Friday Quicktakes

1. January is almost over and thank God for that. It felt like three months- the awful weather, the short days and the whole 'being broke after Christmas' thing is bad enough, but throw a dry January into the mix and I was into a whole new level of fun.

But...I did it and just as I'd suspected,  the weeks were grand, but the Friday and Saturday nights lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. (Translation- they were very dull indeed.) It may well have been mostly psychological, but the lack of that seven o'clock glass or two to herald in the weekend was a right old beehatch.

Overall, I suppose that I'm that glad I did it...and it DOES mean that I'll be enjoying a liquid Lent with no guilt whatsoever, but I'm glad it's almost over. The thing is, I fantasied about having a cheeky glass FAR more than I usually would simply because it wasn't on the cards... Like dreaming of chocolate when you're on a diet. But never fear,  rest assured that tomorrow evening I'll be getting very cosy with a bottle of prosecco. Hello February!!


2. I started back to my writing class last week where there's a few fresh faces and a few familiar ones as well. I actually felt like quite the old hand, with one whole semester under my belt. Not that I've much to show for it mind, but I no longer felt that I was a fraud amongst all the 'proper' writers.
I'm gradually learning not to waste time thinking about writing, or worrying how my offerings will
compare to others, but just to bloody write. Even if it's complete rubbish that will never see the light of day, because hopefully the very act of writing will eventually produce something worth reading. And just getting something, anything down on paper- a very shitty first draft (SFD- thank you again Anne Lamott)- is better than a pile of thoughts and a blank screen.  So did I do that today? Nope, I mooched over here to shoot the breeze with you. But it's still writing...right?



3. Cute picture- couldn't resist. Here's Luke sporting a little something Cormac got for his birthday. Suits you sir!

















4. This week Ireland has gone Garth Brooks mad. He started off playing  two nights and seems to be adding more every hour.  We're one of the lucky ones to be making the pilgrimage to Croke Park in July and I CANNOT WAIT.

It may be a slightly inappropriate comparison but I can only compare the excitement and build up to Pope John Paul II's visit in 1979...only with less praying and more cowboy hats and rhinestones.
See y'all there, all y'all. (Technically that's correct)

5. Boogie in the car seat today HAS to be a Garth number because quite simply, how could it not!? Love this song-hope you do too!
See you in February lovelies xxx

Notes on Writing

So, my writing class finishes tomorrow and, after a few speed wobbles, I've decided to take the plunge and sign up for next term. I had picked this class simply because it had the word 'writing' in the title, and because it was one of the few morning classes available.  I kinda ignored the word 'Novel' which came before the 'Writing' part, so it's no surprise that I felt, and feel, more than a little out of my depth.

Some people are even editing and now sending their 80000 word books off to agents and publishers! Others are in the throes of  their novels, wrestling with plots and characters and endings. And then there's me (and one or two others) who feels like a first year that's wandered into an A level class by mistake. Apparently I'm still 'finding my voice', which simply means that most of the time I've no idea what I'm going to write about. Thankfully though, our American teacher is just wonderful - patient, encouraging, and completely unfazed by the wildly different levels in her class.

There've been homeworks every week, and although no one checks it, we're supposed to have a word target of about 1000.... which is why I havent been around here as much lately! There're weeks I nail the 1000, but mostly I haven't managed it, so I write a blog post instead. Somehow, it's always much easier coming over here and talking to you than staring at a blank screen and wondering how the feck I'm going to 'torture my characters'.

Another part of being in a writing class is the sharing of your work with the class - whenyou'rereadynopressuretakeyourtime - and everyone is supposed to say at least 2 positive things before they make any suggestions on how it might possibly be improved. (Shit sandwich, anyone?)
Wellllllll, I haven't been brave enough to do it yet, obvs. Gimme a break! Some of the writing is so achingly good, that it's only in the last week or so that I've gone from thinking 'Not in a zillion years, baby!'  to 'Maybe, if I washed a Valium down with whiskey first.'

To be honest with you, I think I'd have given up, if it hadn't been for a brilliant book called 'Bird by Bird' by Anne Lamott - its 'Shitty First Drafts' chapter is famous in its own right! Loads of times when I was looking for an excuse to throw in the towel, and convincing myself that I was wasting my time and everyone else's, and what the hell was I thinking signing up for this, I'd read something she wrote that resonated with me so deeply,  I'd either burst out laughing or burst into tears. Such wisdom as,

'Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something-anything-down on paper.' 

And,
'I need to bring up radio station KFKD, or K-Fucked here.....If you are not careful, KFKD will play in your head twenty four hours a day, non stop in stereo. Out of the right speaker in your inner ear will come the endless stream of self - aggrandizement, the recitation of one's specialness, of how much more open and gifted and knowing and misunderstood and humble one is. Out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self loathing, the lists of all the things one doesn't do well, of all the mistakes one has made today, and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything one touches turns to shit, that one doesn't do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on....The best way to get quiet, other than the combination of extensive therapy, Prozac and a lobotomy, is first to notice that the station is on.'

And
' Don't be afraid of your material or your past. Be afraid of wasting any more time obsessing about how you look and how people see you. Be afraid of not getting your writing done. If something inside you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things, write toward vulnerability. Don't worry about being sentimental. Worry about being unavailable, worry about being absent or fraudulent. Risk being  unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it.'

(I heart you, Anne Lamott.) And I actually got a final assignment submitted last week - just a short story but who knows? Maybe, I'll even be brave enough to put on here to see what you think...unless I get it back tomorrow with red scribbles all over it and a big fat F on the top. OMG, I hadn't thought of that!
OK OK, I'm turning off  KFKD right now.
 Laters, Loveliesxxx 

Just Another Date

 This week I've decided to give the 100 Word Challenge a go. It's a creative writing exercise run on Julia's Place where you respond to a particular prompt-this week it's a picture of a tree with an orange spot on it-a sign that the tree was to be felled. It can be interpreted in whatever way you like, as long as the words 'ORANGE SPOT' are included. Of course, me being me, I'm already thinking I've done it all wrong, but here's my humble little offering anyway. Go easy on me, it's my very first time!



 Just Another Date

She was impressed- Orange Spot had got great reviews since it opened AND it wasn't cheap. She liked that. At this point, she had endured so many rubbish dates in naff bars, that she'd considered cancelling her membership altogether...but she hadn't. Maybe it was because underneath the layers of cynicism and light-reflecting makeup, was a skim of hope. That this email, this one, would be different. Maybe. Then, all the warm Chardonnays and exit strategies would be worth  it. But as her taxi pulled up, and her eyes lit upon the man waiting outside, they widened in shocked disbelief.