Brings Tears

If you wish to buy the book the link is here.

I've been so moved by readers over the years. Especially those who get so involved in my works of fiction that they can't bear not knowing if the character was based on real life and on whom, or what happens next, or what was their childhood like or did their conflict resolve or....I had this experience when writing for a magazine years ago and also when I toured my play. It touches my heart at such a deep level.

As a result of the anthology I have many readers "find" me on the web. My name is unusual enough in that a Facebook search always givas an ah-ha! moment and then a private message.

I've received a few of these since the book was published. One brought a heartfelt message from a young man saying in all his years he never heard of another whose name (mine) was the exact same as his dear grandmother's.

Another said the story of "Norah" hit him so badly that he had to find out if I knew this person in real life as everything about her was so real and authentic and I could only write it if I actually knew her. (No I didn't, except in my head).

Another told me that she had lived the experience in "Lament" and I must have been there too and watched the whole thing take place. (No, I didn't - but any betrayed woman knows the frozen feeling).

I am so grateful when people take the time to write to me and express their feelings about my work. Yeah, tears spring.

And I usually take the time to write to authors I admire also.

Karma can be a good thing.

Pearls to Swine?

My latest card.

Kinda harsh, that header isn't it?

I was chatting to a close friend today as it is her birthday. She's an artist and we rambled on, as old friends tend to do, about the reception given some of our creative gifts.

Example 1 for me was a beautiful afghan I had knitted as a gift for some family members. These afghans are designed and executed by me and encompass over 100 hours of my time, effort and love. And I didn't even get a thank you card. I suppose a quickly written cheque would have been more acceptable to them? Probably.

Example 1 for her was a painting she had created over days in her studio especially for a couple who were celebrating their 45 year wedding anniversary last Saturday. The gift was received with a reluctant "oh, that's nice." and left on the floor while the couple went on to ooh and aah over some crystal glasses.

I was reminded of a reaction by another friend last week when I presented her with 6 of my cards of local scenes with my poetry on the back. "Oh, I have no use for these" she said as she handed them all back to me.

There are dozens more examples. And they far outweigh the appreciative comments or even token "thank yous"

It's easy to say not to be hurt or diminished by such behaviour as maybe there are some who feel valued only by the money spent on them and not the painstaking love and effort put into a one of a kind creative offering.

But we're both human. And struggling artists. And it's a lonely old world when you spend most of your days in creative solitude.

And an appreciative word doesn't go amiss once in a while.

Dreams

Topsail Beach, yesterday. October!!!
 

I arrived home last night to a lineup of phone messages. One friend has been trying to get hold of me for days. A lot has been happening in her family of origin in Dublin, illness, shifts in care for an elderly mother, family dynamics excluding her periodically ("the emigrant").

One can lose sight of our dreams when troubles like these invade. Her dreams have been on hold for a while. I fear they might be buried. Avalanches of concern can take over our lives if we allow them to. And often there is nothing we can do about any of it. But still, it clogs up the arteries of existence, makes it all a trial. I heard her out. It took a while. We remain stagnant in such situations. Life comes to a halt. Daily life is a trudgery of a drudgery. Our imaginations park at the stop signs. She mentioned anniversaries of the friends that have passed before us. And another friend of hers who has 6 brain tumours mestastasised from the lungs (yeah, a life-long smoker). Life does become this when we are burdened. Death nodding at us from every dark corner.

She wound down and asked me about my life, Ireland, the time with the family in West Cork. Before, I would have toned it down a little. To fit in with her bleak landscape. But I didn't. My end of the conversation was celebratory, seizing the days past and present, wringing the juice out of life, affirming my decision to say goodbye to the day job, telling her that if it didn't work out financially, bankruptcy was always an option, even at my age, so maybe the poor house would loom, but you know, the Hemlock Society is a definite possibility if that happened. Meanwhile I would do my very best to work as a full-time writer with no distractions at all. I have many cans of tuna in my cupboard and a freezer full of berries and homemade soups and stews.

Yeah, she responded, the time is now. Everything else is a distraction. I feel a bit better. I need to get on with my own dreams.

And last night? I dreamed of a baby, swaddled in handknit blankets who had been given in to my care. And I showed this tiny baby the world. Wow!

And this may be the last post for a week or so. I am heading off to a Writers' Conference. Just like a real writer.

I still can't believe it. Keep your fingers crossed for me. And yeah, I'll be reading publicly. And yeah, I'm working one on one with a world famous writer.

And finally - don't be one of the 99% who die with their music locked within them. Take the first tiny step today.

Start with The Dream Book.

Blog Jam

Thanks for all the good thoughts on my last post, some of you took the time to email me privately and I am so grateful for that. I am truly amazed at the circle of love out there both in blog land and in my own personal sphere. Two particular friends of mine have been like bodyguards in the last few days and another friend dropped in unexpectedly as she had some sort of vibe that things were not so good. They still aren't. I've got an action plan but patience is running thin as to implementation and/or success.

Courage! Said in the French way. Always.

Elsewhere, I found this nugget on the web. Something that prods my thinking and my creativity is always welcome.




Right now I'm doing the stuff that earns me a sorta-living. Taxes. And editing a collection of short stories along with the editor. And both promoting and planning a series of rehearsals for fresh performances of Da Play.

All a little half-heartedly. A little sadly. Sometimes a little dramatically: Why me?? Oh Gawd why me?? enunciated loudly to the dog from the bottom of the stairs as she blinks at me from the top step, head on paws, waiting for the command to descend said stairs if I could get my act together.

And why not me? Drops of rain and all that.