Just in the door from the second Milk N Cookies event in Exchange Building in Temple Bar. Lovely idea; people gather, drink tea and coffee (or milk!), eat biccies and my home-made mince pies and get up and tell stories .
Stephen Smith, poet of this city, gave a fine 'talking' version of Waltzing Matilda, Stephen is the mastermind behind the regular Glor Sessions in the International.('scuse fadas) A young man (sorry folks, no good with names) got up and told a very funny story about his Dad getting stoned and how they tried to keep it from his Mam. There was a love story told by a man called Gerry who has one of the most mellifluous voices I've ever heard, someone on the radio should snap him up. An American gentleman told a Fionn McCool story, (why is it Americans tell our folk tales better than us?). A flame haired young lady called Sarah Griffin read a wonderful story that is endeavoring to be a play, it is a great story in whatever format in ends up in. Sarah appears to be both actress and writer and one of her plays is currently running in the Project - keep an eye on this girl, I think she will go far.
I read 'The 5.50 13A', not one of my better stories but suits the spoken word. It went down ok but I think but was overlong, I need to cut my stuff way down if I''m going to read again.
Jack Harte, the man who was instrumental in setting up both the Irish Writer's Centre and the Irish Writer's Union read from his new book of short stories. Every writer in the country owes a debt of gratitude to Jack for his sterling work on our behalf. I was glad to hear Jack is of my own opinion that the short story ( not the 'literary' short story) is fundamentally an oral art, stories that are meant to be told aloud and should be written accordingly.
Me brudder says I have to post a poem on me blog (even though I'm the first to admit I'm no poet) so I will and here it is.
PMT
Bloody Hell!
Why do
They
Assume that
I
Am obligated,
By my missing ‘Y’
To care for Life’s minutiae.
God Almighty!
What unnatural law dictates,
That irritating tasks require
Attention on those very dates
That I’m
Least capable.
Please explain
Why Cadbury’s Chocolate
And Tayto Cheese and Onion
together, yes, together
Provide the only comfort
That is acceptable.
Stupid Man!
He’d hear me if he listened.
But his head is full of sport
And silly things
like politics.
No room for me.
Just P.M.T.
An acrynomic diminution
For a hurricane of hormones,
Velocity immeasurable.
Batten down the hatches,
It’s gonna be a bumpy night.
That's meant to be centred and in bold but I cna't do it in this bleedin blog - just imagine it ok!
Showing posts with label milk'ncookies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label milk'ncookies. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Abuse and mince pies
Lads!
I’m distraught –somebody reported me for ‘abuse’ and I can’t post my blog link on my facebook wall or into my e-mails. Me! Abuse!
I went into my blog and looked at my posts (all two of them) and I genuinely cannot see what it is I wrote that someone found abusive.
Maybe it was because I used the ‘s’ word – the three-lettered one that ends in ‘x’. I thought we were beyond that. I thought that, like the use of Lord Voldemort ‘he who shall not be named’, it was acknowledged that use of a word could not harm or offend one or draw down the wrath of God on one.
Then I looked at the blogs again. Is it because I suggested that males were fundamental creatures? Was it a man who reported me- or a Mammy who is protecting her sons from any inference that they may not be as deep as they think they are?
Help me folks.
If you don’t tell me what it is I wrote that was offensive I’m likely to continue doing it and offending someone. I’m a nice person. Really.
Made a lorryload of home-made mincemeat last night for the home-made mince pies I’m taking to the milk n’cookies event in Temple Bar next week. Milk ‘N Cookies is a gathering of like-minded individuals who have formed a voluntary story-telling group that gather together to tell stories drink tea, coffee, milk and lots of lovely goodies. Everyone snuggles down on beanbags or duvets (there are chairs for those of us with effed up backs and knees) and in ambient lighting the story tellers weave their spells.
If I bring loads of mincers I’m hoping they’ll let me read one of my yarns possibly ‘The 5.50 19A’ which I have adapted for this particular session. One is supposed to tell rather than read a story, but I’m old and I’ve killed to many brain cells to memorise things any more. And to think I once played ‘Hamlet’ and never once fluffed a line. Hamlet at 17. Life was bound to go downhill after that.
I’m distraught –somebody reported me for ‘abuse’ and I can’t post my blog link on my facebook wall or into my e-mails. Me! Abuse!
I went into my blog and looked at my posts (all two of them) and I genuinely cannot see what it is I wrote that someone found abusive.
Maybe it was because I used the ‘s’ word – the three-lettered one that ends in ‘x’. I thought we were beyond that. I thought that, like the use of Lord Voldemort ‘he who shall not be named’, it was acknowledged that use of a word could not harm or offend one or draw down the wrath of God on one.
Then I looked at the blogs again. Is it because I suggested that males were fundamental creatures? Was it a man who reported me- or a Mammy who is protecting her sons from any inference that they may not be as deep as they think they are?
Help me folks.
If you don’t tell me what it is I wrote that was offensive I’m likely to continue doing it and offending someone. I’m a nice person. Really.
Made a lorryload of home-made mincemeat last night for the home-made mince pies I’m taking to the milk n’cookies event in Temple Bar next week. Milk ‘N Cookies is a gathering of like-minded individuals who have formed a voluntary story-telling group that gather together to tell stories drink tea, coffee, milk and lots of lovely goodies. Everyone snuggles down on beanbags or duvets (there are chairs for those of us with effed up backs and knees) and in ambient lighting the story tellers weave their spells.
If I bring loads of mincers I’m hoping they’ll let me read one of my yarns possibly ‘The 5.50 19A’ which I have adapted for this particular session. One is supposed to tell rather than read a story, but I’m old and I’ve killed to many brain cells to memorise things any more. And to think I once played ‘Hamlet’ and never once fluffed a line. Hamlet at 17. Life was bound to go downhill after that.
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