Writing

I'm really looking forward to teaching a Creative Writing Workshop at Bridge House, Dungarvan this Saturday. The workshop is being held in association with Storytelling Southeast, a Writing Festival which occurs in Autumn. The festival team also support art and literature events throughout the year.

A solitary heron, silver-grey, his stature great, resides within the river village, old man hunched and scouring.

It's time to get Story Wise! This workshop should interest writers looking to improve their story-writing technique and offers the opportunity to 'Write a Story in a Day' in a relaxed and friendly environment, with support at every stage.

The Mask of Ophelia The Mask of Ophelia is a short story set in the theatre, written at a time when I was writing a...

I'm remaining very open minded about this novel I'm writing. It may not even be a novel. It could be a novella.

This moss is her island, its dewy green . . .

The maple leaf stops them. Its veiny palm invites examination, as peach and pale green cross shades. Autumn does this to maple leaves; scorns their attempts to cling onto their tree of birth, strikes them down, flattens their flame. And then, somebody finds the leaf, finds charm in its crown-like edges, its slight resemblance to thorns.

Icicles don't bend, they stand up straight and spear. Through them, I see a white expanse, the field has stolen snow . . .

Home WavesTo lie on the line between sand and sea will not be enough will not express my homesick, long-hearted fondness for here.