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 Jameses, Seamuses, Seamais (fada yerself), Seamaishins, Hamish, Shems, Shemos etcetera, etcetera

 

I used etceteras in the title above instead of my usual ellipses because someone recently commented that the overuse of ellipses and dashes in my writing is irritating and shows a rambling mind. I pointed to The Master’s - Henry James - extreme use of the comma to the modern reader, which showed someone who never seemed to get to the bloody point.

A lively debate ensued.

I digress.

It’s my blog I can digress if I want to. Nobody is obliged to read.

Son#1 aka #TheChosenOne starts a new job next week. This effectively means he has to fill in a veritable shitload of forms verifying he is who he says he is. He’s a bit like one of his parents – a very lively mind that generally cuts through the bull to the nub of a question. But the most fundamental and basic question of one's life is causing him awful bother. That is - WHAT IS YOIUR NAME. Unfortunately his parents failed him rather badly at the start of his life by registering his name at birth as James then immediately called him Seamus. Failed at first breath. The poor bugger.

This James was naturally Gaelicised then shortened and lengthened as he grew to Seamus, Seamai, Seamashin (Donegal diminutive- fada yerself) Shem and Shemo. When he was six weeks old I took him to Bun Ghlas on Sliabh Liag in Donegal, lifted him skywards saying ‘Kunta Kinte’. Universe knows what effect had on his already confused psyche. When he developed his own life outside the home he evolved into Shay. All his friends including his girlfriend and her family call him Shay. I have been known to occasionally refer to him as Shay myself. Shay is an entirely different beast to my little Seamai – although he’s rather nice. I blame the parents.

This confusion over nomenclature is not entirely of my making. My father is a James referred to as  Seamus until he came to Dublin as a Garda where he became James or Jim. For thirty years in work he was Jim Welsh. At home, Seamus Walsh. His youngest son was called Seamus, on the birth certificate, baptismal cert, and all official documents – the same mistake was not to be made. This child was going to know who he was. He was widely known at home, with family, and on the road as Seamai. Then he started school and like his two older brothers became Wally.

 

In my late twenties I met a James called Jim and fell for him. Not realising he was called Seamus at home in Donegal – you can see where this is going.

That was fine. By the time I met him he’d been out of Donegal for twenty years and answered to Jim so it wasn’t a problem. Then we had a son. I repeated the naming error mainly because I was a people pleaser and wanted nobody hurt. I also thought (foolishly) that he could decide himself when he grew up what he wanted to be called. I had him christened for the same reason – he can choose himself, immediately burdening him with the fact I rejected Satan without asking him if he wanted Satan rejected. I also guessed he’d have to go to school at some stage and as there wasn’t much educational choice in Ireland in the Nineties it made sense. Church and State are still not fully separated when it comes to education.

 So I called him Seamus, registered him as James, christened him as James then went on with all the nicknames a Seamus has barring Shay – I didn’t really like that diminutive (sorry Shay!) He’s in my phone as SeamaiMySeamai. That’ll do for me.

One Christmas there were four Jim/Seamus/Seamais around my table. That was it. No-one else bar me. I was pregnant with a Liam at the time but he didn’t answer when I said ‘Seamus, pass the salt’. Neither did the rest of them. There was quite probably was some obscure play being relived from some GAA match played somewhere rural at some time since 1955. The priorities around the table in my home when the Seamuses are gathered are ancient and tribal. Despite me having NO clue. I’m generally happy to chew the cud and talk to the childer. Unless there is a reader at the table. Then the childer can talk to themselves.

 

Back to the James/Seamus/Seamai/Shay who is trying desperately to explain Hiberno English to an outsourced HR department. The whole thing has brought on the young man’s eczema – isn’t it awful the way anxiety can bring out a reaction on your skin? That’s my fault too - but material for another waffle entirely.

So. The child turned man has now vowed to call himself James on every official document from here on in and to become James in work etcetera. When I ring and look for SeamaiMySeamai the whole place is going to go into a tailspin. It was only when I worked in payroll in the early Eighties that I realised how many people were entirely different people when it came to official names. I wonder is this a peculiarly Irish thing? Although no – it’s not. Russian diminutives and the way Asian and Indian family names can differ from official ones is also endlessly confusing. I bet the whole thing goes back to colonialism. It causes fierce upset in these global times when your parent company could be Australian yet their human resources can be outsourced to an Indonesian company whose first language is not necessarily business English and definitely not Hiberno English. So the name Seamus has been banned as being passed on any further in our family.

I have a great grandfather, a father, a brother, a husband and a son Seamus. I also have a grandfather, uncle, brother and son Liam. Then there is my brother Ken – the only reason he’s not a Thomas, Tommy or Tom is that when he was born my mother had a father, brother and brother in law Thomas, Tommy and Tom; she was told there were too many Toms in the family. She called him Kenneth as being the nearest to her maiden name Kennedy – not knowing that her father would have loved a grandchild named Tom for him.

Poor Ken – growing up knowing you’ve been called the wrong name can cause confusion in you. I then had the temerity to call my two lads Seamus and Liam – leaving Ken out. Our Kenneth is an original anyway – no imitation or imitators.

And nobody ever mixed him up with a father, brother or son.

Except when he was a Wally.

Deleted Post

 Got into a little trouble over last post so deleted it. Sigh.

The Incredible Tale of MeejahLittle...AGAIN

I wrote this is 2011 when as a nation we were bludgeoned to depression by the steady drip feed of negativity as one media outlet after another tried to outdo themselves in the blame game. The hoo-haw over the perceived spat between Nephet and the Government yesterday reminded me of it. All parties involved are adults. All parties involved are trying to do their jobs to the best of their abilities. I'm leaving all social media, news sites, radio and tv news and switching to books and music and one daily nesapaper for the rest of the winter. One feed of 'news' a day is enough for anyone. We are as a nation talked out. We need to hould our whisth and have a big coladh samh. This will pass. And in the meantime yiz can contemplate the Tale of Meejah Little.

Well, MeeJahLittle was running around in Mad Money's garden enjoying flowers and fruits not his when an apple dropped from a tree and fell on his head. The apple was overblown, scabby, filled with worms and such and had to fall. 

MeeJahLittle didn't wait around to work this out - off he ran shrieking to find MeeJahBig.

'Oh! MeejahBig' he said, 'the sky is falling, the sky is falling!'
'Why how do you know?' asked MeejahBig
'Didn't I hear it with my own ears and see it with my own eyes and part of it fell on my head!'shrieked MeejahLittle.
'Oh Lord! Come then, let us run as fast as we can,' said MeejahBig. And off they ran to find MeejahBigger .

'MeejahBigger! MeejahBigger! The sky is falling, the sky is falling,' screeched MeejahsLittleandBig
'How do you know?' asked MeejahBigger.
'Well, MeejahLittle told me!' squawked MeejahBig 
'And I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears and part of it fell on my head. Twice,' shrieked MeejahLittle
'Lord save us!' cried MeejahBigger, 'We must run as fast as we can.'. And off they ran 'til they found MeejahBiggerAgain.

'Oh! MeejahBiggerAgain,' they caterwauled 'the sky is falling, the sky is falling!'
'How do you know' gasped MeejahBiggerAgain.
'Why MeejahsBigAndLittle told me' cried MeejahBigger.
'MeejahLittle told me' squawked MeejahBig.
'And I saw it with my own eyes heard it with my own ears, part of it fell on my head twice and then rolled along my back.' shrieked MeejahLittle

'Lord between us and all harm!We must run, we must run!' harumphed MeeJahBiggerAgain. And they ran and they ran until they found MeeJahNormous

.
'MeeJahNormous!MeeJahNormous!The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' they all roared
'How do you know?'queried MeeJahNormous
'MeeJahsLittleToBigger told me!' harumphed MeejahBiggerAgain
'MeeJahsLittleToBig told me too' cried MeeJahBigger
'MeeJahLittle told me first' squawked MeejahBig
'And I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears, part of it crashed down TWICE on my head THEN rolled along my back and THEN fell on my toe.' shrieked MeeJahLittle.

'We better tell the people on the edge' decided MeeJahNormous. 'It's our duty.'

So they all ran as fast as they could to tell the people on the edge. And the people on the edge all ran over the edge screaming
 'The sky is falling, the sky is falling' and then fell down, down, down  into the abyss.

 And all this from the foolish shrieking of MeeJahLittle.

The End

Never have books been more important.........

So. A week down – many more to go. We’re getting used to the new ‘normal’, we actually all quite like each other in my house, respectful of privacy whilst mindful of others need for human contact – just not through touch!

I drove to Maynooth to bring some books and toys to my gorgeous stepgrandaughter*1 yesterday. I dropped them in the porch and stood back at the gate. When she came to the door she  automatically started to run towards me. I put up my hand. ‘Stop.’ She did. ‘ I love you, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to hug your little body right now. But I can’t.’ So I stood their and mimed a deep deep hug. ‘Did you feel it?’ I asked. ‘Yes!’ she jumped up and down and sent me a hug back. I can’t fly to Seattle to do the same for stepgrandson*1, but I so wish I could.  They were home at Christmas and that will have to do for now.

Never has the world been better prepared to practice personal distancing. The Internet and various social media apps mean we can chat and see each other. I know this was at the expense of handing over all our data to the moguls. But right now it feels worth it.  They may think they know everything about me from what I watch or listen to or read or how and where I shop, but they don’t. As all humans know one can never really know another, we like to think we know our loved ones but even they can surprise, sometimes shock, us from time to time. Sometimes one wonders if we even really know ‘self’.

I smiled when I heard in a vox pop on radio yesterday - 'books aren't an essential service'. OH YES THEY ARE! Socrates said that the unconsidered life is not worth living. As the phrase suggest the ‘considered life’ is a life enriched by thinking about things that matter – values, aims, society, the characteristics of the human condition, desires – both personal and public, the enemies of human flourishing and the meanings of life.

Writers spend most of their time doing all of the above. Fiction writers in the creation of their characters – find a character your reader can empathise with and you have found a loyal reader. Writers of non-fiction show us those who have been moulded by the accidents of birth, DNA, and by circumstance both familial and societal. Never have writers been more important. Never have books been more important. Find writers you like – read widely. I promise it will enrich your life.

 Buy books for those you love that you feel they will like. Books are like any other Art form – what’s one person’s ‘best read ever’ is another’s ‘so-so’. I didn’t go to college and didn’t come from a reading household. There was no money for books. But my parents guided me towards the public library system aged seven – and so I began. I never had anything to guide my reading but still managed to find some wonderful, wonderful books that have stayed with me. These are books I return to again and again – mainly to recapture that frisson of ‘oh! the writer knows – they understand me.’ There are so many books out there - you'll definitely find one that suits and if the one you picked up is only so so to you then don't worry. I’m a reader – I know the next best book ever is just around the corner, for each and every one of us.

If you are book buying at the moment try to order from your local bookshop. Many of them are online and willing to get your beloved book to you. My personal favourites are Bob in  https://gutterbookshop.com/ in Temple Bar Dublin and Des Kenny of https://www.kennys.ie/.

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the ....

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party

I must have typed the sentence above thousands of times in 1979 as I learned to touch type. I never thought much about it. Apparently it, and ‘the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog’ exercised particular fingers to build up speed on a qwerty keyboard. No sentence resonates with me more in these scary times. I’d substitute country or world for party though.

I live in Swords, Fingal, North County Dublin. I have a feeling we may see a cluster of Covid19 cases in this area. Many of those living in Fingal work in Dublin Airport, through which the virus probably travelled over the last fortnight. If this occurs no administrative area is better to live in to practice social distancing whilst maintaining your sanity. We are blessed with an abundance of beautiful regional parks - Ardgillan Castle and Demesne in Balbriggan, Newbridge House and Demesne in Donabate  Malahide Castle and Demesne. We have fabulous beaches – Donabate, Rush, Skerries, Rush, Malahide, Loughshinney. Lots of places to go for a daily walk, where children can run free whilst staying away from older people.

Today I kitted out my writing shed as an isolation unit if any of us need to self isolate. It’s perfect, I bought an inflatable single mattress and a portable loo so any of us can cocoon ourselves away from others for the required period. Perhaps entering the house when no one else is there to shower and empty the portaloo. My shed is full of books, notebooks, cds, a radio. Internet connectivity can be intermittent but that’s no bad thing. I may even do some writing! I am so looking forward to reading all the wonderful books that will be written over the next few months. Literary agents and publishers are going to be swamped with new content next year.

My family have been lucky in some ways. Son*1 (25) SMASHED his left leg on January 3^rd and has been effectively quarantined at home since then. His gorgeous girlfriend has only left his side to go to work, they were due to go to Edinburgh in January to start their adult life together. It seemed like a disaster at the time and we were all dreading confinement together. We have two living type rooms in our house. They use one, we the other. My kitchen is tiny but we take turns at cooking. The Jemser and I are retired from admin jobs for years. We are two months further down the road of being in the company of family on a long term basis than others.

 And it's working

 The younger adults have started to bake – son’s brown bread with cheese and rosemary is to die for. His fruit soda is sinfully moreish. Her Mac n' Cheese is delicious.  They’ve started painting, writing, learning and creating new songs. We’re looking at turning part of our garage into a potters area as the girlfriend has pottery in her blood. Son*2 is in college and when he has been home he is mostly up in his room (nothing new!). He’ll miss his girlfriend but they are both being sensible -staying in contact via technology. As the weather gets warmer we can open up the windows and he can play piano for our neighbours. My lovely Clann Cunningham are so musical,  both in creating content and interpreting others' work. I think the next few months will see many people exploring their creative side, slow things they never thought they had time to do.

I’ll miss stepdaughters*1 and *2 of course. And our grandchildren. But I went for a virtual walk with  stepdaughter*2 in Maynooth the other day. With WhatsApp video we chatted as she pointed the camera at Caralicious cycling her bike WITHOUT STABILISERS (yay) up the quiet road of their estate in Maynooth. Later I played Hide and seek with the Corminator aged almost 3 in Seattle. I counted, he hid and jumped out with a ‘BOO’ as soon as I stopped counting. Then we played ‘don’t wake Nanny up’. He delights in roaring as I snore and I overreact and jump awake. Then he showed me all his trucks. We were supposed to visit them in May for his birthday. I doubt it’ll happen now. But this WILL end and we will get there later.

As long as the Internet doesn’t get Covid-19 and collapse EVERYTHING WILL BE OK!

I drove to Skerries for my walk today and observed excellent social distancing on the beach. I got a stick and wrote in the sand as large as I could -

Kids

Our SuperHeroes

WWWashYourHands

I badly-drew a big heart around it and asked any kids I passed on way back to car to go and decorate it with stick drawing or shells – and to please fix my heart! To the tune of ‘Baby Shark’ I sang and danced for them

‘Wash your hands

Do do deh do deh do

Wash your hands

Do do deh etc

Wash Your Hands

                                                             Glan do Laimh                                       (fada yerself!)

Do do deh do deh do

Glan do Laimh

Do do etc

Glan do Laimth

Lavos Manos

Do do deh do deh do’

Etc etc etc in whatever language you like

I made them smile, so did their parents.

I felt good.

Look after each other and be kind.

Get Calm - then carry on

Where on Earth do I start?

What can I write that is not being written by others more informed, better read? The finest minds on the planet are now engaged in a battle against an invisible enemy that threatens everyone. The flaws in nationalist, populist and insular policies shown. The flaws in globalism are also revealed. The rise in loss of bio-diversity and increases in climate change which, experts have been patiently explaining for years, is giving rise to super viruses crossing species and pandemics like Covid19 is a clamouring alarm call to us all.

Those of us in the ‘first world’ have been consuming ourselves to death for over fifty years. The fruits of that consumption have fallen from the tree and lie rotting. It will be the poorest and most vulnerable (as always) who will foot the bill with their lives and their health. A couple of months of social distancing, hand washing and self-isolation for the rest of us seems little enough to contribute whilst the experts engage in saving lives, developing vaccines, and discussing policies to change the way we live.

Ireland is a small country. We’re a close people. Most families will be touched, in some way, by worry and  grief over the coming months. Countries with poor public health systems – like the richest country in the world – are going to suffer most. I turned off all radio and social media earlier this week as people bleated about economies tanking. It’s only money lads. Most of it isn’t even real – just marks on a page, ridiculous numbers that mean nothing to most of us. Economies can be rebuilt. We cannot bring people back from the dead.

People, and our relationship with the ecosystem we live in is the only thing that matters now. We MUST change the way we live or - like dinosaurs, face extinction.

I’ll blog something cheerier later. I feel much better with that off my chest!

Get calm – then carry on