Words and Pictures

You know that thing they say about buses? You wait there for ages and then three come at once. Well. That's my life.

Not necessarily in a bussy way you understand.  Let me explain...

As mentioned in the last post, I have taken the plunge and gone back to college full time for this year. I've sent the D'Oub babies to be brought up by other people and now spend most of my day drawing and painting.

Art on book pages...nearly counts as writing?

I never realised quite how busy I'd be. Isn't Art meant to be relaxing, gentle, easy? But I have found myself hectic and under pressure practically from day one back in college. Don't misunderstand me,  I've been delighted. My brain has been jump-started Frankenstein's monster style by all the deadlines and challenges. But goodness, it's time consuming.

A drawing I did based on a line from a book. Does this nearly count as writing?

So what happened to my writing? Well. I've kept at it. But at a slower pace.  I've only sent out three pieces of work in the last six months.

A poem. 

A short story.

A novel.

Russian dolls of writing.

But, as luck* would have it all three of them have done well for me.

(Warning! Shameless boasting approaching!)

My story, 'Salt', was a runner up last autumn in the RTE Guide/ Penguin Ireland Short Story Competition. To be chosen in the top ten out of over a 1000 stories was a real confidence booster. (Maybe I can write after all??)

In October my poem 'Storm' (aka 'Us') was shortlisted for the Jonathan Swift Poetry Competition.

And about three weeks ago I got a phone call which I still can't quite believe - my novel has been picked for this years Irish Writers Centre Novel Fair!

I must go pinch myself again.

The big day is in about ten days. On Saturday 21st.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Novel Fair, it's sorta like literary speed dating. 12 unpublished novels are picked and the authors are locked in a room (well, not actually locked) with a ton of agents and publishers. It's been running for four years and each year has seen a number of the lucky finalist end up with an actual, published, proper book on their hands.

That's the dream, isn't it!

My husband if he has to hear one more thing about my book!

I am excited and terrified in equal measure and hopefully on the 21st I'll do my novel justice.

I'll keep you posted. But right now, I better go do more prep for the day.

I think college will be getting stick figures for the foreseeable future :)

*that old chestnut perhaps? - "The harder I work, the luckier I get.-Samuel Goldwyn"

Words and Pictures

You know that thing they say about buses? You wait there for ages and then three come at once. Well. That's my life.

Not necessarily in a bussy way you understand.  Let me explain...

As mentioned in the last post, I have taken the plunge and gone back to college full time for this year. I've sent the D'Oub babies to be brought up by other people and now spend most of my day drawing and painting.

Art on book pages...nearly counts as writing?

I never realised quite how busy I'd be. Isn't Art meant to be relaxing, gentle, easy? But I have found myself hectic and under pressure practically from day one back in college. Don't misunderstand me,  I've been delighted. My brain has been jump-started Frankenstein's monster style by all the deadlines and challenges. But goodness, it's time consuming.

A drawing I did based on a line from a book. Does this nearly count as writing?

So what happened to my writing? Well. I've kept at it. But at a slower pace.  I've only sent out three pieces of work in the last six months.

A poem. 

A short story.

A novel.

Russian dolls of writing.

But, as luck* would have it all three of them have done well for me.

(Warning! Shameless boasting approaching!)

My story, 'Salt', was a runner up last autumn in the RTE Guide/ Penguin Ireland Short Story Competition. To be chosen in the top ten out of over a 1000 stories was a real confidence booster. (Maybe I can write after all??)

In October my poem 'Storm' (aka 'Us') was shortlisted for the Jonathan Swift Poetry Competition.

And about three weeks ago I got a phone call which I still can't quite believe - my novel has been picked for this years Irish Writers Centre Novel Fair!

I must go pinch myself again.

The big day is in about ten days. On Saturday 21st.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Novel Fair, it's sorta like literary speed dating. 12 unpublished novels are picked and the authors are locked in a room (well, not actually locked) with a ton of agents and publishers. It's been running for four years and each year has seen a number of the lucky finalist end up with an actual, published, proper book on their hands.

That's the dream, isn't it!

My husband if he has to hear one more thing about my book!

I am excited and terrified in equal measure and hopefully on the 21st I'll do my novel justice.

I'll keep you posted. But right now, I better go do more prep for the day.

I think college will be getting stick figures for the foreseeable future :)

*that old chestnut perhaps? - "The harder I work, the luckier I get.-Samuel Goldwyn"

So, what you been up to since I last saw you...

2015!

Hell yeah!

Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough 2015!


This used to be a bit of a life/writing blog. I used to really love it. Then the demon baby D'Oub came along and there was no time. None. Demon baby D'oub is now 4. She's still a tough nut. But less time consuming.


Time to blog again?


Well.

I filled that demon void by going back to college.

I am a proud owner of a full time student card.

I am doing an art portfolio preparation course. Have literally no idea what I'm going to do once this course is done. Well, maybe some writing? Yes. Possibly. And then more art study hopefully.

So, in the meantime, what say this becomes a life/art/tiny bit of writing blog?

Let's give it a whirl!!

So, here are my life - i.e. my babies.

(Note how happy baby/toddler D'Oub looks - that's cause she knows she rules the roost. All roosts.)

And here is some of the art work I've been doing since September.

My little darling sleeps. And for a brief few minutes we are not all her servants.

Balls!

I know people don't like feet. Sorry about that.

So, hey, maybe there will be a next time! Maybe Domestic Oub is back. Just maybe...

So, what you been up to since I last saw you...

And there's more...

I kept forgetting to bring the poem with me.

Wallet?

Check.

Keys?

Check?

Poem to leave in a shop to be found by an unsuspecting shopper to brighten their day during the stressful Christmas season?

Forgotten :(


Thankfully I had the best Christmas present and met up with the lovely Various Cushions - IPYPIASM originator extraordinaire - for a coffee yesterday. And she suggested, why didn't I just transcribe the poem there and then and place it in a shop, immediately!

So I did!

The evidence -

It was more of a before Christmas day poem, but hey, better late than never.

I hashtagged again - for those unfamiliar with the hashtag, it makes your term searchable on Twitter - I've been tweeting about IPYPIASM - and been directing people back to the blogosphere...sure, maybe the cleaning lady is crumbling up my poem without a second thought, but, hey, I know if I found a poem, the curiosity would kill me :)

Anyway, here's the text of the poem - not my finest work, but hey, who cares, it's all part of the IPYPIASM spirit!

Don't Count

For now don't count
the calories
don't tot those pennies spent
just dose your liver
till it's all a quiver
and the last belt notch is rent
have that chocolate Kimberly
that tin of roses too
buy a gift, don't be spendthrift
Get yourself a treat this year!
And don't forget the booze
go buy a crate of beer,
a bottle or nine of a conducive wine
don't stint, don't stint, don't stint!
Cause remember that when it's January
we'll be thrust once more t' penury
so eat and drink and give
2013 is time enough for cold reality.

And there's more...

I kept forgetting to bring the poem with me.

Wallet?

Check.

Keys?

Check?

Poem to leave in a shop to be found by an unsuspecting shopper to brighten their day during the stressful Christmas season?

Forgotten :(


Thankfully I had the best Christmas present and met up with the lovely Various Cushions - IPYPIASM originator extraordinaire - for a coffee yesterday. And she suggested, why didn't I just transcribe the poem there and then and place it in a shop, immediately!

So I did!

The evidence -

It was more of a before Christmas day poem, but hey, better late than never.

I hashtagged again - for those unfamiliar with the hashtag, it makes your term searchable on Twitter - I've been tweeting about IPYPIASM - and been directing people back to the blogosphere...sure, maybe the cleaning lady is crumbling up my poem without a second thought, but, hey, I know if I found a poem, the curiosity would kill me :)

Anyway, here's the text of the poem - not my finest work, but hey, who cares, it's all part of the IPYPIASM spirit!

Don't Count

For now don't count
the calories
don't tot those pennies spent
just dose your liver
till it's all a quiver
and the last belt notch is rent
have that chocolate Kimberly
that tin of roses too
buy a gift, don't be spendthrift
Get yourself a treat this year!
And don't forget the booze
go buy a crate of beer,
a bottle or nine of a conducive wine
don't stint, don't stint, don't stint!
Cause remember that when it's January
we'll be thrust once more t' penury
so eat and drink and give
2013 is time enough for cold reality.

Multimedia IPYPIASM!

Yes, I've IPYPIASMed!

Finally.

Deposited in the pound (euro?) shop in The Square, Tallaght, this little ditty -

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I've been a little bit naughty

I've been a little bit nice

what say you still get me a pressie

and we'll go halvsies on the price.

I won't be troubling the Nobel Prize for Literature this year with that offering, but hopefully it brought a smile to someones face.

And below is the visual evidence of my guerrilla poetry attack.

For, what I suspect, is the first time, we have VIDEO footage of an IPYPIASM incident... In my panic to dump my effort and run, I somehow managed to set my phone to video and not camera. I scrambled madly at it, all the while imagining security guards raising an army, grabbing their mace and batons and being moments away from apprehending me...

(Quite the accidental Spielberg, no?)

It was fraught! I felt like my poem might explode at any moment. Anway, in the end I escaped unscathed and they probably sold my poem for a euro.

On an aside, I was telling my baby brother all about IPYPIASM. After he pretended to think me and my crazeeeee poetry chums were wacky and cool, he suggested adding a hastag to the abandoned poems. Maybe see if any of our messages in a bottle wash up anywhere. So, at the bottom of my print out, where I'd usually just have IPYPIASM, I instead had #IPYPIASM... and I sent a few tweets using it.

I thought it was a good idea - but chances are it'll just get me arrested ;)

I like living on the edge.

Ok. Until tomorrow - TK Maxx, watch out - I'm heading your way and I'm rhyming.