured sunlight. Wonderful.

I think it is a fitting use of a space that was originally built as a place of worship but was also always meant to be a place of community, a place where people could gather and be silent for a while. The acoustics in the church/library are fabulous too. I’d love to attend a carol singing service or any other kind of choral event there. Wouldn’t it be beautiful to hear again voices raising the roof in harmony and celebration? What are songs but musical stories? Perfect in a library.

On top of all that beauty there is of course the very reason for the libraries existence - thousands upon thousand of words hidden between the covers of books. All any one of us has to do is open a book and begin to learn. I asked a distinguished author once if he had read any so-called commercial women’s fiction, he’d read one or two he said but in general he avoided the genre because he learned nothing from it. I suppose a lot of that fiction has to so with emotion around a love affair; and men don’t seem to ‘do’ emotion around love affairs – or perhaps they do but they don’t bother analysing it in the minutiae that we females do. Generalisation of course but……. am I making any sense?

Speaking of genres, yesterday we went enfamille to dublincity (103.2)fm to talk on Jimmy Kinahan’s afternoon programme. I read from my book, the Jemser sang a couple of songs as did son#1 and pal and son#2 was assistant producer. Jimmy asked me that difficult question -what genre was my book? I hesitated because that was one of the reasons I couldn’t get a publisher to back ‘The Heron’s Flood’ (available herehttp://www.amazon.com/Herons-Flood-Evelyn-Walsh/dp/1463765916 ); it does not  slot neatly into any genre. It’s not a crime or psychological thriller – although there is a murder in it; it’s not misery lit – although both of my protagonists have had their share of misery; I don’t think it could be classified as ‘chick lit’ (I don’t know enough about fashion, sex or the art of shopping); it’s not literary fiction – I’m not quite there yet and may never get there unless I get more time to both read more and read better; I  facetiously call it ‘hen-lit’ as I thought it would appeal to hens like myself – in other words the fiction buying public!   

We had a great half hour with Jimmy and the boys in particular blew the socks off those listening. I do be fit to burst with pride when I hear them sing, they are really so talented We got a laugh to because Jimmy mistakenly called their song ‘Angel’s Roost’ ‘Angels’ Delight’! Of course we all immediately pictured that smooth viscerally pink desert. But we didn’t laugh and I didn’t interrupt anyone, then or at any stage –as is my wont, Biddy Butt-In kept her trap shut! We’re a family of pedants really – I think the males are all worse than me but they say I’m the Queen of pedantry. Reminder to self and all – the Story Queen is appearing in Balbriggan library this coming Saturday December 10^th at 11am for a special Christmas story telling session with the lovely children of Balbriggan and surrounds. If you have an under 7 in your life bring them along – it is always a great session and best of all like everything in Fingal Libraries -it’s free!

I meant to blog about this on Monday. But I’ve had a mad busy week and as I’m not supposed to be using my left hand it takes me ages to type anything. I was in Balbriggan library last Saturday morning doing my ‘Story Queen’ routine.

I get dressed up as a panto queen complete with crown, rope of pearls, red patent leather shoes and stripey tights. Then off with me to the Junior section of one of Fingal's libraries where I lead a forty minute interactive book reading session with a crowd of under sevens.

Last  Saturday the children in Balbriggan library got totally involved with me. A friend of mine was there with her beautiful sons but I’m afraid the girls took over that day. There were two little girls in particular both aged about four who decided they wanted to join in with everything.

 ‘Can we have a chat instead?’ asked one.

 ‘Now dear, when I’ve finished this story we can have a little chat, is that ok’.

 ‘Of course,’ sez she.

So off we went with Owl Babies by Martin Waddell complete with a chorus of  ‘I want my Mummy’ says Bill from everyone.

‘Is it time for the chat now’ she persisted.

'I want to chat too,' said smallie no 2

’Tell me what you want to talk about’

‘Em…m…m..teacher has that  book,’  pointing to Farmer Duck.

‘Shall I read that for you then dear?’ 

She nodded and I demonstrated how they were to quack and cluck and moo and baa along with me. As I twisted around, clucking like a hen – as one does - my hoop and train got all twisted and much hilarity ensued.

We read several more stories and at the end my little friends insisted on picking up my train and escorting me to the top of the steps leading from the junior library. I was bowled over buy the love I felt from them all. I had to stay in the loo until I thought the kids were all gone. I hate destroying their illusions. When I thought the coast was clear I left the library and walked back to my car and who was in the car parked next to mine only my little chatty friends! So back into Queenie mode I went.

'Don’t mind that I’m not in my dress dear. I couldn’t wander about the town in it – why people would think I was quite insane. Now I must rush. The King is waiting for his dinner.’

I think I got away with it.

I'm gone a bit odd............

No smart comments about the title of this post please. Ok, maybe I should have said odder. I've been incarcerated in the basement of the office building since mid May computerising a stationery stores system and doing the work of the storeman who is off enjoying himself having a hip relacement (joke Michael!). At one stage in my thirty years with this organisation I worked in Building Facilities and used to joke that I had control of toilets and canteens and was therefore all powerful. Now I have control of bog-roll and photocopy/print paper so I have ABSOLUTE control of the place, which appears to run on both items judging by the amounts I have to buy and distribute.

Nobody likes me in this job. They told me so. 'Michael's so nice - you're an aul' wagon' they cry when I query their use of any item. One gormless young one had the misfortune to tell me she needed rubber bands urgently to which I replied 'Brain surgery is urgent dear. Rubber bands are not'. It never ceases to amaze me how excited people get about stationery. They label everything they requisition as personal to themselves. If there is one thing I cannot bear it is a stapler with someones name tippexed on it. The stapler belongs to the employer not the indiviual employee - the employee is merely allowed use the stapler whilst they work for the employer. It's the same with rulers, notebooks - anything that can be labelled is labelled.

I think it's a regression to childhood. You know, when you got all your new school books copies, pencils erasers etc and laboriously put your name on every item and felt all pleased and grown up with yourself. On top of these childish souls there are a number of 'serial' shoppers. Some people think it quite alright to leave their own office and disappear to Stores twice or three times a week looking for one or two items. The new computerised system will put a halt to that particular gallop as in future all orders must be e mailed . So I'll have even fewer visitors.

I can't even have the radio on as there is no reception in the basement. The storeman won't be back until the end of October - at which stage I will quite definitely be do-lalley. I like to gab and gabbing to yourself is no fun because you never know the answers to your own questions, well I don't. Am I making sense? Probably not. See, I told you I was losing it.

I didn't think this particular job would bother me because as a writer I often spend hours at a time staring at a computer screen lost in the world of my characters. However I like that work and often have to drag myself back to the real world. Keying in and counting stock items of rubber bands, tabbed folders, staple extractors, sellotape, stamp pads, paper, notebooks, envelopes and their prices is, to say the least, mind-numbingly boring. A redundant turnip could do it. So yes I can be happy working alone, but only when I'm doing something I'm passionate about. It's difficult to get excited over the advantages of a finetipped pen over a ballpoint biro.

I can't believe I have written a blog about my incredibly boring employment.

To counteract the hacking away at my soul I throw my energies into the Story Queen and the fiction writer when I get home. The Queen's reputation is growing and I even have business cards for her now! The fiction writer is getting nervous about her book launch next month - she hopes she doesn't lose too much money on it (so does her husband!). The Queen and the author keep the storekeeper relatively sane........as for the mother,wife and housekeeper, well, that's another days blog.

Queen of Stories

Now I know I'm on me holliers and promised faithfully not to text, email or Facebook for the week. But I didn't rule out blogging. Did I? Did I?

Well, to hell with that - blogging is how I work things out. How I pull sense from the babble of noise that is modern life. Plus it's Writers Week in the lovel Listowel so I need to be practising like, practising all things writerly - reading, writing and possibly drinking the odd sip of nectar. I'm heading there with all my boys on Wednesday. Isn't it great when your family can enjoy some part of that most solitary of pursuits, writing.

Anyway I set out to blog about stories - and their importance in all our lives. People keep saying the novel is dead. The novel will never die, it will exist in some form always. What are movies, TV soaps, songs, plays bu the same thing as the novel - stories I'll do a couple of blogs when I'm down in the Kingdom of Kerry but my internet connection isn't a given where I'm staying so ye may have to wait to hear all about this year's festival of writing, reading, music, poetry, drama and whatever other cerebral pursuit you can think of. We won't mention the prodigious amounts of alcohol consumed. Alcohol may stifle creativity (actually, it does) but it can be a lovely lubricant so you can steel up your nerves and approach that writer/poet to tell them how much they mean to you. I think all of us have one book or poem or song that 'gets' us. We all read or hear something somebody wrote, one other person, who totally totally understands what it is to be our very own self and that person wrote it down - our stories our lives - so therefore we love that writer who empathised so thoroughly with us. Actually, as Listowel is a tiny town and the great and good mix with us 'pretend' writers lubrication is quite probably needed by self same authors to put up with the fawning of their 'No. 1 fans'!!

Back to the substance of this post. I am developing a 'character', a person who tells stories, either reads them or makes them up as she goes along. I started batting this idea about with the Senior Librarian in Fingal County Council and I eventually suggested a Queen, a Story Queen who will arrive at children's local library and read them a story - discuss stories with them and generally just have fun. I have the costume - its gorgeous, ridiculous but gorgeous, I have my crown, my story bag and my cloak and all I needed were children to practise on. So off I set to Skerries in North County Dublin where there was a street festival to celebrate the ending of the RAS - don't ask me, it's a bike race thingy. The lovely Mary of Magic Carpet Theatre Company was face painting and I sat along with her in all my regalia and read stories to some beautiful children. The location wasn't ideal but the kids LOVED the Queen of Stories. I asked them would they come to their local library to hear me reading and I got a huge affirmative YES. We decided a PJ evening might be nice as opposed to the original idea of a Saturday morning. So I already have groupies in Skerries who will all come to see me when I visit.

But lads. I has such fun! Whatever fun those children had (real smallies, the under sevens) I had it in hundreds. And on the way home I thought about it. There I was - an overweight plain middle aged suburban woman in a ridiculous costume and a plastic crown - glorying in it!! No, actually that's the wrong word. I was absorbed. Totally, utterly absorbed in the task in hand, the fact that I was the Queen of Stories, the fact that I had absolutely THE best stories to tell and above all the fact that those kids were as absorbed as I was. That's what made it. That absorption, a connection. I wondered on the way home why doing something like reading stories to children made me so happy. Most people would die rather than be seen in public in such a get-up, let alone reading aloud. A lot of people can only bear their own children, a lot of people even find their own children too much.

I think what it is is when I read - particularly the classic fairy tales, Hans Christian Andersen and the Grimm brothers - I conjure up my beloved long gone mother. I conjure that complete and utter security. That feeling of loving and being loved. That knowing that no matter what my parents loved me and would always love me. Mam read to us every night when we were small, it was a very important part of our day - the full stop if you like- and it was the nicest part of every day too, she 'did' the voices, she cried, she laughed. She lived those stories and with her we lived them too. I can still hear her gulping to hold back the tears as the little Match Girl slowly fades away.

And now I feel really privileged that - at a stage in my life when my own kids don't even want to be related to me, let alone have me read to them - and at a stage when grandchildren are a dim and hopefully not too distant nebulous idea, I have been handed this gift. A gift that, once a week, perhaps more, I can dress up as the Queen of Stories and share my love of the written word with the wee ones, the ones who will quite probably end up being my carers in my dotage.

So if you hear of the Queen of Stories visiting your local library over the next year or so borrow an under seven and come along. Who knows, it might remind you of those utterly secure, utterly content childhood days - and even in the worst of childhoods there were these days, days of hope and happiness. Even if it doesn't it will be creating a memory for the child you bring along! And best of all, it's a free memory! Always the best ones.

Night Surfing

I have the most eclectic taste. I just realised it tonight. You lot probably knew that little fact about me already. Why am I always the last one to know these things about myself? I’m probably too busy sticking my nose into other people’s business to notice my own life!

I occasionally (actually it’s becoming more often) suffer or rather I endure insomnia.

Once I used that quiet time to clean my house, but I got over that one! Now I mostly read or write or surf the net. I just looked at my purchases tonight from my surfing. It’s a mad random shopping list. I bought three books of poetry ( two Billy Ramsells and one Grace Wells, keep their names in your head for you will hear more of them). Then I went on to a costume shop's website and bought two Queen’s outfits. A Queen needs at least two gunai (Marmo or Jemser, will ye fada and grammatical me Irish). Then I went onto a wig shop page and bought meself a nice little granny bun.

My latest adventure is reading stories to under 7s in Fingal Libraries on Saturday mornings. I’m calling myself ‘The Story Queen’ or is ‘Queen of Stories’ better?

So I decided to buy a costume or two. Isn’t it great to be able to dress up when you’re fifty and not worry about looking ridiculous? Because you are ridiculous. But isn’t it glorious to be ridiculous!!

So not only do I get to be the Queen, I get to pick all my favourite children’s books and read from them to an (I hope) enthusiastic bunch of smallies. And they’ll love me!! And I’ll feel all important and special! Ain’t Life grand.

BTW ye all better sponsor me for walking the mini-marathon on the June Bank holiday. I’m walking with my sister-in-laws in aid of the Donegal branch of the Alzheimer’s Society. They have been a marvellous support in helping the family look after our beloved Teresa, Jemser’s Mam, Now there is a Queen beyond compare. I wrote the poem below some years ago when the illness started. It is such a horrible disease for everyone. Although Thank the Lord Teresa has been very peaceful for the last few weeks. I love you Teresa Cunningham and I love all your wonderful family and your beloved Kilcar! Are ye all feelin’ the love?

Teresa’s Eyes

Teresa’s eyes, not yet inarticulate

Plead for understanding

She sits. BeWildereD

In the dimmed light

Of blown CoNNections.

Frustration clamping lips

She cannot

Trust

to form

Words

no longer kn-wn.

Sometimes

that obscene shroud of mist

will thin.

Teresa’s raucous laugh begin

Hands clap, face lifts, eyes glint

With Our Teresa.

But mist rolls in again,

Muffling sound and skewing vision.

Will thicken to FOG

Before

Night

falls