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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.

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Writing

These were all their words, he was all mine

Katie Melua’s cover of What a Wonderful World came out strongly from the speakers because James always saw the goodness in everything and everyone. I was overtaken by past memories that left out the horror of the final years. I was remembering the happy times when our family was one and the times before we had a family at all when we loved every aspect that life threw our way. I could hear Sally crying next to Jack who didn’t know how to react in the situation he was in. His first funeral and it was for his dad. How cruel life was sometimes.

Readings came from the reverend who reeled off all of our blurbs put together mixed in with religious connotations of what he felt that death was to him. Abide with Me was the chosen hymn but my voice box failed me due to my weakness and my tears, so I enjoyed the sound of the organ playing a favourite of mine. The committal was spoken, and the curtains closed giving us all closure to a long-suffering horrendous incident. The brain is such a powerful organ. At least our James suffers no more.

As we exited the building for the part of a funeral that any family member dreads, I took Erin and Jack by the hands to the bouquet that some minutes before lay rested where their father was.

‘Take a daisy each,’ I urged to them, both looking fearful at ruining a beautiful display of flowers. ‘Go on, you’re allowed to.’ They each took their favourite coloured bud and cautiously held it in their small hands. ‘Now whenever you’re missing Daddy, press on this for comfort. He is always going to be with you.’ Erin smiled and Jack remained looking confused as we edged our way to stand and be sent many condolences from everybody who loved James.

A true character. A lovely soul. Kind and thoughtful, always giving his everything. Wonderful. Brilliant. Charming. These were all their words, he was all mine.

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Writing

Chapter 1, Dublin 2018

I had forgotten how magical this place had once made me feel until now, experiencing the magic all over again. I didn’t for one minute think that this would be the case, but I suddenly feel in control and at home. It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten my motive for the trip altogether and for a moment which feels longer than I imagine it is, I am enjoying this pleasant sensation and am at peace.

I have returned at a crucial time which becomes clearer to me as I see the abortion campaigns plastering the streets. I would have thought thirty years ago that this would have passed by 2018 and that the women of Ireland would have the freedom to choose, but instead the ‘No’ campaigners are not giving up their fight, attacking women across Ireland into feeling guilty for having a choice.

‘At 22 weeks I have fingernails, don’t repel me,’ reads one sign from the angry campaigners, desperately clinging onto the past and not accepting the different circumstances that women find themselves in. ‘A woman you love might need your yes,’ reads a board from the opposing side. I’m with the latter, giving women a choice and stopping hundreds who flee to England to safely abort a child that may not survive or abandon the memory of horrific and unwanted intercourse. There are individual stories and this needs to be addressed, but then that is only my opinion after all.

I ponder the debate for a while in blissful silence which is a miracle considering the company I am in. Erin has just bought new headphones so whilst ignoring the hardworking driver’s commentary, she’s listening to her Spotify playlist entitled ‘Musicals’, while Jack innocently attempts to grasp every word that the cheerful and witty commentator utters, adult jokes going straight over his head which I am thankful for.

I can’t believe how much this place has changed and how much my life has changed since I was here. Mammy instantly returns to my memory and though she doesn’t cross it much these days, it is comforting to feel. I don’t really know why I have returned anymore. At least in this current moment I haven’t a clue.

A tear drops from the corner of my eye and this as well as the rare Dublin sunshine forces me to put my sunglasses on. It’s a tear of happiness, of sheer contentment which I haven’t felt much at all for as long as I can remember. This place represents the start of everything for me and though I’m not as good as Jack and I’m ignoring every word that the driver is saying due to my mind wandering elsewhere, I think to myself how different things could have been.

‘Stop number twenty-two,’ the driver calls out. ‘The Guinness Storehouse.’ I’ve never been and right now I could demolish a pint of the black stuff like Daddy would if he were here with us but with two young children, I think I’ll pass. Most couples leave the top deck and prepare to stand in the long queue having missed the memo about pre-booking to avoid it. I look up to the top and dream about sitting alone in the Gravity bar staring out mindlessly onto the Wicklow Mountains in the distance. Then I’m suddenly back in reality when Jack claims he’s desperate for a wee. I guess we’ll be getting off at stop number twenty-three then.

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Writing

The Diary of my novel writing process: A First Attempt (section 2)

Keeping diary during my novel writing process was initially an idea that I thought would be interesting to read later down the line but after producing what follows I realise it was a necessity.

Here is my novel writing diary four months in until the end…

30/09/2018 12:23pm

My ‘Novel Ideas’ document which contains my chapter plan is now half complete, the chapters highlighted in green. I have always found so much satisfaction in ticking off lists and figured that in the digital world highlighting brings the same sense of achievement. The fact that the green is covering more than half pleases me no end and gives me the motivation to get to that place – the end.

Once I have a full first draft of my manuscript I am not only going to feel relieved and accomplished having completed an entire novel, I’ll be extremely proud to have stuck it out. Some chapters are much harder to write than others there’s no doubt. One’s with research or a special event from a slightly different culture like the Irish wedding are ones that I’m not overly comfortable with and won’t be until enough people who know have read it.

Writing about an Irish girl and Irish rituals, I have made sure that a close Irish Catholic friend of mine has been the first to read large chunks of my manuscript at a time. I am so grateful for her throughout this process as she is one who would tell me straight firstly about what she thinks of the idea and how it reads but also if I made mistakes within the Irishness.

I am grateful for every reader who willingly reads my work. All the feedback is great and I realise that most are biased being friends and family but it’s still feedback nonetheless.

48,602 words down, around 27,000 to go and hopefully a lifetime of success, launch parties and happiness. Perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself. We’ll see…

Sunday 14th October 2018

Thinking today about writing and its solitary ways. It may be the dreary weather outdoors or the three tequila shots that I consumed last night but I’m struggling today. The content I am writing is pretty sad too but I can usually handle this and move myself away from the story. Today, however, I’m finding it hard. The juggling of different projects. The not yet getting anywhere. The fact that time is ticking and I’m working relentlessly to make this work and the thought that it could all be for nothing and I’d be back to square one.

I’m never usually this down about it but today I’m feeling a splurge of the difficulties that, I am sure, all writers face. You sit at your desk creating these extra worlds and people to worry about. You write things that perhaps are for a commission or a course and don’t particularly interest you but it has to be done.

In fact, as is always the case, writing this down has lifted the heavy weight off of my shoulders and I am sat with a fresh coffee ready to keep on going, because after all that is what you have to do, keep going until you get somewhere.

29/11/2018

Final chapter. Flapjack on desk for energy. Coffee for more energy. Window open to let final motivation in. George’s birthday so feeling good. Up early, presents, write. Write. Write. Write.

27/01/2019

The feedback. Feeling thrilled (and shocked) still to have finished my first novel and thoroughly grateful already for the support from friends and family. I have handed it out in hard copy and PDF form to a number of people but with Christmas and New Year it has taken a while to receive feedback.

It’s always good when people support you in something that you love and that is exactly what is happening so far. My mum is the first to have finished and discussing my novel, my characters and my plot line over our bangers and mash this evening has been somewhat surreal. I even read aloud the final two chapters to my sister who liked what she heard and isn’t a reader herself. I must admit I was rather proud of what I had written, words that I had forgotten about entirely. Exciting times ahead, I hope, exciting times indeed.

Categories
Writing

The Diary of my novel writing process: A First Attempt (section 1)

This is something that I wasn’t sure I would publish before sending my novel out to those who will judge it from knowledgeable expertise, but reading it again I think it is quite interesting and perhaps useful to those in similar positions to me.

Here is a glimpse into my diary that I wrote during the process of completing my first ever manuscript. I’m almost ready to take this piece of work further into the big wide world but here is an insight into how it all began!

(There are many more entries that I will let you see soon!)

02/09/2018 12:20pm

For quite some time now I have known that I want to write. I’d love to make a living out of it too one day but for now I am finding my niche and doing as much as I possibly can of what I love the most – writing.

Earlier this year I took the plunge and sent off an idea to over one hundred agents in the UK. The basis was an extension from my dissertation that I had completed last year at university so after speaking to my tutor who told me to go for it, I did just that. The responses that I have so far received have been more encouraging than I had ever expected, and I even have a strong interest from one agent who sees potential so watch this space. . .

While waiting for responses though, which came flooding back thick and fast but over a matter of months, I thought a good use of my time would be to try to write a complete manuscript of a first novel. By this time, I had decided I wanted to be a published author having never been able to put a title to what I would like to do. While sat on an open top bus in Dublin I came up with the opening of my book.

Now about half way through and beginning chapter fourteen tomorrow, I thought I would start to log my experience of the process. Overall, I am loving every minute and very happy with the progress I am making week on week. However, honesty is the best policy and I would be kidding myself if I didn’t address the challenges that I sometimes face.

I think the style that I have chosen to write in has helped masses because each chapter is a different stage of my protagonist’s life so each time I finish a chapter, it’s as if I have a fresh start on the next one which definitely keeps my motivation levels up. I also have given myself a particular wordcount each time which acts as a finishing line and on days when the inspiration is non-existent, I fight through to get to the 3,000 word mark by the end of each week.

As well as lack of motivation some days and looking at the thing as a whole being quite daunting, I occasionally get into the rut of ‘this might all not be worth it.’ I could write an 80,000 novel and send it off to hundreds of agents for them all to come back with a big fat NO. Then again, it only takes one for my dream to be made a reality. Perspective.

I’d rather look at the challenges of writing such a mammoth piece of work as a journey that I am happy to complete. A journey that is going to improve my writing abilities. A journey which at the end will bring me pride no matter what the outcome.

With the biggest challenge I face being writers block which is definitely real, the majority of my time spent writing is therapeutic. An escape from this world into one that is entirely made up and created by moi.