THIS is an island of writers. Looking around the room in Rathmullan House last July, I was struck by the wealth of talent that the outside world might never hear of. Another man had made the trip from Gort a’ Choirce, a painter who wanted to recreate his seascapes in written form.
About 20 people turned up on a Sunday afternoon to participate in a workshop facilitated by Patrick Holloway. The young fella had travelled the length of the island from Cork. He’s the editor of The Four Faced Liar, A Cork-based literary journal. It was very much an eclectic group, yet he handled it well.
Through my work as chair of the Irish Writers Union, I know that facilitating these sessions isn’t easy. We did the brief introductions and I might have been the only participant in the workshop who was a published author.
As a professional member of the Irish Writers Centre, my inbox provides an excellent vantage point on the thriving landscape of writing in Ireland.
I told those gathered that the only difference between someone who tried writing and a published writer is that the latter didn’t give up.
I hope the others in the room that fine Sunday in July don’t give up. They all see the world in a unique way, and they have to let us hear their voice.
There’s something about this amazingly creative island that grows writers here at home and in our diaspora. As I write this, I look at my shelf of favourite books and see old friends and authors who are thankfully still with us.
Eugene McEldowney’s The Faloorie Man is a beautiful novel set in the Belfast of his childhood.
It is still my contention that The Wrong Man by Danny Morrison is the most atmospheric evocation of the paranoid world of the IRA operator, constantly fearful of betrayal.
Both Belfast writers, conflict and creativity often go together.
I was honoured when Danny travelled to Dublin in 2018 to attend the launch of my debut novel, The Squad.
When I held my last novel for the first time four years ago, I had a moment. I imagined someone clearing out an attic many years from now, and a flash of colour catches their eye in a box of stuff. They rummaged around and found a copy of Native Shore, perhaps one of the copies I signed when the book was launched. Then, sometime after that, the person who rescued the copy sits down on a rainy afternoon, fortified with a cuppa, and starts on a journey. At that point, long after I’d taken my last breath, I would speak to that person who I never knew.
Now, that, dear reader, is the immortality that being a writer gives you.
If I were remembered as anything, I’d happily settle for the title ‘Irish writer,’ because this island has always defined me and my work.
The workshop focused on examining the craft of the vital opening paragraph, which draws the reader in. As I was writing this column, my publisher informed me that a reprint of Native Shore had been ordered for October, which I found very affirming. So, with the workshop in mind, I looked again at how my last novel opens.
“Buenos dias, chico.” Gerry O’Donnell woke to the sound of her voice and the
sensation of his wife Maria kissing him full on the mouth. As he opened his eyes, he focused on her as she drew her head back, smiling at him. He immediately sensed that the room was full of a very familiar smell. The superiority of Colombian coffee was one of the few chauvinisms that Gerry O’Donnell’s wife allowed herself to hold onto to the last.
On her vacation to the Highlands, she had packed a BUBM Zip Lock bag designed for carrying computer cables, flash drives and the like. This BUBM bag, however, contained the necessary equipment for making the perfect Colombian espresso anywhere in the world. BUBM was an acronym for ‘Be Unique; Be Myself.’ Gerry thought that if his wife needed a marketing slogan, that was as good as any.
He started to lift himself up off the bed and was immediately reminded of the realities of his new life. The stiffness and pain all down his left side was the entrance fee for his second shot at life after having been, well, shot.
Well, dear reader, how did I do?
Phil MacGiolla Bháin is an author, playwright and journalist based in Donegal. He was a staff reporter and columnist on An Phoblacht for many years. His novel Native Shore, a political thriller with a strong Glasgow Irish theme, is available at Calton Books
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