A bright maple leaf makes a startling autumn sight.

Flash Fiction: Maple Leaf

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.

Outside the Window

Waterford Writers’ Weekend is fast approaching and I will be leading a workshop called ‘Get Flashy with Fiction’ on Saturday, May 9th. The workshop will run from 10.30 am until 12.30 pm at Central Library, Waterford.

Snowdrops and crocuses.

Finding Time to Write

Finding time to write has become more of a challenge since giving birth to my baby girl. Ok, let’s be honest here, finding time to do anything other than look after her has become a challenge! However, as she skips past the ten week mark old (yes, 10 weeks!) I can cheerfully say ‘I am getting more things done’.

2013 Revisited, 2014 Just Begun

It’s natural, when entering a new year, to look back at the previous twelve months and I must say, 2013 was a very positive year for me.

Editing, Character Sketching & Workshop News

I’m in the middle of editing two pieces of work that I feel have a lot of potential. The first piece is a short story, set against a flourishing landscape. I falteringly call it a love story, but it’s primarily about self discovery and challenge.

Lismore Castle

The Lismore Immrama Experience

I got my first taste of the Lismore Immrama Festival of Travel Writing at the weekend. Despite the name, the festival is not just about travel and offers a wide variety of events, with something to interest everyone. As I’ve recently been reading ‘The Famine in Waterford’, I decided to attend a lecture by Donald Brady, who assisted in the editing of that particular publication. The lecture focused on the Watercolour Society of Ireland, a group of 6 strong and talented women, led by founding member: Frances Currey.

Old and Free: Flash Fiction

Her song finds the spiders each morning, moves along the webs until they quaver. It doesn’t occur to her to dust or hoover the creatures away. They are hers. She admires their composition. Legs, a bare tremble. Heads, like black tears.