Today, for the first time in probably a week, the sun has dimmed a little over Cork. Not a bad thing, actually, if, like me, you can take flaming air only in small doses. The gardens are majestic in the sunshine, life blooming in all its glory, and when a breeze brushes by it carries with it the scent-memories of the sea. Lovely weather for sitting out with a book, or a notepad...
I've been very disciplined, this past week, getting up early to put in four or five or six hours at the computer, pecking away, deleting and pecking anew. The story I've been working on is done. I nailed it yesterday, then shut it down. In a fortnight or so, I'll read it again. Maybe then I'll see its flaws. And in the meantime, I've started in on something new, a nice surprise and one that has grabbed me from the very beginning. Today's writing has been a thorough pleasure.
Generally I call a halt to things once I've put down a thousand words, a thousand that I can live with, that is. As a guide it's good, gives me something to aim for, gives me the discipline that I need.
Today, and a thousand words in to my new story I didn't really want to stop. So I didn't. I rambled on, opening up the story, putting together the skeleton bone by bone, knowing that I can always go back and add some flesh. This evening, I'm happy...
Showing posts with label Cork. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cork. Show all posts
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Hag's Bed Is More Comfortable Than You Might Think ...
Bank Holiday Monday here in Cork, weather overcast but warm, getting some writing done, one step forward two steps back. I never liked Bank Holidays...
Yesterday, feeling the need to be out somewhere doing or seeing something of value, I gave myself a history lesson, took myself off to the beautiful seclusion of Glanworth, one of north Cork's true hidden treasures. Take a left at Fermoy, follow the twists and turns for a few miles and there it is, home to the oldest public bridge in Ireland (and possibly in Europe), a place too picturesque even for postcards.
Every step you take in a place like Glanworth counts for something, whether you know it or not. Here you stand in one of the three ancient capitals of Munster, and the way to properly appreciate a town like this is to take it at a walk, to breathe and to feel and to stand in the very spots where the stories had played themselves out. Here was where Tommy Barry led an ambush on the Black and Tans back in the day, 1919. Two men down, identity parades, and small miracles. Or this bridge, standing since the mid-15th century, a magnificent structure spanning thirteen arches long and strong over the babbling River Funcheon: blown by "the boys" back in Civil War times, blown up, priest and all.
Of greatest interest to me, though, was The Hag's Bed, the Labbacallee Megalith, a 5000 year old wedge tomb of incredible size and proportion situated a mile or so out of town. Ancient almost beyond compare, older than the pyramids at Giza, as old as Stonehenge.
In Glanworth, if you are of a particular mind, you can feel the history everywhere on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
It was a pretty good day, actually,
Dylan's Together Through Life playing incessantly in the backround
Yesterday, feeling the need to be out somewhere doing or seeing something of value, I gave myself a history lesson, took myself off to the beautiful seclusion of Glanworth, one of north Cork's true hidden treasures. Take a left at Fermoy, follow the twists and turns for a few miles and there it is, home to the oldest public bridge in Ireland (and possibly in Europe), a place too picturesque even for postcards.
Every step you take in a place like Glanworth counts for something, whether you know it or not. Here you stand in one of the three ancient capitals of Munster, and the way to properly appreciate a town like this is to take it at a walk, to breathe and to feel and to stand in the very spots where the stories had played themselves out. Here was where Tommy Barry led an ambush on the Black and Tans back in the day, 1919. Two men down, identity parades, and small miracles. Or this bridge, standing since the mid-15th century, a magnificent structure spanning thirteen arches long and strong over the babbling River Funcheon: blown by "the boys" back in Civil War times, blown up, priest and all.
Of greatest interest to me, though, was The Hag's Bed, the Labbacallee Megalith, a 5000 year old wedge tomb of incredible size and proportion situated a mile or so out of town. Ancient almost beyond compare, older than the pyramids at Giza, as old as Stonehenge.
In Glanworth, if you are of a particular mind, you can feel the history everywhere on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
It was a pretty good day, actually,
Dylan's Together Through Life playing incessantly in the backround
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