Interested in how we live on social media now - and how it’s changed since its early days? My debut bestselling and Irish Book Awards-nominated non-fiction book Social Capital looks at that, and then some. Order it from your favourite online store - or pick it up in your local bookshop.
Two weeks ago, I was spluttering and croaking through a bout of laryngitis and sinusitis after weeks of post-Covid sickness1. Irish Book Awards prep time was approaching, and I was after leaving my awards outfit until the last moment. Classic move by me, in fairness.
After a few miserable hours trudging through Brown Thomas and pretending I could afford the dresses there (when one was too small, the sales assistant said it was because it was in ‘French sizing’), and trying on sequinned monstrosities in other shops and feeling like a worm, I remembered a sparkly H&M dress I bought five years ago and wore twice2.
On the night, a pair of gold platforms and a beehive backcombed into place by the angel Kathy McClean at Pearl Hairdressing (please ignore the fluffy bit that I knocked out of place while putting on my dress) made me feel ‘myself’ for the first time in ages.
I’ve been at the Irish Book Awards several times, even presenting an award at it, but never attended as an author. So even though it all felt familiar, and I did feel the pinch of imposter syndrome, it had an extra jolt of excitement to it. I was so thankful to all the people who voted for my book in the Last Word Listener’s Choice Category, but I felt I wouldn’t be the winner of the category, which did help with the nerves somewhat. The deserved winner was Katriona O’Sullivan, for her book Poor.
Award nominations are never guaranteed, so it was brilliant to have my debut included in such a strong year for Irish publishing. It was a nod of acknowledgement for Social Capital, coming almost a year to the day that I submitted my manuscript while in the depths of grief, and unsure about what the year ahead held.
After the book awards I was thinking about what it all meant - being nominated, the manuscript I am currently working on, the glacial pace of finishing it and knowing that even if it does end up being published, that will be years away. (Did I mention I am an overthinker…?)
The timing was perfect then to head to Clare for the UL Creative Writing Winter School 2023. It’s run by the UL Creative Writing MA team, with Prof Sarah Moore-Fitzgerald at the helm, and Prof Eoin Devereaux as director.
The week combines structured writing time with sessions facilitated by writers - this year these were Donal Ryan, Fíona Scarlett, Olivia Fitzsimons, Emily Cullen, Eoin Devereaux and Sheila Killian, while there were salons with Miriam Mulcahy and Karl Geary, and yoga/meditation sessions with Justine Carberry. The facilitators were all so generous with their insights and time, imparting their learnings about everything - from poetry to character to prompts - in a way that felt welcoming and open.
It all took place in Hotel Doolin, which is an absolute dream of a place - this is the sort of hotel where the ‘continental breakfast’ isn’t a sad, deflated croissant and orange juice from a carton opened yesterday: it’s three tiers of mini pastries, fruit slices and a berry smoothie in a small glass bottle. It was so homely that seeing people wandering around who weren’t part of the Winter School startled me, as I forgot there’d be other guests there.
Almost everyone attending had published at least one book, although some people were at the start of their careers. It could have been the sort of situation where people let their egos lead, comparing successes and numbers of books published. Instead, it was ego-free, with Sarah and co nurturing a spirit of collaboration and community. It felt like we all arrived there on the same level, even if we all came with various bags of experience and knowledge.
Living in Dublin city, I rarely have moments of serene quiet. Wandering the roads of Doolin alone was like taking an eraser and rubbing out parts of my messy mind. On the Tuesday morning, I went for a jog and realised to my embarrassment that I kept gasping ‘wow’ every time I spotted something new - like the thin waterfall pouring like lace from a cliff face across from me, while foamy waves crashed below; the languid air emanating from the brown-and-white cows resting on a patch of grass; the sudden, lonesome braying of an unseen donkey a few fields away.
Just a few days previously I’d been in Dublin city when the protests and rioting broke out on Parnell St (I wrote about it for The Journal here); this felt like a balm reminding me that my world doesn’t have to lean so heavily towards the horrors on social media. There is some peace to be found somewhere.
Of course, I’m back in Dublin now and spent the morning scrolling hateful X accounts to try and figure out what makes people think the way they do.
The break in Doolin was brief, but it was bliss.
Learnings from the week
Writing isn’t just about being published
As I’m working on a new project, I keep getting caught up in thoughts about book publication and the end result of my work. Working in journalism means I’m really motivated by other people’s deadlines, and having to self-impose one for the unpaid work on my novel draft is challenging to say the least.
The week in Doolin reminded me that I don’t write solely to be published. And if I only write with the aim of publishing, I miss out on play and experimentation. Yes, I can concentrate on the novel draft - but there’s more fun I can be having with writing, and taking the focus off being published can help me excavate more ideas.
The idea of constraints and how they can benefit your work kept coming up during the week. There can be constraints around style and ideas, but this also got me thinking about placing positive constraints on my writing time, rather than letting all that time pour away without me catching it. Giving myself set hours once or twice a week to write, rather than beating myself up for not writing every day - well, it just makes sense.
Community is key
On the Wednesday night, all of us writers gathered in the Attic at Hotel Doolin (normally a nightclub) to read some of our work. Though we’d all been chatting, eating together and discussing our work for a few days, this was the first time we got to connect individuals with their writing.
People shared stories and fiction about miscarriage, death, love, Vagisil, domestic abuse, and eejits in Dublin. It was the culmination of the feeling of community that the facilitators were trying to encourage all week, the sense that our writing doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and that the support of other writers helps buoy us through moments of insecurity.
Though we write alone, we’re part of a greater ecosystem of writers and it felt important to remind ourselves of that. It was also both a vulnerable and empowering thing to present our writing in public and take what can feel like insular work out into the world to breathe.
Struggling is normal
Throughout my time in Doolin, at times I struggled with self-confidence about my work and its trajectory. I was reading Karl Geary’s gorgeous debut Montpellier Parade at night and reading and hearing from other excellent writers during the day, which felt like taking a bath in all the things that are wrong with my own work: Your descriptions are lacking! You’re shite at metaphor! Your book’s ending is non-existent! Just try a bit harder! Delightful.
On the last day, Sarah gave a talk on moving forward with our work - turning inwards for confidence and self-belief, without deluding ourselves. Prioritising our work in a realistic and achievable way. Those barbed voices will keep being thrown at me from within my own brain, but having a more positive, forward momentum to focus on helps divert me from them. Sometimes, at least.
Every single person I met in Doolin struggled with some aspect of their work - timing, publication, their craft, their ideas. My own petty struggles aren’t unique or important, they’re just part of any artistic practice or pursuit. They can also be the ultimate distraction from doing the work, a stick disguised as a tasty carrot. Coming back to that idea of constraints as a positive thing, harnessing some time to do the work means that I’m less likely to ruminate or procrastinate over what I’m not getting done, as I’m actually doing something about it.
The worst thing about getting older is learning lessons like this, which would have been very helpful to learn when I was 20 years younger. Sure look.
On a final note - the Agility Award I received from the Arts Council helped pay for my trip to Doolin. Which is also another lesson: apply for funding for your work!
At one point I couldn’t talk for nearly a week. Me! Not talking! It was miserable.
Once was in Berlin during an ill-fated attempt to get into Berghain, proving that one dress CAN do it all. I wore it with boots that time…