The one thing that academia has given me, however is the freedom to read books that I never felt clever enough to read before, I am devouring books like a starving marvin.  I always thought that there was a glass ceiling for me when it came to literature, but getting this Masters has made me realise that even the working class amongst us can savour the the true wonder of words.

On my way to the library yesterday there was a fella  standing in the middle of the road dressed as a tree, then when I got to there  Chris Eubank was there browsing the books trying to  be recognised without his monacle. Outside was a farmers market and when I had a half an hour break from my work I was entertianed by a one man band with cymbals on his ankles, a bluegrass trio and a brass band in Pavillion Gardens.  On the way back were the two cutest little indie kids singing Green Day- all that, and the sun was shining! ! How I managed to get 5 hours  writing done I’ll never know- but having less time makes the writing time you do have more productive- well…that’s the theory anyway!   The best thing a writer can do is look and listen. The world presents all the material you’ll ever need.

Today I went into the Real Eating Company – A really posh glass fronted eatary that I thought would throw me out for dropping my ‘r’s-  but it was BRILLANT- what did I see in big letters on the menu only BARRY’S TEA- the pride of Cork- I couldn’t believe it. My mammy would be dancing a jig on a cloud if she could see it. Barry’s tea- top of the Menu in a place I was too scared to go into despite all my degrees.  Nothing tastes more like home than this tea- I remember sitting in my Nana’s house drinking Barry’s  tea out of a chipped Daniel O’ Donnell mug after she’d conned my brother into giving me the comfy chair.  What’ll turn gormet next? Taytos?

Barry’s tea is a great cure for a hangover.  Last night I had the pleasure of enjoying my Birthday with a great goup of friends who managed to get eighteen swedes to dance the Seige of Ennis in a two foot space- I would have rung NorrisMac Werter- but I’ve heard that he doesn’t work for the Guinness book of Records any more coz he’s dead- bless him.   On our way home we were accosted by a crustie poet and a double bass player.  The crustie was a very good performance poet as it happens, but surely there are better ways of networking and raising your writing profile than accosting people in the street.   I’ve been told that blogging is very good for this, although I sometimes wonder if it takes away from one’s writing time…..so on that note I’ll get on with it!

When Jesus was my age he’d walked on water, risen from the dead and saved mankind…..and what have I done?  I havn’t even passed my 100 metre swimming badge-but I’ve done loads of other  things.  Every second of our life is so precious- we’ve gotta make the most of it- so bring on the fun the positive people and the hangover that I’ve inevitably earnt.  My baby will have no sympathy for me tomorrow when my head’s spinning  and I’m trying to complete my Masters  but I don’t care coz  every moment is a gift- just ask a survivor.

PS: If Jesus would have turned water into wine in Cork there’d be a riot….why didn’t he turn it into beer like?

The great thing about being a writer is that we don’t have to be perfect immediately- it’s only the finished product that needs to be polished .   I think the thing that holds some people back,  is the fear of getting it wrong.  You are not obliged to show anyone the first draft- it can  and should be worked on. 

Just write, you can’t be wrong.  Maybe within that pile of words you’ll find ‘diamonds in the dustheap,’ as Virginia Woolfe once  said.   If you were too scared to write in the  first place then you’d never find those diamonds and never realise what you were truely capable of.   Writing Down the Bones is a brilliant exploration of this.  

We are working on paper or computers  not on marble or semi precious stones- it’s not like we are sculpters who could hit the chisle too hard and competely ruin the piece we are working on.    Everything is redeemable and can be recovered.  It doesn’t matter if you make mistakes.   We are working on paper so there is no need for anybody to see cracks that may have once appeared- we can work hard enough to make it look like the cracks never existed.  We can recycle all that pulp to create something beautiful.

The great thing about that as far as I’m concerned is that the writer is a reflection of his society. An accessible figure; the people’s bard. The one thing I loved about the Listowel Writers Week was the lack of pomp and ceremony; the fact that you could walk into a pub and hang out with Clive James,  Frank Mc Court, the fiddler from the Dubliners etc- All men truely met as equals.

I’m afraid I don’t go in for the writer’s myth or the cult of the writer- that you go around sighing and being hit by a muse- hanging around on the peripharies of societies looking in.  Although, I suppose, to a degree, moving away from home and writing about that society, like Joyce did, is one way of looking at it subectively.

  As far as I’m concerened writing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration……and sometimes that percentage changes depending on the day.    Writing can be hard work- there’s no point in going around talking about it! Just get on with it- no matter what life throws in your way. I went on a writing  course a few months ago run by Mavis Cheek.  She had written a poem about this very subject. The last line went somthing like …’no time- no talent more like.’  I wouldn’t be that harsh but really,  there are 24 hours in a day- so if you really want to write just get on with it even if it’s just for one of those hours.

I’m currently finishing a Masters in Creative Writing- and I think the best lesson I even learnt was when my tutor said, ‘Lots of people ask me how to write- and I’m gonna show you,’  and then he picked up his pen and scribbled on the page saying, ‘That’s how you write.’

 I’m an Irish  writer and musician living in Brighton. I won the Listowel Writers Week Short Story Award and picked up an award from Frank Mc Court. Whilst there I had the pleasure of reading with Jennifer Johnston and Dermot Bolger. My work is like Fr Ted through  a woman’s eyes.  I have  read at the Komedia and numeorus venues throughout Brighton and am currently writing a novel and completing a Masters in Creative Writing and Authorship at Sussex University

I’m also in a girl band- well a traditional Irish trio.  We’ve had some  great craic supporting the Saw Docs  and playing for the Ireland Cricket team- most of whom are Australian!  This week we played at  Stamner House and at a Wedding in Hersmanceaux Castle.  I co-founded the Brighton Irish Society and spend the rest of  the time hanging out with my beautiful baby girl who has recently taken over my study and evicted me to the shed! I  usually write in there now or in the teashops and libraries of this ecclectic city.    I love living in Brighton. It’s such a relaxed and open minded city.

I am brand new to blogging but I went on a great writing course last weekend and they said that it was well worthwhile.

The other day I was trying to write my novel in an antique tea shop in Kemptown. There I was, getting into the flow, when a flim crew from Channel Five walked in, a man started playing the piano and all the staff became extra friendly. It was for a new prime time show about Brighton starting at 8pm on Friday.

Needless to say, I spent the whole time checking my make-up and patting my newly coiffered hair, which unfortunately made me look like Noel Fielding in a wind tunnel. I am not cool enough pull off this hair do. Not much writing got done at all that day. I spent most of the time looking down at my laptop worrying about what my hair would look like on the TV.

Now I write in my three-foot shed in my six foot garden. In the three weeks that it’s been up, it’s been a wendy house, a tea shed a bowling ally and last night, finally, it became mummy’s writing shed. So I stayed up til 4am writing my masterpiece, while, for the first time in a year, my baby slept through the night.