Ireland Top Ten
[Update, 2024: I have passed the torch on researching/updating Moon Ireland, which is why you’ll no longer find the book page on this site. I still highly recommend Moon Guides in general!]
I keep meaning to announce that the revised Moon Ireland (along with its mini-me, Moon Dublin) is now on sale! This new edition is absolutely beautiful, and I hope you get the chance to use it sometime in the not-too-distant future.
To celebrate pub day (which was going on four months ago now, eep!), I've winnowed all my favorite places down to ten must-sees, in north-to-south order, with guidebook page numbers for easy reference.
Glenveagh Castle.
County Donegal.
Literally anywhere in Donegal—because it takes more time and effort to get to, most visitors never even contemplate a visit. So much the better for you! Spend a night in Donegal Town before heading west to Kilcar, Killybegs, Glencolmcille, and/or Slieve League, or north to Glenveagh National Park, Gweedore, and/or Dunfanaghy. (Pages 369-388.)
Downhill, County Derry.
Wandering the Downhill Estate gives me those delicious gothic shivers, not just for the ruins themselves but for the over-the-top character behind them: the infamous Bishop Hervey, whom George III referred to as "that wicked prelate." Local legend says the bishop—an entrepreneur, playboy, and self-described agnostic—played a game of cards here with the devil himself. Perched on a cliff near the ruins of his mansion, the jewel-like Mussenden Temple was built to house Hervey's library, mistress, or both. The rest of the estate is comprised of a forest park perfect for an easy ramble, and a gatehouse tea room was in the works when I visited in 2016. If you have time to spend the night here, the Downhill Beach House is highly recommended. (Page 425.)
Loughcrew Cairns, County Meath.
It took me years to make it up here, and when I finally did I could have kicked myself for taking so long. Newgrange may be the official "must-see," but (partly because there's very little tourist infrastructure, and they aren't easy to get to) these "hills of the witch" are infinitely more atmospheric. After tracking down the key from the coffee shop at Loughcrew House, you'll climb to the top of Carnbane East and unlock the door to Cairn T, venturing into the darkness to view spiral carvings made more than three thousand years ago. All told there are about thirty megalithic tombs scattered over these hills, and it's said you can see seventeen counties from the peak of Sliabh na Caillighe. (Page 90.)
Galway City, County Galway.
I went to grad school here, learned and loved and wrote here; there's no city on earth quite like it. Wander the charming old streets and lanes downtown, check out the many excellent pubs and restaurants, rent a bike and cycle through Salthill out to Barna Wood. (Pages 288-299.)
Inishbofin, County Galway.
The Aran Islands are glorious, don't get me wrong, but Inishbofin is much less touristy—what it lacks in spectacular prehistoric and early-Christian ruins it makes up for in peace and quiet. (Page 316.)
Letterfrack, Leenane, and Connemara National Park.
Wild mountain, sea, and fjord views, not-too-strenuous hiking, quiet country pubs: this is my favorite little corner of County Galway. (I've read several recent decidedly-not-positive reviews of the Old Monastery hostel, but there are many more accommodation options in the area. I've also stayed at the Leenane Hotel and can recommend it, although you'll want to go to the Blackberry Café for dinner. (Ring ahead if you're vegan.) (Pages 317-321.)
Glendalough, County Wicklow.
It's super touristy, yes, so definitely spend the night—once the coach buses leave you'll feel like you have the place almost all to yourself. The Wicklow Heather (1km down the road in Laragh) is an excellent (veg-accommodating) spot for dinner—and if you stay at Heather House, you'll have breakfast here too. (Page 110.)
The Kerry Cliffs (and Skellig Michael), County Kerry.
This relatively new attraction rivals the Cliffs of Moher in breathtaking clifftop views, and while the owners of the land are unabashedly opportunistic, I still think it's worth the entry price (€4 per person here versus €6 per person to park at the Cliffs of Moher). The Skellig Ring makes for gorgeous and relatively peaceful driving, since the coach buses are too big for these roads—take a day trip out of Killarney, and you will miss this. I haven't been to the Skelligs since my first trip to Ireland back in 2000, and I'm holding off on a return visit out of concern for the fragility of the environment. (Pages 223 and 226.)
Ardmore, County Waterford.
St. Declan's monastery and cliff walk is just about the most picturesque experience you can imagine. I'm amazed at how untouristy Ardmore still is! (Page 159.)
Union Hall.
Union Hall and Glandore, County Cork.
I have a special place in my heart for these postcard-pretty twin villages in west Cork: it was at a tiny beach near Maria's Schoolhouse Hostel that I wrote the first pages of my practice novel. While the hostel is long since closed, you can still go on kayaking trips with Maria and Jim. (Page 185.)
There are lots more places I'm terribly fond of, and I'm hoping to profile them in future posts. And if you're wondering why I've listed only one place in Northern Ireland, I might as well tell you that the overall vibe up North creeps me out in a bad way. That said, on my next visit I'll be checking out the Gobbins (closed, alas, when I was in the area in 2016) as well as Rathlin Island, and after that trip I'll be sure to blog more about the Causeway Coast.
One more thing to note: due to space constraints we had to cut most of the Midlands coverage, which I very much regret. So I'll be blogging about Athlone, Kinnitty, Birr, Emo Court, the Rock of Dunamase, Blacklion, and maybe Boyle in the near future, too (we did manage to fit Clonmacnoise and Leap Castle into sidebars in the Galway chapter). An ultimate vegan guide to Ireland is in the works as well (I'm SO bummed to hear my fave veg B&B is closed so they can focus on the farming side).
If you have any other places to recommend, I'd love to hear about them in the comments!
St. Patrick's Day, and other tidbits
A few fun things to report today: first, to celebrate St. Paddy's Day, I've written a round-up of my favorite haunted (or at least haunting) places in Ireland over at PopSugar.
In case you missed my post-apocalyptic library essay the first time around, the lovely folks over at Dead Darlings have reposted it today.
And best of all: the first review of Immaculate Heart, in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Next week is launch week, so expect more pictures of cupcake decorating!
Bookiversary!
Today feels quite shiny and special. I don't know that I've ever told this story on the blog, so here goes.
In January 2006 I went back to Ireland and rented a car (a series of them, actually, ha) to research the first edition of Moon Ireland. This was my second paid writing gig (after co-writing Hanging Out in Ireland the summer after my freshman year of college), but this time I was working on my own guidebook for proper money. My primary ambition had always been to publish a novel, but after my experience with the practice novel I was feeling more anxious than excited when Kate Garrick submitted Mary Modern to a bunch of editors that February.
This time, though, there were several nibbles. More than one editor wanted to make an offer, Kate said. I felt even more nervous. She set the closing date for Friday, March 14th at 3pm.
At the end of that week I was staying at a hostel in Leenane (in Connemara), and had fallen in with Kevin, a fellow writer from Dublin, and Tom, an American in his sixties who was working as a handyman at the hostel. The guys promised to help me celebrate in the event of good news (HA, of course you will!)
I gave Kate the hostel phone number, emailed my family and asked them to think good thoughts, and refreshed my inbox repeatedly on the hostel computer until I remembered that I'd only be receiving bad news that way. Good news always comes by phone. [I have since learned that certain kinds of bad news come by phone, too, but we won't dwell on that.]
I very vividly remember sitting on a dormitory floor early that evening, voicing my anxiety to Kevin, who was sympathetic. It's one o'clock in New York, I said. This isn't gonna happen. It's not going to sell and I don't know what I'm going to do.
After a little while we heard the phone ring downstairs. "It's Random House calling!" Kevin declared (and if he was mocking me he did so affectionately.)
Then we heard footsteps on the stairs. "No, really. I think it's for you!"
I crouched on the floor, my heart in my throat. The guy working the front desk called my name. HOLY S**T IT HAS TO BE KATE IT'S GOOD NEWS.
I ran to the door and grabbed the cordless, and when Kate told me we'd gotten an offer from Sally at Shaye Areheart/Crown I blubbered every single expletive in my vocabulary.
We drove into town. I bought all the Guinness Kevin asked for. We had a good night.
#MoonIreland
I'm leaving for Ireland soon, and while I'm there you can keep up with me on Instagram. (I should have known it would become my new social-media-crack-of-choice once I finally got a smartphone!!)
Seven Days in Ireland
Two nights in Galway with Ailbhe and Christian and Shelley and A&C's ridiculously cute kiddos, down to Tipperary to see Seanan's folks, weekend in Dingle and back to Tipp for one more night before heading up to Dublin on the train (which was a treat, faster and more comfortable than the bus—Seanan found me a €15 web fare). It was lovely to be able to say "see you again in February." I'll be back to revise my guidebook!
Big thanks to my aunt Kathy for giving me (yes, GIVING me) her Nikon SLR camera. It was so very generous of her. I'm excited to take a digital photography class in the next couple months so I can learn how to use it beyond the basics!
More Random Ireland
The next few photos are from the graveyard in Tipperary where Seanan's ancestors are buried. (I shivered just typing that.) Bán brought me there and we spent awhile looking out for the oldest stones in the cemetery. 
Random Ireland
When I slack off on the blogging, all the interesting things start backing up! So I figure I'd better get back to it. For the next few Tuesdays, collections of interesting photographs from Ireland that didn't quite fit into a themed post: 
Vegan Ireland: the Everywhere Else Edition
Here's my last post on dining out in Ireland, which makes me a bit sad—it was SUCH a lovely trip. (There are plenty more sightseeing photos though.)
My first dinner—a quality little Indian place in Boyle, County Roscommon. (According to the owner of my B&B, Chris O'Dowd and company ate there during filming of Moone Boy and said it was as good as any Indian they'd had in London. I concur.) 
Light lunch in Manorhamilton, County Leitrim: orange-carrot soup and tea sans milk. 
Roasted red pepper soup with almonds at a quaint little tearoom near Drumcliffe, County Sligo. (Paddy said, "If you take that picture, you are officially a hipster." To which I replied, "Then I have been a hipster for quite some time now." Also: the extreme cuteness of that espresso cup!!) 
Had a lovely light dinner with Kate M. in Galway (she was in town on scholarly business) and her colleague Sarah. We ended up at a Spanish tapas place—I had to pretend I didn't see the cured pig-legs suspended above the bar—but they did have great veg options. (When the greens came I said, "What is this stuff on top??" The waitress assured me it was shaved hazelnuts.)* * *After nearly a week in London and Edinburgh, I circled back to Dublin for my last couple days.
At the Hugh Lane Gallery I treated myself to not one but TWO soy lattes. (When you find good coffee over there you gotta take advantage!) Simple yummy avocado-and-salad bagel for breakfast. That salad dressing looked fairly sketchy, but the chef assured me it was vegan. And needless to say, I did not eat the chips. 
Diarmuid told me to go to Govinda's just before closing time for a one-euro dinner. VERY GOOD IDEA. Lastly but bestly—a gorgeous dinner at Cornucopia with Deirdre:
(Butternut squash yumminess with a refreshing beet salad on the side.)And I couldn't skip dessert on my last night in Ireland!: 
Next week: more farmshare love!
What the Heart Knows To-day
What the heart knows to-day the head will understand to-morrow.
—James Stephens, The Crock of Gold
I've been on a James Stephens kick lately, because my favorite panel in Harry Clarke's Geneva Window illustrates the opening scene from his novel The Demi-Gods. (You will find a description of the panel in Immaculate Heart, my new-new novel; I recently read The Demi-Gods, and honestly, the panel is so glorious that the text inspiring it actually comes up short in comparison. See above!)Anyway, I wanted to share this passage from The Crock of Gold with you.
...The lower animals, as they are foolishly called, have abilities at which we can only wonder. The mind of an ant is one to which I would readily go to school. Birds have atmospheric and levitational information which millions of years will not render accessible to us; who that has seen a spider weaving his labyrinth, or a bee voyaging safely in the trackless air, can refuse to credit that a vivid, trained intelligence animates these small enigmas? and the commonest earthworm is the heir to a culture before which I bow with the profoundest veneration...
Not to take it out of context: the author is satirizing men who spend all their lives reading and pondering what they've read, never exercising their common sense (his protagonist is only known as The Philosopher). That said, it's still a beautiful reminder that there are many types of intelligence, most of which aren't human.
A DIY Writing Retreat
How to create your own weeklong writing retreat:1. Decide where you want to be. If you are anything like me, you'll find that nature is essential. Fresh air, birdsong, and meandering country lanes are all very conducive to creativity, because you'll have given yourself some extra space to think. 
2. Find a self-catering establishment within your budget. (I recommend Green Lodge, where I stayed in West Cork. And I saved 10% by booking ahead!)3. Get your basic needs taken care of right away (i.e., do your food shopping for the whole week) so you can focus on the work. 
4. Don't be hard on yourself when "the work" turns out to be something other than what you planned. Just go with it. Trust the process. (I had planned to work my way through a substantial revision of my new novel, but I wound up working on short pieces instead. I finished that revision a week after I got home, still nearly a month and a half in advance of my deadline!) 
5. Stop and notice the world around you. Fill up. Enjoy. 
Irish Holy Wells, part 3
(Irish holy wells, part 1; part 2.)
This post is going to be almost all photographs. St. Culain's Well is one of the loveliest, most tranquil places in Ireland (and you know I have been ALL over). I'm so grateful to Bán for taking me there! 
This is the best example of a "rag tree" you are likely to find. Leaving a trinket on a rag tree is a form of prayer for a loved one in need of healing. 
The holy well is located just off the Lough Derg Way, and it overlooks this peaceful pond off the River Shannon. 
A bit of pottery I found in the spring. 
The last line cracks me up.
A Night at the Book Mart
I have to tell you about the monthly poetry open mic Paddy hosts at a wonderful secondhand bookshop in Sligo called the Book Mart.Paddy had assured me there'd be vegan food at the event, and sure enough, Donal and Adam (who work there) had prepared two really delicious and filling grain and bean salads, with French bread and cashews on the side, and orange juice as an alternative to wine. When I asked Donal if he were vegan himself, he said, "I'm not vegan, no, but why wouldn't I make food that everyone can eat?"BEST. RESPONSE. EVER. 
There was a good turnout (no more space to sit in the back room), and the readings were wonderfully varied—there was quite a bit of original work as well as original translations (I wish I could remember the name of a very young German poet who wrote of the horrors of war as if he'd witnessed them firsthand, yet he'd written the poem at least a year before WWI broke out; he was translated by a gentleman named Frank, and I was really impressed at how he'd managed naturally to preserve the rhymes), prose as well as poetry, and even some science fiction thrown in for good measure.One of my favorites was "Porphyria's Lover," written by Robert Browning and read by Paddy:
This poem reminds me of that line from one of the witchy Discworld books (Witches Abroad, I think?), about a proper "happily ever after" necessitating chopping the bride's and groom's heads off the minute they've said "I do." (Or, ahem, the morning after?) At any rate, all I remembered about Robert Browning was the schmoopiness of his romance with Elizabeth Barrett (though in fairness, "how do I love thee? let me count the ways" was probably not so cheesy back then), so this poem rather shocked me. But Paddy has a delightfully gothic sensibility (he is obsessed with the Grand Guignol, after all), so there was no better person to read it aloud. 
After the break I read a passage from Bones & All, and I think everyone was too taken aback to respond to it apart from "I know this isn't what you were going for, but I really want a hamburger now." (I suspect I'm going to be hearing a lot of that.) 
Vegan Ireland: Cork, part 2
After the night of that lovely Japanese-inspired meal with Emily at My Goodness, I headed out to West Cork (between Bantry and Glengarriff) for a weeklong DIY writing retreat (more on that later). I got off the bus in Bantry, picked up a load of groceries, and rang for a taxi.That week I made simple meals for myself—porridge with almond milk and flaxseed-goji berry meal, a vegetable and sprouted-bean stew (using tomato sauce as a lazy-girl's base, since I didn't have any broth or herbs/spices to hand), Linda McCartney veggie sausages with locally-made onion chutney, tomato and spinach sandwiches with hummus or vegan "mayo," and so on and suchlike.The mayonnaise alternative is downright sad compared to Vegenaise (or my new favorite, Earth Balance vegan mayo made from olive oil), but you gotta take what you can find and be grateful for it, right? (Particularly since I was in a small-town grocery store!) The next time I go back to Ireland I'm sure there'll be a wider variety of vegan products available. (And in fairness, I believe Bantry does have a health food store, but seeing as I had all my luggage with me it just seemed easier to plop my big red pack in a full-size shopping cart and get on with it.)
Vince happened to be taking an overnight hiking trip near Glengarriff, so at the end of that wonderfully tranquil and productive week he picked me up on the way back to Cork City. That afternoon I went to the Crawford Municipal Art Gallery (especially for the Harry Clarke room, more on that later too), and then to the Natural Foods Bakery for a date bar and a soya cappuccino to tide me over until dinnertime. (I ate a LOT of dessert on this trip. You'll see over the next several vegan-themed posts why I want to laugh every time somebody implies I'm depriving myself.)I'd said in my last Cork post that I didn't think I'd make it to the Quay Co-op this time around, but happily I was wrong! It's hearty good-value deli-style food (like Cornucopia in Dublin, which I'll also be blogging about). I like that you can go up to the counter and choose whatever main course and salads look the most delicious. (No dinner envy when the plates come out and your friend's dish looks nicer than yours!) There's also a grocery on the ground floor. 
The Quay Co-op also has a tempting selection of fancy juices and sodas. 
Emily and Vince and I had a great meal. I got the chickpea burger with gravy, and butternut and beet salads on the side. 
I convinced myself that Dandelion & Burdock soda is good for the digestion (hey! it very well might be!) 
See what I mean? Being vegan is SO, SO HAAAAAAAAARD.
Streedagh Beach
As you know, research is one of my favorite aspects of the novel-writing process—particularly when I get to drive around County Sligo with an old friend and call it work! 
I'd been to Streedagh Beach once (back in 2006, working on the guidebook), but I'd never paid this much attention to the fossils, the landmarks, the tufts of long dry grass on the tip of every dune. (Paddy is very good at spotting the fossils.) 
This beach has a sad history, having been the washing-up point for one of the Spanish Armada shipwrecks in 1588. Those who'd washed up alive were slaughtered by the English. 
This is the loveliest fossil I have ever seen. 
Alas, it'll be years yet before you can recognize this beach in my novel. Nice pictures in the meantime, though, right?
Irish Holy Wells, part 2
(Irish holy wells, part 1.)
After a few nights in some random little towns in Roscommon and Leitrim, I met up with my old friend Paddy in Sligo, and he took me to a holy well and grotto just outside town called Tobernault (tobar meaning "well" in Irish). As you can tell by the complexity and upkeep, this is quite a popular spot for prayer and reflection. 
(More on my time with Paddy in another post.)After a couple nights each in Sligo, Mayo, and Galway, I arrived in Tipperary for a visit with Seanan's family. Bán (Seanan's mom) took me on an afternoon tour of three holy wells all within a few miles of their house.The first, St. Patrick's, I'd been to with Seanan before, but the past five years have not been kind to this little spot. The well is clogged with slurry. (You can't see it too well from the photo below, but really—was I going to take a picture of liquid cow poo to prove it to you? Sigh...) 
The second well, St. Brigid's, was overgrown and tricky to find, but it smelled much better!: 
Bán saved the loveliest well for last—I'll show you those photos next time.
Veganversary!
Three years ago this month I decided to cut all animal products out of my diet. Not coincidentally, these have been the happiest and most productive three years of my life thus far.In April 2011 I was volunteering at Sadhana Forest, and as I write this I'm abroad again—this time happily ensconced in a cottage apartment in West Cork, writing and reading and going for long walks down quiet country roads in the glorious and improbable sunshine.
This is my first time in Ireland as a vegan, and I am experiencing the landscape in a new way. The romance of the Irish countryside isn't there for me anymore. These animals, the cows and the sheep—they are raised for slaughter, and there is nothing remotely "romantic" about that. I knew this before, but I see it now. I acknowledge it to myself every time I walk past an animal grazing in a pasture. 
That said, I have dear friends who are cattle farmers, and I'm not judging them. This has been a way of life for their families for many generations, and I recognize that our respective worldviews aren't going to converge anytime soon. I like to think I've mellowed a bit since I first relaunched this website back in September; I'm no longer trying to convince anyone of anything, and that feels really good. I can juggle the apparent contradiction in loving people who raise animals for food—in knowing they are good people even though I passionately disagree with them on crucial points. Theirs is a dying way of life—not sure if I'm intending the pun here or not—and the only thing for me to do is to be here, ready and waiting with resources and information, for when someone is ready and willing to receive it. 
Being vegan in Ireland isn't quite as easy as it is in the U.K., but people do know what veganism is and are more than willing to accommodate me. "Feeding a vegan is easier than I thought it would be!" Ailbhe remarked toward the end of my visit to Galway, and hearing her say that made me really happy. I've found a new equilibrium—letting people be who they are as I go on being who I am—and perhaps this is the culmination of a three-year growth process. Makes you wonder what the next three years have in store, eh?
Irish Holy Wells, part 1
I have visited six holy wells for novel research over the past couple of weeks. Some were well tended, others neglected and even polluted. Some were enchantingly situated, others less so. But each of them has a long history and tradition behind it, even if they're seldom visited these days.
St. Attracta's Well in Clogher, County Sligo. If you follow that link, you'll see just how much further into disrepair this well has fallen since those photographs were taken several years ago. You can still see the bullaun and "serpent's eggs," but the crucifixion carving has been removed (for safekeeping, one hopes!) 
The next day I stopped by St. Lasair's Well, which is just across the road from Kilronan Abbey in County Roscommon. (Somewhere in the graveyard is the final resting place of Turlough O'Carolan.) Kilronan means "church of Ronan," by the way—Ronan and Lasair are father-and-daughter saints. Her well is in the midst of refurbishment. 
Because of the renovations, all the bits and pieces people had left at the well over the years were scattered on the Mass rock a few paces away. 
Here I found my first "rag tree": a bush or tree near a holy well where people leave items belonging to a loved one in need of healing. It could be as simple as a scrap of clothing, a bit of yarn, or a set of rosary beads; or you could find children's shoes, stuffed animals...even a pacifier. (Along with this teacup, I found an unopened package of Weetabix. St. Lasair is all set for breakfast whenever she wants it.) I have an even better example of a rag tree to show you in a future post.
Irish Spring
After that seemingly interminable New England winter (heck, everywhere winter), it was wonderful to land in Ireland and find spring in full swing. I spent my first day in and around Boyle, County Roscommon, passing the night at a lovely old B&B literally right next door to a 12th-century abbey. (Okay, so the B&B is new in comparison.)
Tomorrow: a wonderful pop-up vegan restaurant in Cork City.And next Tuesday: Irish holy wells!
Letter to a Reluctant Traveler
When I was nineteen, I had the opportunity to write for a travel guide called Hanging Out in Ireland. It was going to be my job for the summer: to travel for five weeks around the southern half of the island, taking notes on every castle, restaurant, hostel and pub, then come home and write 100,000 words. I was elated, and I was terrified. My mother felt all the terror and none of the elation. She said, "Can't you get an office job?"
Out for a day in Donegal with my Cavan cousins on a solo trip to Ireland, 2001.
Dear Friend,When I was nineteen, I had the opportunity to write for a travel guide called Hanging Out in Ireland. It was going to be my job for the summer: to travel for five weeks around the southern half of the island, taking notes on every castle, restaurant, hostel and pub, then come home and write 100,000 words. I was elated, and I was terrified. My mother felt all the terror and none of the elation. She said, "Can't you get an office job?"If I had listened to my mother, my life would have taken an entirely different turn, so I am grateful I had the good sense not to. I breathed through the anxiety. I packed my passport and boarded the plane. I spent the first couple days bumbling around Counties Kildare and Wicklow feeling completely lost and lonely and incompetent. I remember my first night, in a hotel in Kildare town--what the hell was I even doing in Kildare town?--sleeping off my jet lag only to find myself wide awake in the middle of the night. I trembled with indignation when I overheard a night porter telling his friend that I was "some stupid feckin' American asking questions." I watched Angelina Jolie in a TV movie on a little television mounted to the ceiling. I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep.Eventually I found my footing. I started talking to people--nice people--I began to smile again, I took copious notes, I had lots and lots of adventures. I stood on clifftops, trod reverently through the ruins of monasteries, listened to exuberant traditional music sessions in crowded pubs, walked "home" at 2AM under a dome of stars and thanked God for my existence. That summer I had my first real taste of independence (and Guinness, and banoffee pie, and sticky toffee pudding). I grew into myself.I would love for you to have that sort of experience too, whether it's your first sleep-away camp or a year-long round-the-world backpacking trip. Wherever you are longing to go, you owe it to yourself to go there. If it scares you, that's how you know you HAVE to do it. Don't settle into routines, don't satisfy yourself with the friends you already have; spend too much time together and eventually you will find there is nothing left to say. It's so much nicer to go away--do lots of fun things on your own, think your own thoughts--then come home again and catch up properly. You will change, but hopefully they will love you all the more for it.Learn to enjoy moving through the world on your own. Solitude isn't an absence, it's a gift. You'll get used to walking into a restaurant and asking for a table for one; after the first couple times it won't feel so awkward. You are learning not to care what others think of you, and that they almost certainly aren't thinking or talking about you anyhow. Resist the impulse to grab a small pizza and a bottle of orange soda and pass the dinner hour on the floor of your hostel dormitory. If someone smiles at you, or makes a funny remark in passing, don't let it be in passing. Act on each and every hint of companionship, no matter how glancing. That girl assigned the upper bunk might be hoping to find a friend in you, too.Live your life like it's a Choose Your Own Adventure novel (where this analogy falls short is, you're the reader and the writer). No one else can live this life for you, and don't listen to anyone who thinks they know how you should live it. Trust your instincts and be willing to make a fool of yourself. You can't grow if you never make a mistake.So what do you mean, you don't have a passport? GET ON IT! And wherever you go, if you think of it, send me a postcard.love,Camille.
The Passage Assassin
Diarmuid took me on a day trip through Connemara for my birthday in November 2006. Not bad for a disposable camera. And yes, this is a lake, not the sea, but you get the idea. While my editor and I were working through Petty Magic revisions, a few times she said, 'we have to cut this. I have a knack for cutting authors' favorite passages; call me the passage assassin.' She said this apologetically, as if it wasn't her job to ferret out the precious bits that don't really belong.All writers know this sometimes: we're so proud of having written that line or paragraph that we resist removing it even though it's not really working in the story. In the case of this passage, it fit thematically but slowed the narrative momentum. You don't have to read Petty Magic first; it's quite self-contained.
Mick the drummer tells the last story, which is about what happens to Connemara fishermen when they die. There is a pub on an island in the middle of the Atlantic, he says, where everyone comes and goes by curragh. To get to the pub you walk up a small grassy hill in the moonlight, and on the way up you'll pass an overturned curragh under a tarpaulin and resting on cinderblocks, and people say that was the very boat that brought St. Brendan the Navigator to the New World. The pub, which is not unlike the pub we're in now--though of course Murty Coyne's isn't situated on its own island--always has enough seats at the bar, and the turf-fire's always burning bright, and the whole place thrums with the lively conversations of old friends reunited. The night seems endless, but then again so's the flow of Guinness, and the only other thing that passes between you and the bartender is a handshake. You can stay as long as you like, says Mick, though you do get a certain feeling when it's time to be heading off. When it's time, you say all your last goodbyes, walk down the hill, and untie your curragh, sailing away from the sunrise just as St. Brendan once did.
I really liked this part, but she was right to cut it.