My Irish Sabbatical

Time Out in Ireland - Just the book you need for a sabbatical in Ireland

I wish that everyone could get the opportunity to take some serious time out from work. And by this I don’t mean a few months off to have a baby, or time off because of an involuntary redundancy. But real time off that was planned for – a sabbatical in other words.

I didn’t quite plan to have so much time off work myself. It has been the accidental by-product of relocating to Ireland at precisely the worst moment in history to do so. However, my unemployed status has not been without its benefits. I have had time to really think about what I want to achieve in life, and what is important to me.

I always knew that I wanted to be a writer, and this little journey started long before I moved to Ireland. But it is here that my quiet ambition has been allowed to mature into something more tangible. I have now published a novel, albeit just on Kindle at this moment in time. However, this small act is enough to make me feel like a published writer. I even have an email from Amazon congratulating me on this achievement. The novel is selling, and I have even had my first review – five stars no less. However, what gave me the most satisfaction were the emails and text messages from people who have read my novel and loved it. Now that feels like an achievement!

This year of unemployment has been tough for me. I have spent over 30 years in paid employment and I love working. I have made some of my best friends (and worst husbands at work) and it feels good to be busy and an active member of society. The constant rejection, or even blank silences, in response to the hundreds of job applications I have made since I moved to Ireland has threatened to drain all my reserves of confidence. So my little Kindle experiment has at least helped to balance this out.

But this past year has been good for something else. I want to be a writer; but since that won’t pay all the bills I have decided that I would like to do something a little more meaningful than work in an office for the rest of my life. I need to have more balance in my life. I don’t want to spend all day at a computer and then spend all my spare time on my laptop, writing. I want to do something that makes a difference to people’s lives. I also know that as much as I love Ireland, my heart really belongs in Shetland and therefore, we are probably going to move back there before too long.

So I had better finish my “Irish” novel pretty quick while I still have time to do so.

Misplaced parental anxiety

I realise that publishing my novel via Amazon as a Kindle download is not the pinnacle of publishing success. It would be much better for my novel to have been picked up by a real publisher and produced as a paperback. However, this has not happened yet, and I felt as if time was running out for this book. I wrote it over three years ago, although I have been tinkering with it ever since trying to edit out as many errors and typos as I could find. It was time to let this baby go and start to concentrate on the next one. But no sooner had I, metaphorically, pushed it out of the nest than I wondered whether it was the right thing to do.

Now it is out there, floating in the great ether of the electronic publishing world waiting for someone to notice it.

Many people have already read the novel in its draft form. Mostly friends and family, and without exception they have loved it. But then again they would, wouldn’t they, or they would keep a diplomatic silence on the issue.
Now complete strangers are free to buy it and to make comment on it. I have read some of the comments on Amazon that people have written about other author’s novels. Some of them are not pretty.

Ever since I had two children I have spent every minute of every day worrying about them; hoping they are safe, well and happy. Now I almost feel as if I have another baby to worry about. Suppose nobody loves this one. Should I have kept it at home with me a little while longer?

I guess time will tell.

Launching my novel on St Patrick's Day

I have finally plucked up the courage to launch my first novel onto the unsuspecting public. Dancing with the Ferryman was dreamt up one sunny afternoon when I looked out of my kitchen window and saw an ordinary man. At the risk of people identifying him I don’t wish to go into too much detail, but suffice it to say he was a typical Shetland man. That is to say, he was family oriented, hardworking in his three different jobs, not to mention maintaining a croft, and living in the house he built himself.

I thought of all the handsome heroes I had read about in the numerous chick-lit books and realised that there was an untapped source of romantic heroes right here on my island. Now all the women in Shetland reading this would probably think this was hilarious, as Shetland men are not renowned for their romantic notions. But it occurred to me that with a little bit of poetic license I could create the first proto-type. His name is Magnus – a typical Shetland name. He does not have a glamorous career in the city, he does not wear designer suits, drive a flash sports car and he is not tall dark and handsome with a chiselled jaw and a six pack. He is quietly spoken, maybe even a little shy and just a tad old fashioned. Not quite the standard issue 21st century hero.

Turning to my heroine I decided to see how far away I could get from the norm here as well. Jo is a rather ordinary woman. A civil servant, not stunningly gorgeous, maybe even a little frumpy, and she is pregnant as well.

With the two characters fairly well formed in my head all I had to do was find a way to get Jo to Shetland. The resulting novel is a love story, but not just between the characters. It is in effect a love story about Shetland.

The story is entirely fictional, but it was inspired by my love of Shetland. I first visited Shetland on the 8th February 2003 for a weekend. It was grey and miserable when I landed but it was still love at first sight. I went back to work on Monday and resigned. I put my house on the market and moved up on 2nd June 2003; and never regretted it. Although I am now living in Ireland I do not think it will be too long before we move back home.

Dancing with the Ferryman can be downloaded from the Amazon website from 17 March 2010. It costs $2.99 or the sterling equivalent (about £2.15). If you do not own a Kindle you can download the Kindle software from Amazon onto you PC, Mac or as an Android application onto your smart phone.

Motivation and Targets

On Saturday morning I accompanied my husband to the gym for the first time. It was, after all, three weeks in to 2011 and getting fit was one of my resolutions. I got started on the bike, but after pedalling for a few minutes boredom set in. My legs could have gone on for ages but it feels alien for me to be sat without some kind of entertainment. The TV screen in front of me was tuned to Coronation St – and I don’t do soaps. The husband came to my rescue and handed me an iPod. The music was an instant boost to my motivation to stay on the bike, although I had to work hard at suppressing the impulse to sing along.

My husband has set himself the challenge of completing an Ironman triathlon later this year. He turns 50 in December, so I guess this is something of a mid-life crisis for him. But better an Ironman race than a blonde or a Ferrari. The training for this event is taking over his life. He goes to the gym twice a day, watches what he eats and is generally making a huge transformation to his life. He has lost two stone, radically changed shape and has tons more energy. All of this should be enough of an inspiration for me to follow suit. You’d think!

Getting fit is such a nebulous target. What does it really mean for me personally? I think I need to set a proper fitness challenge for myself. But it certainly won’t be an Ironman, that’s for sure. I might be able to swim and cycle well enough, but I certainly couldn’t run a marathon.

But whilst I was thinking about my resolution to get fit, I started wondering about my other resolution; to get published. What does this mean? I could achieve it tomorrow if I downloaded my novel onto the Amazon Kindle site. But that would not give me the same sense of achievement that getting it published in the conventional way would bring. The trouble is I am not able to take total control over my publishing destiny. It will involve lots of hard work on my part, but also some degree of luck that I get a publisher interested in my work.

Without a definitive writing target to aim for it is sometimes hard to maintain the effort. There is no equivalent to putting on an iPod to keep you going whilst you type. In fact music, television and the Internet are huge distractions.

There are however a number of interim targets to aim for. I have to have something suitable to read aloud at my writers’ group every fortnight. I can enter writing competitions and I have set a target to enter the Bridport Prize this summer. I can finish my MA, and then perhaps I can set my sights upon the writing equivalent of an Ironman – a three book publishing deal. A girl can dream!

Only in my dreams

Goran Visnjic - he's so fine

Sometimes I envy those people that claim not to dream in their sleep. How nice it would be to fall asleep safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to fight off the lion in your wardrobe. I haven’t been reading any CS Lewis recently but I do have frequent dreams about inappropriate wild animals roaming around my house. Although in my dreams I never seem to be alarmed by such events, but when I wake up I always feel slightly disoriented and inexplicably tired.

Fantastical dreams aside, the most annoying are those that are plausible, and involve real people that I know. I am plagued by very realistic dreams that involve mundane conversations and events, that subsequently disguise themselves as memories in my mind. If they involve someone I know it can be hard to shake off the feeling that we have shared a moment that didn’t actually happen. It leaves me unreasonably disgruntled over an argument, and even when I have worked out that the argument didn’t happen, I sometimes wonder whether the dream was the result of some subconscious undercurrent of feeling. But it never is.

Dreams are just so bizarre, seemingly independent of reality and frustratingly uncontrollable. They might be inspired by a film, a book or a conversation, but for the most part the outrageous plotlines appear out of the blue. I wish I had more control over my dreams. Goran Visnjic wouldn’t get much sleep, that’s for sure. But it strange that for someone who spends most of the day plotting stories, my subconscious imagination sometimes shows more potential for creativity. Perhaps I should turn my hand at fantasy fiction, where lions and tigers roaming in the house, and speaking, would be par for the course.

The Clonmel Writers' Group

The ultimate tonic - Writers' group meeting and a pint of the black stuff

For someone who aspires to be a writer there is nothing better than getting together with other like-minded people for inspiration and a lifting of the spirits. On Tuesday evening I went along to my first meeting of the Clonmel Writers Group. I had had a truly miserable day and was feeling deflated by a horrible interview at a call centre. The interview was a partial success as they called me back for a second interview, but by then I had decided I would rather sell one of my kidneys than work in some a hideous environment. I almost didn’t go to the Writers’ group as I was in such a blue funk. However, I knew that if I didn’t go then I would regret it later, probably half-way through a football match that I would probably have to endure as the evening’s alternative entertainment.

I had trouble finding the venue. The meetings are held in St Mary’s Pastoral Centre, which is confusingly close to St Mary’s Parish Hall which was hosting a Karate class. I finally found the Pastoral Centre, hidden in the grounds of St Mary’s primary school. It was locked and all the lights were off. I was only 5 minutes early so with nobody around I started to think I had got the day wrong. The rain was lashing down and I was about to go home and sulk when a group of people approached me. All budding writers; and one of them had the key to the hall.

I was made to feel very welcome and had a very enjoyable evening, listening to a diverse variety of poetry, short stories and the continuation of one person’s draft novel. After the meeting we adjourned to a nearby pub, and continued the discussion about writing, books and local community life. It was a great craic and I went home feeling a million times better. And to top it all, they meet up every two weeks, so I know that I don’t have to wait too long until the next meeting.

Happy Holidays and the Return of my Mojo

Castletownbere - Well worth a visit!

In the past I have often been at my most creative whilst under pressure. I have used writing as an escape valve from life and this has never failed me before. Recently however, possibly due to the numerous household upheavals this year, I have found it harder to remain focussed on my work. I have managed to keep on top of college deadlines, but everything else stopped. This lack of creative energy crept up on me. I noticed that I wasn't reading so much, in fact a week went by and I hadn't picked up a book. For anyone who knows me well, this is indicative of a serious internal crisis.

Every night, exhausted from packing/unpacking and organising new schools and Christmas, I went to bed with a completely empty head. No stories to plot, no movie scripts creeping uninvited into my dreams. Nothing! It was kind of scary after a lifetime of being bombarded with odd characters and plotlines.

So it was with some relief that our Christmas holiday in Castletownbere, West Cork seems to have done the trick. Despite the snow and ice, which was followed swiftly by wind and rain we had a great time catching up with friends and simply chilling out. We had an interesting drive around the Beara Peninsula and whilst I stared out of the window at the craggy rocks and soggy sheep I realised that my first "Irish" novel had been conceived. This little embryo is now taking shape and occupies all my down-time, and I think it will be a beauty.

All I needed was a holiday!