Wit and Wisdom in the Kingdom - Listowel Writers Week 2011

     I attended the Listowel Writers Week over the June weekend with my friend Donna. I signed up for the Writing Funny workshop while Donna did Modern Fiction. The workshops took place from Thursday to Saturday, 9am to 1pm leaving the afternoon free for the aspiring writer to mull over the morning’s learning and to draw inspiration from the wide selection of talks that took place throughout the day and evening.

     Unfortunately, we left the booking of accommodation until too late and as a result we stayed in the Listowel Arms ‘sister hotel’ in Ballybunion.  We had intended to arrive early the first morning to register but we didn’t factor in the nine mile drive from Ballybunion nor the fact that we can’t read maps. I was the last to arrive in my class. I met a woman wearing an emerald green dress and mint green shoes. I said, “Do you like green?” She replied, “I like colour” and hurried away. The class had started. I hurried into the last available seat.

     By way of introduction, we were all asked to identity our idea of funny and to tell a joke or a funny thing that happened to them. Joanne, a teacher from Derry told how she was asked to take part in the re-enactment of the Siege of the Derry.“We couldn’t find 300 Protestants, so we made do with 300 Catholics pretending to be Protestants. We practised for months.”

     We were then told how the most basic comedy arises when a rule bound, inflexible person deals with life. They are either the butt of other people’s jokes or as they collide with life, things go wrong for them. Think Basil Fawlty. We were then asked to describe an inflexible person we knew. Listening to my classmates’ descriptions, I was struck by how unhappy these people must be when Carmel from Kildare spoke up. “What you are all describing is OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and I live with four of these people in my home and believe me it is not funny at all. It’s very stressful.”

     Moving swiftly on we discussed how one person’s pain can make others laugh. Several years ago, I lived in Singapore and I hated the place. I was constantly clashing with the natives and was desperately miserable. One afternoon, I was hit on the head by an exit barrier. It was an accident but I blamed the security guards. I fired off a seven page typed letter to my mother. I poured out my rage; all the inconveniences I had to put up with, the injustices of my life and generally how I hated everybody. I felt better for getting it all down in paper. I then faxed the letter home. Ten minutes later a single page came crawling through the fax machine. It was from my brother and on it he had drawn a picture of Mount Krakatau exploding. Underneath my sister had written, “Thank God, you are 10,000 miles away venting your temper on someone else.” I was confused. I rang home. I could hear scuffling as the phone was picked up. There seemed to be chaos. I thought I heard my brother laughing. My mother very carefully said, “Yes?” I said, “Mum, what’s going on?” My mother couldn’t seem to speak. Was she crying? Then it dawned on me that they were laughing. I shouted down the phone at them, “I’m in pain here, I’m really suffering!” My mother whimpered, “I’m sorry but….!” I hung up.

     By the time we broke for coffee, I realised you can’t teach people to be funny. You are either funny or you are not; it’s like teaching Hitler to be spontaneous. Over coffee I talked to a lady who had red hair, yellow glasses, amber earrings and necklace and was dressed in an orange top and skirt, black tights and bright orange Crocs. I said, “Do you like orange?” She sighed and said, “I like colour.” She drove an acid yellow Fiat car which had a sticker on the back Dip in Nip 2004. She explained that it was a charity for breast cancer and they had raised €56,000. I was impressed and said, “Do they pay to watch you?” “Not at all, she said, it’s completely private!”

     Later that afternoon, as I waited for Donna in the lobby of the Listowel Arms Hotel, I was struck by the fabulous clothes worn by the women of all ages and sizes. It wasn’t quite wedding standard but every shimmering fabric was represented, no colour was too bright, no heel too high, and every neck and ear boasted big, bold jewellery. I noted the older the woman, the more flamboyant the outfit. In my grey sweatshirt and denim jeans I felt like a pigeon among the peacocks.

     Listowel is full on. Every minute is filled with literary jewels from readings to recitals, book signings and interviews with famous authors.              On the Thursday evening, I went to see Richard Dawkins in conversation with Kevin Myers the Fosset’s Circus tent.         On Friday I spent the day on the beach in Ballybunion in the glorious sunshine and had an early night suffering from vertigo.     My favourite author was David Sedaris. He was exceptionally funny in an understated, Woody Allen kind of way. I bought one of his books on the spot and have bought two more since. That’s the trouble with those kinds of weekends: they renew your love of books, fill you with optimism and inspire you to pick up your pen…..