Categories
fiction Writing

Chapter 25, Dublin 2018 (an excerpt)

‘To us getting the outcome that we need tomorrow,’ I say, keeping my fingers crossed and wincing a little hoping that my suggestion goes down well.

Granted I am feeling a little tipsy, so I have built the confidence to say more than I would have at the beginning of our dinner, however these are things that need to be addressed so I am glad to be the one that is doing so.

‘Cheers.’ Comes my thankful response and I am both relieved and happy that I dedicated this glass to the event.

‘You know, it’s going to be seriously difficult to see his face again. I always thought him a lovely lad but now, obviously, my opinions have changed entirely and I just want to rip him apart. I never thought I could kill, but now I know that I could.’

It is after Sheila has finished her miniature rant that I realise she too is probably feeling a little drunk and that is why the truth is all coming out. Being so reserved at first I thought this dinner was going to exhaust me but now the conversation, and the correct conversation at that, is coming so smoothly.

‘Did you know anything about the way he treated Brannagh?’ I ask her, genuinely shocked at Brannagh not asking her mother for help but rather coming to a total stranger in a different country – me.

‘Nothing,’ she pauses, and something appears to be on her mind. ‘I suppose occasionally she seemed a little distressed after seeing him or she would shut me off and just retreat to her room, but I always assumed that was down to her being on her period or that they had had an argument. It was never clear that something was actually wrong.’

‘That’s so sad that she couldn’t speak to any of us. I mean, she tried to tell me and I guess it’s easier telling an almost stranger than your mother but even then I am convinced she wasn’t telling me truly how bad it was.’

The service in the restaurant is great and I glance at my watch to check the time once we finish our mains. I can’t believe it is only half past nine, it feels as though we have been here much longer than that. I suppose the intensity of the conversation has prolonged time but still, I would have expected it to be at least an hour later than it is. However, we’re all tired and with a big day tomorrow we decide to take ourselves off to our separate beds, despite Eileen offering Sheila a glass back at her house.

I am glad Sheila declined this offer because I am tired but also wanted to debrief with my aunt on my own before tomorrow. We both feel that our meeting with Sheila went as well as it could have gone and that we covered many bases of difficult conversational topics. As a reward to us both for getting through it and to temporarily lessen our dread for tomorrow, we open a bottle of Champagne, a staple ingredient to the contents of Eileen’s fridge.

Categories
Adulthood Observations Writing

The different versions of you

You are an individual, of course you are, just like nobody else. You could be happy one day and another day sad but you’ll still do it differently to everyone. As important as it is to be you and the best version of it that you can be, I still think we all have numerous very different versions of what this is.

There’s the work one. The I must be polite to everyone one. The musn’t swear no matter how better it will make me feel one. The must work hard even though I am so tired one.

There’s the play one. The swear as much as you like one. The drink as much as you can one. The no regrets until morning one.

There’s the meeting old friends one. The can’t stop talking and who needs to take breath anyway one. The so much to catch up on so the conversation is meaningful one.

There’s the friend you see every day one. The still can’t allow for breath but talking about nothing one. The let’s have another glass and talk more rubbish one.

There’s the happiness around dogs one. The forgiving for everything one. The being delighted no matter how bad they are being one – because who can be sad around dogs?

There’s the holiday one. The off duty one. The nothing matters how long it takes one. The I don’t care about organisation I have all the time in the world one. The no cares at all one.

There’s the mundane day one. The I have an hour to do everything so I’m going to stress about it all one. The getting home and listing all the things that I’ve stressed about and laughing it off in the car one.

There’s the crisis one. The everything is such a HUGE deal one. The how can I possibly cope one. The screaming at the top of my lungs while driving down country roads one.

There’s the reasoning one. The logical one. The irritatingly calm one. Jumping in when chaos has struck one.

For me, personally, there’s the questioning one. The querying all that I’m doing and all I’ve ever done one. Wondering if I’ll ever get married, find success, where I’ll end up one. The somewhat dramatic one.

Then there’s the writer in me. The fighter in me. The never giving upper in me. The I am happy, the stop worrying about the future, the keep going, pour another gin.

They may appear to be very different people, but I feel that these are all versions of one you.

Categories
Adulthood Observations Writing

20 ways that my full time job enhances my creative ambition

Having attended university and obtained an above average degree, people often ask me what’s next. I sometimes think that because they can’t physically see the results of my writing and where it could lead, they feel that I go home and do nothing or that I haven’t much ambition at all.

As good as I’ve got at not feeling the need to justify myself anymore, I won’t. Instead, I will tell you all of the wonderful ways that having my full time job at a Post Office and Stores enhances my creative ambition.

  1. It brings new ideas from the situations I encounter
  2. It enhances the personalities of my characters through the variety of people I meet
  3. Providing a break from my desk work is SO HELPFUL
  4. As is earning money so I’m not stressed while I write, since I don’t earn too much from writing yet
  5. It provides another purpose on days when writing isn’t happening
  6. I find so much blog material through working with people
  7. I have many positive chats through my working days about what I am deciding to do
  8. Peers are always interested and encouraging in my slightly off-piste approach, as we chat over the preparation of a bacon sandwich
  9. Hearing how others have overcome hurdles in life and ended up as successful as they are now provides a huge boost
  10. I add to my skill set outside of writing, learning new things every day (including managing the little time that I have to write effectively!)
  11. I get support from customers
  12. I get support from colleagues
  13. I get support from my bosses
  14. Free (amazing, thank you) proofreaders
  15. Advice
  16. Connections
  17. Book recommendations
  18. Opportunities
  19. Inspiration
  20. Happiness
Categories
Writing

Excerpt from Chapter 6, London 1988

She could see signs everywhere and arrows and exits. There were members of staff stood around not doing much at all and others who looked rushed off their feet, so she wondered why they didn’t get better at sharing the workload. The first bag came around the corner and a very happy couple grabbed it finding it hilarious that they didn’t have to wait and could beat the traffic queues. Mary hoped that the smug couple’s car battery had run down like it had on her mum’s car when they were due to go to her gran’s once or that they couldn’t find their keys. Then she silently had a word with herself for being so cynical as they were probably lovely people, she was just bored of walking then waiting then walking so much.

Once they had grabbed their bags and Séan had figured out taxi numbers and prices with the very helpful lady in the tourist information centre, they headed to the rank for another waiting episode during which Mary observed maturely the goings on around her. She often did this and anybody who she openly spoke to about what she perceived would tell her that she had an old head. She never knew what they meant by this expression but nodded and continued her inspections.

The taxi driver was very nice, but he too had that funny accent the same as the man on the passport desk. The taxi was also something new and one thing about England that she had seen photographed – the black cab. She couldn’t remember where she had seen it and gathered that tourist shops in Ireland wouldn’t be promoting very English memorabilia, but she had definitely seen a picture of the famous British feature. She thought it was surreal to be witnessing the reality of these vehicles and cooler still to be travelling inside one.

Mary had always felt that the traffic was bad in Dublin but London trumped Dublin’s busiest times. For the entire journey all Mary heard was the beeping of horns from angry drivers. She found it funny to watch the anger show all over their faces and in the dramatic hand gestures which were sometimes quite rude. What all the fuss was about she didn’t know, nor could she understand why people thought that making this commotion inside your car would help the traffic move more smoothly.

Luckily the two of them were in no rush so the traffic was ok. It will be different when her dad begins work, she noted. This train of thought entering her head made her wonder what her dad was planning to do for work over in London and whether he had sold McDintons or kept it in case they decided to move back home.

All of these questions she stored away for a later date because she felt it too soon to be bombarding her dad with them. Besides, for all she knew he could be feeling quite nervous too.

She couldn’t believe how absorbed in the goings on back home she had been not to notice conversations about the pub or her dad’s work. She was used to listening in on her parent’s conversations always wanting to know absolutely everything but without her mum she figured that no conversation was interesting enough for her to care about anymore.

The chat between her dad and the taxi driver was pretty boring in Mary’s opinion which was why her mind was focussed on other topics. She hadn’t been in many taxis in her lifetime because mostly they spent their free time in the city; if they had gone away it would have been with an auntie or her parents, so they would have taken the car. She did remember in the few taxi rides she’d had there were similarly dull discussions during them though. It was full of what she understood as being small talk. She’d never wanted to travel far if she was with her mother because she worried it would get awkward as her mum often ran out of things to say. Séan on the other hand never had this problem and was the king of this small talk which he was demonstrating in the current situation.

As they got closer to their destination which was unknown to Mary, the houses became larger and less cramped together. The tacky looking newsagents which were cropping up every other building before had vanished and the dirty streets had become much cleaner. Some of the fronts of the buildings looked more like palaces than people’s homes and Mary wondered which one the queen lived in. Perhaps it was one of those. Perhaps they were to be staying with a member of the royal family. She swiftly stopped those thoughts knowing with certainty that the Queen lived at Buckingham Palace and hoped that her dad would take her there quite soon.

Even though it had been drilled into her from a young age that she had Irish blood and the English were very much a separate entity, one thing she had always loved about England from the little that she knew was the royal family. She had watched Princess Diana and Prince Charles’ wedding on her auntie’s television during the summer holidays. She sat there for the whole day being fed ice cream and fruit but not moving her eyes from the box. Her aunt was having a party which most certainly was not in aid of the wedding, but Mary removed herself from this and was utterly absorbed by Dianna’s beauty and the sheer Britishness of it all. She realised that this was going against all morals that her parents had taught her but, in that moment, she didn’t care at all.

Categories
Observations Writing

Easy Like A Sunday Morning: a writer’s take

Sundays. What a brilliant day. Aren’t they just the best day of the week?

No work (for most people), a quiet space (in most places) and an all round chilled vibe.

As an aspiring writer, I struggle through the week to squeeze everything into my tight schedule. Of course, I have a full time job on top of all the writing that I do because what writer starting out doesn’t? But also I find that I take on so many different projects and this can be both good and bad.

For my brain and writing capabilities it is good to test out different styles and writing for different purposes. I gain experience in writing fiction, press releases, blog posts, academic essays and the list goes on which is great.

On the other hand, it can all get too much and occasionally I find myself unable to work to the best of my ability because I am trying to cram so much into the little time that I have in between shifts.

This is why I LOVE Sundays.

Not only is it an opportunity to have a BREAK and time out away from my laptop (just like I am NOT doing now on a sunny Sunday morning writing this post), but it also gives me time to concentrate, get into the writing zone and dedicate quality time to some of the projects that pass by so fleetingly throughout the week.

Whenever I look back at the work that I have done (whenever I get a chance to do so) the best quality are the pieces I have written on days where I have had more time and haven’t been constantly checking the clock to see how long I have left. Days where I have chosen to sit down and write at the time I choose and for however long it takes are the days where I produce the best stuff.

And there’s no better time to produce the good work than on a Sunday. The air feels clear, the diary is empty and the vibes are strong.

It’s ‘easy like a Sunday morning.’