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.
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.
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’.
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.
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.
A Writing Round-up seems timely at a stage where I’m halfway through the year, have been working very hard and have a few successes to report! So, here goes:
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.
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.