Blog Hiatus

I doubt this will come as a surprise to most of you guys, but I have decided to take a break from blogging for a while.

I'm working on two writing projects alongside my usual day job, and I find that it's getting ever harder to find the time for blogging. Also, let's be blunt - I've been blogging about being an unpunlished writer for three years and it's getting harder and harder to find things to say without repeating myself.

For the moment, I'm hoping to come back to blogging in early July. Obviously, if anything interesting or blog-worthy happens in the meantime, I'll pop up :) I'll also still be reading blogs while I'm taking a break, I just won't be posting.

I have email comment notification enabled, so if you want to reach me, leaving a comment on the blog will still do it :)

Movies and Man-Children: Is Growing Up a Bad Thing?

Steve Rose has a piece in today's Guardian about the increasing presence in Hollywood movies of men who won't grow up. Men who live with their parents, act like kids, play computer games and have traditionally 'childish' hobbies.

I do agree that the overgrown man-child figure in films can be very annoying, but I also don't like the fact we live an a society that worships 'maturity.' Yes, it's important that adults should be capable of earning money, supporting themselves and not behaving like pre-socialisation children (there's a reason all our parents/caregivers taught us the lesson 'If you aren't nice, people won't like you.' Because, seriously, they won't). Note that I said 'capable' - sadly in today's economy, too many people can't do some of these things, through no fault of their own, or temporarily choose not to, to pursue other goals.

But what the hell is wrong with a forty-year-old man liking computer games or collecting Star Wars figures, or meeting up with his friends for a beer? For that matter, what's wrong with a forty-year-old woman liking Hello Kitty t-shirts and collecting Pez dispensers and watching Roller Derby? Whatever it is, I can't see it. And I know I'm voluntarily childless, so I don't need to worry about 'setting an example for the kids,' but honestly - I remember my mother singing along with Paul Simon and Elvis like a loon and it never did me any harm, nor did my dad's devotion to Manchester United.

I have a couple of very immature vices - I love what Americans call soft-serve ice-cream (we call them cones or 99s if they have a chocolate flake stuck in them  - mine always have the flake, all else is sacrilige). I eat chocolate and sugar in amounts that would sicken the average child and send the average adult into a sugar coma. I have no plans to ever stop travelling (definitely not just for the young!) and age has not, so far, given me a taste for 'mature civilised person' alcoholic drinks like wine and whiskey. I still like my vodka drowned in Coke or OJ or, ideally, replaced entirely with peach schnapps.

What about you? Still a child at heart or happy to be mature? What are your most childish vices?

Movies and Man-Children: Is 'Growing Up' a Bad Thing?

A-Z Challenge Reflection Post - Thoughts on Writing the World

April was a very challenging month for me.

I rarely write short fiction, and in April I wrote 26 pieces of short fiction.
I rarely set stories outside of places I know well - usually my books take place in Dublin or London, the two cities I know best. In April, I had to write about places I had never heard of, with languages and cultures and complex political systems I could never hope to understand fully.
I rarely write stories that could potentially offend people. In April I wrote about a man reflecting on the legacy of apartheid and about a woman sneaking over the border from Saudi Arabia to Yemen in order to learn to drive.

It's been great fun, but it's been tough.

One of the most difficult things for me was leaving my cultural comfort zone. I'm a white girl, living in a very white country that has only experienced inward migration for about fifteen years. Ireland is still very culturally homogenous compared to, say, Britain or the US. My day job is in a richly multicultural industry and environment, but nevertheless, I live in a country where I can go from dawn to dusk and not see a face that isn't white outside my workplace.

I also enjoy some serious priviledge - yes, as a woman I can expect to earn somewhere between 15% and 30% less than an equivalently-qualified man across my lifetime, but guess what? That may suck, but I'm allowed to drive a car. I'm allowed to vote, serve in the armed forces and run for political office. I can wear what I like, go where I like and read what I like. Hell, I can read.

I have never gone to sleep at night afraid that my house will be bombed, or that the police will enter my home and harm me or my family. I have been afraid to walk down streets, yes, but I've been afraid of the actions of individuals, not of the state. I'm Irish, so I carry some legacy from a time when we did not have freedom of religion or the right to own property (the Irish state was paying the British government for our own land as late as the 1930s, because when we earned the right to own property, our government had to buy it back from Britain. We were paying for our own country during the Great Depression, seriously) but none of these things happened to me, or to my parents. I have priviledge, and this month I took the very scary step of trying to write about people and cultures who didn't have any. Who got screwed a lot by people very like me.

This scared me a lot. As a woman and an Irishwoman (a post-colonial, if you will) I am used to being comfortably 'other', to being the underdog, the 'minority.' But on a global level, I'm really, really not. I was so scared, in fact, that you'll notice a lot of my little stories this month were about tourists. This was a safety device, designed to excuse any massive cultural screw-ups I made. 'It's not me being ignorant - it's my characters. They're tourists, you know.'

But I was supposed to be writing about the world, not some white people looking at the world. So I tried to be sensitive, and I wrote about a black guy in South Africa reflecting on the end of apartheid, feeling gratitude for the things I take for granted. I wrote about a Muslim woman crossing the border from Saudi Arabia into Yemen to learn to drive, because when I googled 'Women in Yemen' and 'Muslim women + rights', do you know what I found? I didn't find lots of stories about stereotypical people living happily under a regime that minimised their rights. I found stories about intelligent, smart, religious, observant, spiritual, strong Muslim women trying to make sure their countrywomen didn't die in childbirth. I found stories of how they honour Allah while still campaigning for an end to child marriages. I found people, so I wrote about people.

And I have no bloody idea if I got it right or wrong, but as a white person with no memories of oppression who feels gratitude for the freedoms I enjoy, I believe I might sneak across a border if I couldn't drive in my own country (I'd certainly think about it!), so surely there's someone who looks a little different to me, and has had a different experience of life than I have, but who feels some of the same things that I do.

I doubt I will ever have the insight and intelligence to write extensively about cultures that are not my own. But it was certainly a fascinating experience to try, and I think it helped me to find some resources for researching characters, because I don't want to spend my entire life writing about bored white girls in their 20s.


Do any of you guys write about people from very different backgrounds to you? How do you find it? What resources do you use to find information?

Post A-Z Post (see what I did there?)

I cannot say enough nice things about the people who visited me on the A-Z Challenge this year. I appreciated every comment, every pageview and every follow, so thank you all :)

I'm leaving Dublin for a few days break (not to recuperate from the A-Z Challenge - geographical flash fiction is hard, but it's not *that* hard!), so things will be quiet on the blog front until next week, when I'll be back with a Reflections post next week, and to share what I learned about writing microfiction.

It's a long weekend in Ireland, so I hope anyone who also has a day off on Monday enjoys their break, and those who don't - try to have an extra-nice Saturday and Sunday to make up for it!

A-Z Microfiction: Z is for Zanzibar

I can't believe it's the last day of the A-Z Challenge! Today we're going to Zanzibar, a semi-autonomous part of Tanzania in Africa. Among other things, Zanzibar is famous as the birthplace of Freddie Mercury, the probable birthplace of the Swahili language and the location of the shortest war in history, which lasted 38 minutes. It is this last fact which inspired today's story.

Zanzibar, 27th August 1896, 9:00

"It is 0900 hours and there has been no surrender," said General Lloyd Matthews. "Open fire."
Andrew Graves should not have heard the order. He had left his station briefly, just to check on his friend, and at the sound of the general's quiet voice, he turned on his heel and tiptoed back to his post, rushing to arrive before the fire started.
But no gunfire could be heard.
Had the order not filtered down? Andrew wondered as he looked out over the sultan's palace. It was large and sprawling - not as large as Buckingham Palace at home, but large enough to house staff. He had  heard rumours from the other soldiers than the new Sultan had a harem. It sounded appealing then, but now all he could think of was unarmed women, sitting inside, eating breakfast, with nowhere to run.
The sound of gunfire pierced Andrew's reverie and he began to load his canon.


Thank you to everyone who took the time to visit, read, comment or follow me during the A-Z challenge :) I've had great fun. All of the entries can be read by clicking on the A-Z Challenge 2012 tag below.

A-Z Microfiction: Y is for Yemen

Today we're visiting the Middle Eastern state of Yemen. It is almost impossible to write fiction set in this country without touching on serious issues - women's rights, access to health care, development. I've tried to keep my microfiction as light as I can this month, but today I'm not sure I can avoid issues.

Yemen

Naaz felt Aadil squeeze her hand. "Hello," he said. "This is my wife, Naaz. We are here for her driving lesson."
The man at the desk nodded. "Wait here, please." He disappeared behind a door.
Naaz was glad Aadil had spoken first - she was just too nervous. She had been afraid that the man would ask why they had crossed the border to Yemen, where she could legally drive. She didn't want to have to blurt out the whole story about her ailing mother-in-law, how Aadil's job took him away from home so much, how she was afraid her mother-in-law would fall ill one night and have no one to get her to hospital. It would be a risk, driving at home - an enormous risk. But she would feel safer somehow if she could.
And who knew? Maybe one day she would be allowed to drive at home. And she would be ready.

The rest of my A-Z flash fiction can be found by clicking the tag under this post. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: X is for Xanadu

We haven't been to Asia very much on this trip, so today we're visiting Xanadu, the site of the Yuan Dynasty Upper Capital, located in what is now Inner Mongolia. Most famous as the place where Kubla Khan did something (what exactly he did eludes everyone who only knows the first line of Coleridge's famous poem). 

Xanadu

Sally brushed her hair back from her forehead and stood up straight. Her back was aching from a long morning of digging and sifting through the loose silt, looking for any artefacts that might shed some light on life in Xanadu, or revive her flagging stature in the department.
Her colleague Brett was worrying at some earth. As she watched his tanned, dusty fingers probing, Sally caught sight of the tiniest glimmer. Her heart skipped. He'd found something!
"BRETT!" Sally yelled. "Mosquito!"
She hadn't got the word fully out when he leapt to his feet, flailing his hands and gasping.
"Shitshitshit, where? Is it near me?"
"No," Sally said, bending down and hunting for the fragment Brett had dropped. "Sorry, it's gone. My mistake. . . hey, I think I found something!"

I would like to point out that any archaeologists I have met in real life are lovely people and would never do this! If you want to read any other entries in my flash fiction world tour, click on the tag below this post. Thanks for visiting.

A-Z Microfiction: W is for Woolwich Arsenal

Today's flash fiction is set in Woolwich, in south-east London. Rather than have another maritime-themed story (after Kevin and Jack's exploits and our adventure with Ventian tides yesterday), I decided to move from the Woolwich dockyard to Woolwich Arsenal, close to the site of the Royal Arsenal ammunitions factory from 1805 until the 1970s. In peacetime, the facility built steam locomatives and railway wagons, and ironically spent a good deal of World War II empty due to ariel bombardment during the Blitz.

Woolwich Arsenal, November 1940


Tommy lay on top of an old laboratory work bench, a cigarette clamped between his lips.
"Ain't nothing like a good smoke, is there?" he said, with an air of great satisfaction. Alfie rolled his eyes. Tommy had pinched the fag from their dad that morning, yet he was talking like he had a source on the black market. Even their dad could only get a few smokes a week, and there would be hell to pay when he found this one was missing. He said as much to Tommy.
"Oh, stop being such an old woman. . ." Tommy said, taking a deep drag.
"We should go," Alfie said. "This place is a target, we should get home."
"Where is home?" Tommy sneered.
"Back to the Tube, then."
"Oh, shut up. We have plenty of time to get back."
The sound of an air-raid siren rent the air.
Tommy's cigarette fell to the floor as he and Alfie scrambled for the exit.


To read the rest of my A-Z flash fiction world tour, click on the tag below this post. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: V is for Venice

I had to go to Venice on my flash fiction world tour, didn't I? I've never been there in person, but I have hopes I'll make it there next year. Although it divides critics, I don't think there is a city in the world that occupies such a unique place in the popular imagination.


I chose today's story because my dad was a marine engineer, whose professional life was lived around the tides. I have never been any use at figuring out tides (I can rarely even tell whether the tide is going in or out) so today's story about the acqua alta or high water in Venice is a small shout-out to his knowledge.

Venice

She hopped from one wet foot to the other as the men pulled the high walkways out and settled them over the submerged pavement.
"Come on, come on. . ." she willed them silently. The hands on the church clock were pointed at five minutes to five, forming a straight but rusting slash across the crumbling clock face.
"Grazie!" she said, skipping across the temporary walkway. "Grazie!"
She made it to her front door with mere seconds to spare, hanging her coat and sitting on the couch with a magazine. He could not know that she has been outside. He would know where she had been.
Her heart was pounding and the fear was making her vision too sharp. But the lazy hours in another bed were worth it, more than worth it.
He arrived a little later than usual. Her heart had slowed by then, and she was cursing the few minutes that his lateness had stolen from her lover. She cold have stayed longer.
As he bent to kiss her, he froze.
"What?" she asked.
"Your shoes," he said softly. "They're wet."

For the rest of my A-Z flash fiction, please check out the tag below this post. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: U is for Utah

Today's stop on my A-Z flash fiction world tour takes us to Utah - specifically to Hanksville, a small settlement of about 200 people located close to several large national parks. A large portion of the town's income comes from tourism, but it is also home to the Mars Desert Research Station and the Hanksville-Burpee Dinosour Quarry. I suspect all 219 of those residents are quite interesting. . .

Hanksville, Utah

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Miss Anderson asked the first little boy.
"A paleontologist," he said, chewing on his finger.
"Wow, that's interesting!" said Miss Anderson. She'd have to keep an eye on this kid. He must be smart.
"How about you?" she asked the boy sitting beside him.
"I wanna be a paleontologist too," he said.
"Don't just copy Caleb, sweetie, tell me what you really want."
"I want to be a paleontologist, I wanna dig up dinosaur bones."
"You - what would you like to be?" she asked a girl with reddish pigtails.
"I'm gonna be a paleontologist and I'm gonna work in Hanksville-Burpee just outside town and I'm gonna have a house next door to my best friend Kennedy."
Miss Anderson had never encountered such ambitious seven year-olds.
"Would anyone like to be a NASCAR driver or play for the NFL or go on TV?"
The class shook their heads, and Miss Anderson found herself doing the same. She suspected she was going to like this town.

For the rest of my A-Z flash fiction, click on the tag below this entry. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: T is for The Moon

Yes, OK, it's a bit of a cheat using The Moon for T, but seriously, when have you ever heard someone call it 'Moon'? :) And I wanted to do Monaghan for M, but I also wanted to have a space story in here somewhere. So, guys, today is the equivalent of winning the air miles lottery on our flash fiction world tour.

Only twelve people have set foot on the Moon. They have been farther from Earth than anyone else, they are the only people to have seen the far side of the moon, and they are the only people to walk on an astronomical object other than Earth. For this reason, I have tried to use their names respectfully, but I have had to populate my little story with real people.

The Moon

"I intend," said Commander Alan Shepard, "to be the first man to play golf on the moon." He produced the golf club and balls he had smuggled aboard their spacecraft.
"You may as well be the first," said Mitchell. "Because once they start letting the tourists up here, you'll never be the best."
Shepard pulled a face.
"Why golf, anyway?" asked Mitchell. "You could be the first man to do almost anything on the moon. Read a book. Drink a Coke. Play hopscotch. Why did you choose golf?"
"Because I like it," Shepard said. "And because it doesn't have any values. The moon shouldn't be about a writer or a drinks company. It should be for everyone. And golf is just golf. No one can have a problem with it."
He placed one of his golf balls on the tee and began to aim.

Thanks for visiting! My other stops on the A-Z world tour (can I call it a world tour now we've left Earth?) can be viewed if you click on the tag below.

A-Z Microfiction: S is for Skeleton Coast

Today's stop on the A-Z flash fiction world tour takes us to the evocatively-named Skeleton Coast in Namibia. The Skeleton Coast got its name from the whalebones that once littered its beaches. Today's piece highlights what I think is the most interesting thing about the Skeleton Coast. It also features a reappearance of Jack and Kevin from our trip to Queensland.

Skeleton Coast

"What do you mean, we're stranded?" Kevin asked. Jack shrugged into his 'Ghost Ship Hunters' jacket and jumped over the side of the boat.
"That's the problem with the Skeleton Coast," Jack said. "A human powered boat can land. . . but it can't launch."
". . . You might have mentioned this," Kevin said, and kicked a piece of driftwood in frustration. He looked around. There were three rusting shipwrecks within view.
"You have to admit, though," Jack said, "professionally speaking, we could have landed in worse places."

To read the rest of my A-Z world tour, just click on the tag below this post. Thank you for reading!

A-Z Microfiction: R is for Rio de Janiero

This post is coming to you from the new Blogger interface, and it is a testament to my self-control that this post will contain no swearwords. . . instead, I'm going to get on with the R instalment of my round-the-world A-Z flash fiction. Today we're in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Rio de Janeiro

Ines stormed through the dressing room door just in time to see Bianca and her posse sashay past Beatriz, with their usual sneers.
"Beatriz, what the hell are you thinking?" Ines yelled. "I heard you're not auditioning for the Carnaval parade. Is it true?"
"Yes," Beatriz said, tying her hair back.
"Are you crazy? It's practically a straight contest between you and Bianca. If you don't audition, she'll get it. Do you really want her dancing at the front of our parade?" Ines was almost in tears.
"If I audition, she might win it anyway," Beatriz said baldly. "But everyone knows she and I are the two best dancers in the troupe. If I don't audition," Beatriz went on, a sly smile creeping across her face, "then everyone will say 'Bianca only led the parade because Beatriz didn't audition.'"
"Oh. . ." Ines said. "Oh." She started to laugh. "You're good."


To read the rest of my A-Z world tour, please just click on the tag below this post. Thank you for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: Q is for Queensland

Today's alphabetical microfiction takes us to Queensland in Australia, our first visit to the continent that as called Australasia when I was in school and Oceania on Wikitravel :) Any passing folk from the region care to tell me which is the preferred term? 

Queensland

The small city of Townsville was busy when Kevin and Jack's boat departed.
"So are you guys checking out the wreck?" the skipper asked Kevin.
"No. . . " Kevin said.
"Then what brings you out here?" The skipper took off his felt cap and raked fingers through his hair. "Most people come to see the Yongala. I dove down myself a few years back - very interesting spot."
"We might see the Yongala," Jack said. "We hope to. If we have time on the way back."
He hastily hid the Ghost Ship Hunters business card that Kevin had let fall.

To read the rest of the A-Z world tour, please click on the tag below this post. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: P is for Patmos, Greece

After two days in Canada, we're back in Europe (barely, though - we're almost in Asia) to visit Patmos in Greece for more A-Z flash fiction!

Patmos

Father Hurley sipped his wine, leaned back in his chair and let the sun warm his face.
I'm on the island where John's Gospel and the Book of Revelations was written, he thought. And it's paradise.
The pilgrimage was due to start tomorrow. For now, though. . .
"Could I have another glass, please?" he asked the waiter.

For the rest of my A-Z flash fiction world tour, just click on the 'A-Z Blogging Challenge 2012' link below this entry. Thanks for visiting!

A-Z Microfiction: O is for Ontario

Apologies that my O instalment is late - it's been a busy few days but I'll be back on track for the rest of the month! We're staying in Canada today (there's only so many virtual air miles a girl needs) and visiting the lvoely Ontario :)

Ontario

It felt strange. His tools had been so much a part of him.
Madeleine hoisted the box on to her hip and walked towards the door of Dead People's Stuff. The uncompromising wording of the sign unsettled her a little, but it hinted at a sense of humour she liked.
"Can I help you?"
Madeleine smiled. "I hope so. I'm trying to find a good home for my grandfather's old tools. They're from the 1920s, and I can't use them, so I wanted them to go to someone who would. . .  well, appreciate them."
The lady looked through the box for a few moments, a line of concentration appearing betwen her eyes.
"I may have just the guy for these. Can you hold on a moment?"
As the lady dug for her phone, Madeleine felt a weight leave her body.

For the rest of my flash fiction world tour, click the tag below. Thanks for reading!

A-Z Microfiction: N is for Nahanni National Park, Canada

Yesterday's microfiction was close to home for me, as I was writing about a town 90 miles away from where I live in Dublin. Today we're off to the other side of the globe, to the Nahanni National Park in the Northwestern Territories in Canada.

Nahanni National Park

"Oh, this looks so amazing!" Natalie's nose was pressed against the window of their small floatplane.
"You see that part of the river there?" Jack said, pointing and checking his map. "That's called Funeral Range!"
"How did it get that name?" Natalie asked the pilot.
"Apparently some gold prospectors died here. There are a lot of stories about the place being haunted," the pilot said, not turning his head from the controls.

Natalie gave a slight shudder. Jack fingered the ring box in his trouser pocket. Hopefully she'd forget about that soon, so he could ask.

Thanks for visiting! The rest of my microfiction world tour can be found by clicking the tag below.

A -Z Microfiction: M is for Monaghan

Apologies for posting this so late. I had a very busy weekend with personal commitments, so unfortunately my microfiction got sidelined. But to catch up, the first of today's two posts comes from Monaghan in Ireland, a town with a population of about 8,000 people, that unexpectedly hosts one of the country's best known blues festivals.

Monaghan

It was the first night of the Harvest Time Blues festival when a tall young man in black made his way to the stage in the Anchor Bar.
The singer turned, as though some primal signal had alerted him of danger.
"Tom. . ." he breathed. "What are you doing here?"
The man in black stared into the singer's eyes. "I want my guitar back."
"Well, you can't have it back!" The singer squared his shoulders. "I won it fair and square."
"And now I want to win it back," said the young man, and he drew a harmonica from his pocket as though it was a pistol. "I'll play you for it."
The audience hummed with anticipation. A glimmer of fear danced across the singer's face, but it was replaced almost as soon as it appeared. "You're on."

For the rest of my microfiction world tour, click on the tag below. Thanks for reading!

A-Z Microfiction: L is for Lausanne

We're back in Europe today and visiting Lausanne, a small but vibrant university city in Switzerland. It is exactly the sort of place I might have ended up in when I was interrailing in 2008, so in that spirit, today's story is about two interrailers. I would like to point out that my interrailing companion would never have been as cruel as Libby. I might be, though :)

Lausanne

They stood at the top of the Sauvabelin Tower, the winding streets of Lausanne laid out before them.
"Can we go back down now, please?" Jess begged. Libby shook her head, the green streaks in her blonde hair swirling around her small face.
"No. You haven't confronted your fear yet."
"I am on holidays. Why am I confronting my fears?"
"Because our next stop is Paris and I am not climbing the Eiffel Tower on my own. You need to face up to this."
"I am on top of a tower made out of sticks. What more do you want?"
"Look out. Look down at the terrace." Libby began to snap pictures of the view. "Shall I take one to prove you've been up here?"
Libby took Jess's grimace as assent and aimed her camera at Jess. She had more sense than to ask her to smile.

Thanks for reading - the rest of my flash fiction world tour can be accessed by clicking the tag below this entry. PS - this is the view that faces Jess if she manages to inch her way to the edge. . .