Exciting news for IPYPIASMers

I can't believe it's not February!!!

So who has knocked me over the head and woken me up and suddenly told me it's November and not a dog in the house washed?!  (nor child neither)

Well it's nearly November, and getting perilously close to our favourite time of year - the most wonderful time, as I like to call it - otherwise known as International Put Your Poem in a Shop Month - or IPYPIASM!!!
 (say it backwards and it's MSAIPYPI - sinisterly close to mississippi)

Anyway - I can hardly host it this year, as you'll have noticed my average posting per month is coming in at a tidy sum of just the one.... (it's not that I don't love ye, I just literally have been repeatedly knocked over the head and whole chunks of life have disappeared on me, like dry ice in a moving train on a sunny saturday)

So, who can take the reins, who out there would be brilliant enough, super enough, enough of an IPYPIASMER of old to lead us into the new season - someone who has enthusiastically led the charge before in their area, a steady hand, who won't let it all go to their head.  It'd have to be someone in another country too, right?  I mean we're talking IPYPIASM, not NPYPIASM after all.

Yes, you've guessed it - the marvellous Titus the dog has agreed to host the Festival in it's fifth year... what a legend.

Her blog, for anyone crazy enough not to have been there previously is over here

Enjoy you crazy bunnies - I'll be hopefully enthusiastically partaking, in a shop near me, some time soon...

Thank you so much Titus!!

When the internet went down...

... I wrote the following:

He doesn’t stop to ask the time, to think things through.  His next move is all that matters, a speeding tunnel approach to life.  He sees an apple.  Wants the apple.  Sees a dog.  Wants to kiss that dog, even as she is walking away, though her wagging tail might catch him.  His minders interrupt, when they dare, to try and keep him fresh, bringing down his wrath upon them.  Other times he’ll bestow an ocean of caring when they least expect it, a soothing arm about their neck, or intensely offered part chewed biscuit.  Before they can show gratitude – he’s off again, on to the next thing.  Like the weather, unpredictable – he’ll climb, dig, jump, dance, sing, spin, splash and fall.  Throwing stones and grass.  Casually he leaves his belongings, sometimes including leaves, anywhere.  He can’t be robbed – nothing has any value – except the thing he most wants in the moment.  He’ll turn blue and breathless with rage if you try to take that though.  He’ll scream and pout and silently sob, watery eyes glaring till you, cowering, give it back; or somehow turn his focus over to something else, a show, a drink, a bit of action.  He laughs with every laugh he hears even when he least feels like it, can’t help it.  Applauds generously at the end of music, live or pre-recorded, he’s no art snob.  Enjoys bright colours of the supermarket, every bit as good as fine art exhibits.  He’ll also laugh at tears, giggles at a sneeze, tooth brushing gets guffaws and dogs eating bubbles are hilarious.  Life is hilarious.  He is hilarious.  He doesn’t stop.

So maybe the internet is to blame for the laziness, at least in part...

Shhhh

You know the way sometimes you can be confident no one will hear what you're saying because you're saying it to yourself somewhere very noisy - cursing the length of the queue for the cloakroom in the chattering unwelcome pale blue light of 2am, maybe you're singing the words slightly wrong in a choir of fifty others in navy uniforms, and you just know no one will ever hear, and sometimes you know no one can hear because you're in a woods, and there's no one around, or you're having that nightmare where you're trying to shout but there's no air in your lungs to push out through the voice box.  And sometimes no one hears just because you're only saying it in your head...

Well that's where a lot of my blog posts are getting caught nowadays - in that mousse like mess of neurons behind the balls of jelly that I use to look at stuff.  The opening or closing words of blog posts, poems, soliliquays, jokes, stories, plays, novels, songs - echo in the silence, never to be heard again, not even by myself - since I don't write the stupid things down.

And now my writing muscle has about as much muscle as a mussel, (not counting the strong bit that keeps the shell closed, cos my point is that it's not strong any more - quite the opposite), and only half as salty.

So there y'are, maybe I'll throw a little shell fish catcher line type thing in there sometime to try and dredge out some of the ideas see if they're worth cooking up... but meanwhile

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Red Ribbons on Tour

I'm an hour and a half early posting this, but what the hell, I'm too excited to wait.


LIVE UPDATE - Louise's launch has been a fantastic success, the shop was packed to the rafters and many happy readers are tucking into the book as I type.  I saw one lucky fan declaring the queue for the book signing was too long, so she'll be getting Louise to sign it another time...
tks facebook for the update



Yes, Red Ribbons blog tour has arrived with the fabulous, brilliant Louise Phillips calling in to answer five of the best questions - at least five of the best that could be found ricocheting around in my head - relating to her latest novel, now in the shops and having it's official launch tomorrow night.  I think you'll agree when you've read her answers that this is one to watch.... Get out there and buy it, published by Hachette and in all good book shops (sometimes even signed by the author herself) now!!



Straight to business -


1. Do you remember the moment when you finished writing this book -did you recognise that
moment when it came? How did it feel, what did you do that evening?

I totally remember the moment I finished the manuscript, well the 1st draft of the manuscript. I had
worked intensely on it for twelve weeks, so much so that the fictional world of RED RIBBONS felt
like it had taken permanent residency in my head. It was there before I went to sleep, when I woke
up, as I fervently got other jobs out of the way trying to get back to it, as I walked up mountains
clearing the cobwebs out of my brain, as I walked back down again, excited that more ideas had
come into my head, and all of this in the run up to Christmas. The last word got written the day
before Christmas Eve. I darted around Dundrum Shopping Centre, aware that hardly a present had
been bought. I picked up the turkey and ham, turned an upside down house into a semi-normal one.
I felt hassled knowing how much I still had to do, but I felt elated too. I had done it, I had completed
a manuscript. I looked at the pages all lovely, filled to the brim with words, my words, and I felt more
than elevated emotionally, I felt a huge relief. I had done it, irrespective of anyone ever wanting to
read it, that moment, I became a NOVELIST!

2. What has attracted you to the dark subject matter in this book do you think? Has it changed a lot
during the writing process?

The editing changed many things, but it never changed the soul of the story. If someone was to set
fire to every copy of the manuscript in existence, if every hard drive crashed, I could walk through
those lives again. I could go back, perhaps write it differently, but it would still be the same. RED
RIBBONS, was a story to be told, and I’ve done my best to tell it well. Maybe in a couple of years,
I’ll look back and say, I could have done this and that better, but if so, no matter. It’s there, and I’m
proud of it. I don’t say that lightly. In a way I feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to
visit this world, even if it is of my own creation.

As for the dark subject matter in the narrative – I don’t think you choose stories, I think they choose
you. I hope being a parent, loving my children with all my heart, has equipped me well to walk the
path of such tragic loss. I think it was George Elliot who said, ‘human kind can only bear so much
reality.’ I would never have been able to face this story in reality, but in writing it, I hope the end
result is one of light within the dark, of hope when there is so much loss, and recognition, that the
bad man is often shrouded in the veil of the ordinary.

3. What was the biggest challenge either in terms of characters or plot - which part of the book
(without giving away too much) did you sweat over most?

The biggest challenge was getting Kate Pearson right. I knew everything about her – I knew where
and when she went to school, why she came back from the UK, what drove her to study criminology,
her relationship with her husband, her son, her late father, her mother. I knew the things she loved
to do, I knew her fears, her childhood, her ability to push herself far greater than she should, and
I knew her past. This all sounds fantastic, but despite all this, she only really came to life in the 2nd
draft, and in retrospect, I think I understand why.

Ellie was the driving female voice first time around. She haunted me, she had a story which needed
to be told, and Kate, well she had to wait until Ellie’s voice was fully realised. The great thing is
though, looking back on it all, it was the absolute perfect way to write this story. You don’t always
know what you’re doing when you are writing, but you get a sense when something special is
happening. If I had written both these female voices with the same intensity first time around, each
would have been diluted. The end result is exactly how it should be.

As for which part of the book I sweated most over, I would have to say it was the action pieces.
When I did the research into psychological profiling, police procedure in Ireland, and forensics, I
thought I had most things covered. But I forgot one important detail, I had never written live action
before. Sure things happened before in my writing, but not fast action-intense, a million things
occurring at the one time, multiple reactions, panic, movement, anxiety, building up to a crescendo
and resolution. In the end, I went with my gut – if the action was fast, I wrote fast – if the emotions
were tested, frightened, I wrote the same way – if a character stopped, when everyone else was
still rushing, I stopped with them, slowed down, reflected. I guess I wrote as if I was there. I hope it
worked!!!

4. What's your view on short stories now, having written both those and the novel? Would you see
one as practise for the other or are they completely different to you and how?

They are completely different. A short story can take months to get right, and still it can test you. A
novel obviously has more words, but it is freer, certainly in the first draft stage. You don’t have time
to mess around with a short story, but equally, a novel has its own rhythms, and in a crime novel
especially, every chapter has to be there for a reason. I think I learned a lot from writing short stories
about character creation, description of place, establishment of mood, showing without telling. I
don’t think you necessarily have to have written short stories to write a novel, but I think it helped
me.

5. The big launch of the book is tonight... What are your hopes for the launch, for the tour, for the
readers - did you think of them while you wrote?

Well I’m excited about the launch and I’m nervous. I know everyone will be there to support me,
which is totally amazing and beyond words. I’ve no idea how I’m going to feel when I see so many
people from my life in the one place, and during this special time, but I’m pretty sure it will be
emotional. There could be tears, there could be many things, but I hope it will be a fantastic night,
and my gut tells me, it will be like nothing that has ever happened in my life before.

My hope for the blog tour isn’t defined. It is something which I think will be very worthwhile. I have
certainly learned a lot about RED RIBBONS, when other writers like you, Niamh, ask me questions,
and take part. I’m overwhelmed by how many of my friends have wanted to be involved. It started
as a one week blog tour, then two, and finally ended up as sixteen blog visits from Ireland to the
USA. The world is wide and vast, but friends are always close by.

Did I think of the readers when I wrote Red Ribbons? The answer to that one has to be ‘no’. Not
because I don’t have an absolute respect for readers, because I absolutely do, they are the real
test for any manuscript – but I don’t think as a writer, you can listen to any voice other than the
one inside your head. You are never completely sure you’re getting it right, but you can’t write it to
please, or perform for others. It is all about story – it dictates.

So there you have it folks... the story dictates and it will captivate you, so go on, get your copy now....

and the good news is the follow up is already in progress - a chiller by the name of the doll's house - the images for the second novel are already being chatted about in this boutique in powerscourt....

ABOUT THE BOOK

He did not intend for her to be found, but when a storm comes, there is little that can be done to stop it from disturbing what was meant to lie hidden.

On a cold October morning, the body of schoolgirl Caroline Devine is found buried in the Dublin Mountains after her grave is uncovered by harsh weather. Lying in the foetal position as if fast asleep, her hands are clasped together in prayer, and her hair has been plaited and tied with red ribbons.

When O’Connor, the detective leading the investigation, calls on Dr Kate Pearson, a criminal psychologist, to offer some advice, she tells him what he wants to hear – she feels confident the killer will take his time choosing his next victim, giving O’Connor the time he needs to catch him. But twenty-four hours later, a second schoolgirl is found in a shallow grave, her body identically arranged. Now, O’Connor and Kate find themselves desperately trying to catch the killer before he strikes again. And the more Kate discovers about the deaths of the girls, the more it all begins to feel terrifyingly familiar and long-buried memories of the past start to struggle to the surface.

There is one vital connection to be made – Ellie Brady, a woman who has been institutionalised for the last fifteen years. When her daughter’s body was found in a burnt-out caravan, Ellie confessed to setting the fire, but claimed her daughter was already dead before she struck a single match. But no one – not her husband, not the police, not the doctors at St Michael’s Institute – believed her. Will she decide to share her story once more? Is there anyone who will listen?

The bad man is everywhere. Can you see him?

RED RIBBONS is an eerie, chilling and intricately woven mystery that will appeal to fans of Sophie Hannah and Tana French. A gripping page-turner told from three points of view – criminal psychologist Kate Pearson, institutionalised patient Ellie Brady and the killer himself – this is truly an incredible debut novel.

ABOUT LOUISE:

Louise Phillips returned to writing after a 20 year gap spent raising her family, managing a successful family business, and working in banking. Quickly selected by Dermot Boger as an emerging talent, Louise went on to win the 2009 Jonathan Swift Award and in 2011 she was a winner in the Irish Writers’ Centre Lonely Voice Platform, as well as being short-listed for Bridport UK Prize, the Molly Keane Memorial Award, and the RTE Guide/Penguin Short Story Competition. In 2012 Louise was awarded an Arts bursary for literature from South County Dublin Arts. Other publishing credits include many literary journals and anthologies, including New Island’s County Lines. Louise’s psychological crime novel, Red Ribbons, is published by Hachette Books Ireland, and her second novel, The Doll’s House, will be published in 2013.

Coming Soon!!!

Louise Phillips is launching her book Red Ribbons very soon and I can't wait to read it.

Go here

http://www.louise-phillips.com/

to check her and it... out - it's going to be a thrilling read, having had the privilege of being in the same writers group for a time with Louise, hearing her work fresh off the press, I can confidently promise this will be a book well worth reading and will most likely be one of those you keep, on your shelf, for a long time, for when you want to read it again or offer to a friend.

Anyway, she's coming soon, and will be here with me on this very blog on the very day of her launch...

CAN


NOT


WAIT

So I'll see you all then - 5th of September...

I never wanted to be that blog

Not posting for ages and ages - then coming back in with apologies for all the lost time and promises to mend my ways, then failing to do so...

So where does that leave us?

Nowhere really, since not wanting to be something sometimes isn't enough to prevent you from becoming exactly that.

It's been a summer.  I've had holidays.  I should say we've had holidays.  Danger has taken to doing spontaneous happy dances with some mean fancy footwork, and has already learned to direct our hands back to the computer when we mistakenly put on something boring like the olympics instead of Tellytubbies.

 He's getting bossy.

Hedges are exploding with colour.

My evenings are being spent learning how to replace computer key board keys  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9K13E-N6h8 - here's how if you ever need help)
and finding more childhood works of genius...

what's he on about?

Yes, we're here... Still...  Hope you enjoy this latest installment from Danger, entitled

  "A Brief Soliliquay"  You'll need to paste it into your browser as I don't think the linky thing is working  http://soundcloud.com/variouscushions/

daddy3

Good Medicine

A crowd of music, poetry and general good time lovers ascended into the upstairs bar in the Teach Beag Lismore last night - moments after the infamous defeat (they only won 4 nil!) Vick of Watercats fame was on hand to dry all our tears.

Here's Vick introducing the night

the venue is cool - and I mean Cool with a capital C

Check out the lampshade!  And the wonderful Noel, who kicked off the night with some atmospheric and carefully crafted multi layered music.  More than a touch of the Tom Waits from him.

Peadar's poems were searching, thought provoking, and honest.  This picture was taken during his preamble when he mostly said "The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain"*

And down to business - absolutely holding everyone captive with his words.

The famous Poet generously signing copies of the book for his adoring fans.  (aka my mammy)  (yes my mammy and daddy followed me to Lismore - what can you do?!)

And the moment when I read out poems in public for the first time in over a year, with mixed levels of success in terms of brain function, (and my mam says I spoke too fast, but I always do that) and the kindest audience you could ever want.  Seriously I wanted to take them all home with me. (even the parents)

The people of Lismore are haunted, as we say in Cork, to have such a great night on their doorstep.  Keep it up Vick and Ron!!


* I might be making that bit up

Just because it's Easter too, I've decided to share this sighting of a Giant Bunny with baby in background.  It has created havoc in a normally very orderly and tidy room - disgraceful really.  Bad Bunny!

Book of Faces

I bought a new phone at the weekend, finally caving and abandoning my less intelligent hand set for a so called "Smart" phone.  A boy barely older than my son sold it to me, and when he heard my date of birth as part of the interaction, he proceeded to write down all the apps I should get - including facebook... he didn't think me capable of remembering to get facebook.  I need new wrinkle cream.

In other news - this has led to the ability to get photos onto the computer without using a lead.  Like magic it is.

So I give you - "Danger on a train" he's the one hanging out the back - little stunt man - no wires or anything.

In other news - The Scottish Book Trust has an article about IPYPIASM in scottish schools... that's gonna be worth a lot of points when the season starts... See here - isn't that exciting?  Well it was for me - thanks to all the Scots IPYPIers for firing that teacher's imagination.

In still other news - I'm heading to the medicine sessions on Thursday night.  Really looking forward to seeing the famous published poet Peadar O'Busahue doing his thing.  Going to read a few pomes myself for the first time in over a year.... I'm not saying I'm nervous, but I might do a passable impression of someone reading poetry while driving over a bumpy road.

Now off to find this Face Book thing the young people are always on about.

About the pedometry

So yes, they gave us pedometers, for team spirit.  So we can write down every day how many steps we've taken.  I foolishly asked my good friend google what counts as average, - it's 5000 steps, if you're a woman, and 7000 steps if you're a man. The difference between sexes is kind of odd - considering most women are slightly shorter than most men, so you would think they would need to take more steps to cover the same ground.  I have two theories for why this might be - A - Multitasking - women get more done at a time, so can iron while practising harmonica and still manage to nag their husbands (might as well go the whole hog on the stereotyping) and typing too of course.  so they don't need to retrace their steps as often.   B - The method of measurement.   The pedometer is attached to me all day - and there is an honour system whereby the people running the event trust the partakers to enter the correct number.  Now there is a possibility that sometimes men might feel compelled to fib just a tiny bit to make their number look bigger.  I'm not saying they're more competitive than women, but they're more competitive than women.
Anyway - turns out - I'm a smidge below average most days - 1000 or so below if I'm feeling womanly, and a whopping 3 K less on my manly days.  And well short of the 10 thousand steps a day that we're actually really supposed to be taking in order to stay healthy.... I was telling my colleague about it the other day "I think my pedometer is broken" I said, "It never seems to go up, I was sitting there last night waiting for it to go up..." how they laughed....  So I'm lazy - it's been officially diagnosed.