Tag Archives: inis oirr

Cúpla Focal (A Few Words)

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FEICIM, Irish language immersion courses on Inis Oirr

Few can argue with the fact that Ireland has contributed a wildly disproportionate number of towering literary works to the English language canon. Our writers have included James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker, Samuel Beckett, George Bernard Shaw, Jonathan Swift, Sean O’Casey, C.S. Lewis, WB Yeats, Molly Keane, JM Synge, Elizabeth Bowen and Flann O’Brien,– to name but a few. And this is before considering contemporary writers such as William Trevor, Brian Friel, Roddy Doyle, John Banville, Joseph O’Connor, Kevin Barry. How come a small island of around four million people has produced scribes who wield the English language (and therefore, a non-native tongue) with such aplomb?

It is often proposed that the Irish are simply far more playful and experimental with the English language than other Anglophone peoples. And the reason is because in Ireland, the Irish language remains a palimpsest underscoring the use of English in Ireland (a branch of the Anglophone tree known as Hiberno-English).

As an Irish writer who also speaks Hungarian and French, I would have to agree that multi-lingualism, or at least the existence of another language in proximity to the vernacular will have an impact, and usually that impact will be positive, playful and fruitful. Every language I have learned has taught me to regard another aspect of English in a fresh way.

Some years ago, I had the honour of being Artist in Residence on Inis Oirr, one of the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. Irish is the first language on the island. Like all Irish people, I studied Irish for thirteen years as a schoolgirl. However, coming from the East of Ireland, my home language was English and since leaving school, I’ve had little opportunity to practice the ancient tongue. However, my time on Inis Oirr allowed the re-awakening of my dormant Irish and I was surprised at how quickly it came back – and I was struck at how it began to colour my writings, as they became more lyrical, poetic and playful.

There, I had the fortune to meet Brid Ni Chualain, a native Irish speaker from the island. Brid is also a writer. Her love of the native language coupled with her easy-going, friendly approach to language tutoring has meant she’s gained quite a following as an Irish language tutor and now runs FEICIM, immersion courses on Inis Oirr for beginners through to advanced. Moreover, she’s willing to do skype lessons, so I might be taking her up on that score.  You don’t have to learn Irish to be a great English language writer – but it does appear to help ; )

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My Grandma Always Says…

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The graveyard is full of indispensable men. 

Writers worth their ink need to be making some point with their story. By that, I mean your tale ought not be solely just a boy-meets-loses-regains-girl trip.

Beneath your storyline, there should be something else going on, a deeper message, your comment on how humanity works, or doesn’t. It is a writer’s (or artist’s) job to present the human condition as they interpret it. It isn’t meant to be heavy and scary, I’m simply suggesting that once you’ve written your story, or even just have an idea for one, you should sit back and consider what it could be saying on a larger, universal scale.

A good way to understand this concept is to consider Aesop’s Fables. Each one is a tale that could be enjoyed on a superficial level by a child, yet there is a deeper meaning, or moral, which endeavors to teach the child some universal truth about life, ie being slow yet determined is often better than being hasty and fickle (Tortoise and the Hare).

A good place to seek inspiration is a list of proverbs. A proverb is usually a metaphor and encapsulates in simple terms, a lesson from the common experience of humanity. Here’s an exercise that might get you going: sit down and have a think about the specific meaning of the following and then go freewrite a story illustrating this philosophy.

You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.

A little learning is a dangerous thing.

The belly has no ears.

Trees don’t grow to the sky.

A dumb priest never got a parish.

The only free cheese is in the mousetrap.

Eaten bread is soon forgotten.

The squeaky door gets the oil.

 

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There You Are

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I recently spent a month as artist-in-residence on Inis Oirr, one of the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. It has a bleak beauty and I was struck by how ‘man-made’ the place is. A rock in the Atlantic, all top soil has been built up over the centuries by islanders hauling up to the hinterland seaweed, sand and clay scraped from crevices. Stone walls then divide this carpet of top soil into a patchwork of fields.

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Agriculture and the labour of men no longer drive this ‘man-made’ island however, today it is the women of the islands who are spinning, weaving, potting, knitting and sewing craftware for tourists and this sector is what currently supplies the main source of income. The semi-disenfranchisement of the men and the industry of the women which has the succeeded male labour, has given me an idea for a play which I’m hoping to take to the Edinburgh Fringe. My stay on the island has also allowed me to explore how important environments are for inspiration. So much so, that I am now mulling an offer I had this week to return to the island for six months next year.

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Writing what you know

It is often said you should “write what you know”. A sensible approach, especially for the new writer. By placing your characters in scenes and situations with which you are familiar, you are more likely to invest a sense of realism in the story. Also, practically speaking, writing about familiar territory will save on research you might otherwise have to do on a subject/setting.

Some writers resist writing what they know as they feel their own environments are not “glamorous” or “extraordinary” enough to merit such attention. This is nonsense. Whatever you do and whoever you are, your life will seem exotic to someone else. The fact that you grew up on a council estate/project developent in Bolton/Kalamazoo is interesting to someone living on a farm in Siberia. Remember, the life of an immigrant taxi-driver would quite likely fascinate the Queen of England.

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Also, you don’t necessarily have to set your story in your street or your workplace. Think of your Saturday morning football team, your chool, the nightclubs you frequent, a hospital you’ve spent time in or a prison. All are equally valuable settings for a short story, novel, play, film script or even poem or song. Your environment is your gold, mine it.

But I don’t want to write about my environment…

That’s fine too. There is also case for “writing what you don’t know”. Fantasy writers, for example, are (usually) not elves living in Middle Earth. Historical fiction writers have not lived in Tudor England. Yet, Fantasy/SciFi/Historical novels are written and enjoyed every year. For Fantasy/SciFi you need a familiarity with the genre and a vivid imagination. For historical fiction you need to like research. For all the above you’ll require the ability to convincingly create an unfamiliar world.

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Bear in mind, however, that while a Fantasy writer won’t get complaints from angry elves about his misinformed stereotypes. A novelist who sets a story in a modern French monastery, and knows nothing about France or monks – is asking for trouble. Firstly, their prose may be riddled with (skewed) perceptions of France and the French, monks/Catholicism/wine-making etc… And not only is there danger of rehashing clichés, their writing might lack the detailed realism a reader finds so reassuring and intriguing.

So, if you want to write about banditos in the mountains of Sardinia, and you can’t go and live there for a year – then research, research, research. Read as much as you can on the topic, as well as any other fiction that has used the same environment as a setting.


Be Good in 2013

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I’m back in Norwich following a stint on Inis Oirr as artist-in-residence, which has (I think) birthed a one man play. It was a significant month spent in a dramatic two mile long theatre edged with thrashing waves, and crossed with stone walls, fields created from seaweed and topped with goats – lots of wild goats. During my time there I learned to felt, started up a writing group with some local scribes – which is continuing on – and thought and walked a lot and came to some decisions about my future and where my writing is going.

I had a few bits of bad news while I was out on the island, some personal stuff that unsettled me, and also I learned that man a grew up with was tragically drowned whilst fishing off the Waterford coast. These incidents coloured my thought processes and made me dwell on some topics that I might otherwise have avoided. And I’m glad I let myself go there. I believe I’ve created good art.

I returned to pick up an award. It hasn’t been officially announced yet,, so more on that later. And my play ‘Cow’ is going into the studio next week so I’m pretty focused on that at the moment. One of my parting gifts from the kind people of Inis Oirr was a big 2013 wall chart (in Irish) which I’m now filling up. 2013 looks like it is going to be a year of change. A year of travel and a year of moving forward.  Right now, I’m ready for action and am lining all my plans up.  Life is too short, make the best of it, surround yourself with good people and do good things.