The Daily Dose

Sunday, 28th August 2016
I set myself the challenge of writing a letter everyday to someone and already I have failed.  I wrote to Jennifer, my pal from Hong Kong days, who has since moved back to Canada, on the 18th of August and wrote nothing since. 

My excuse?  I've loads of them.  I visited my extended family on holiday in Kilkee, the opportunity and motivation to write - zero.  Kilkee drained me even though the weather was fantastic and everyone got on fine.  I returned to Cork after dropping my sister in Mitchelstown on Wednesday (24th August).  I had my job review on Thursday morning which did not go well.  I celebrated my 27th wedding anniversary that afternoon in Kinsale with one glass of wine as I was driving.  Maybe the wine didn't suit me.  Late that afternoon, I fell asleep while reading.  The same happened yesterday.  I can't blame the book.  I slept right through the night and woke up this morning in a good mood which never happens. 

My resolve is strong again and I will resume the challenge today. I also remembered the dream I had - something I have not been able to do for years.  In the dream, I was a nanny again, babysitting 20 children but only responsible for one.  Must get that analysed.

Cloona, literary festivals, workshops, days with close friends like Bridget Daly and Susie, boost my energy and I feel unstoppable. Work, time spent with difficult relatives, acting unnaturally to keep the peace and alcohol drain me.  Maybe I'm just getting old.

The book I was reading and finished was A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.  Loved it.  He gives a fascinating insight to the lives of authors he hung out with in Paris in the 1920s and went on to become literary giants themselves: Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and Scott Fitzgerald.  Hemingway talks about his life as a struggling writer and describes his writing technique; the importance of writing everyday and the importance of discipline.  Paris, back then, he said was the best place to be for a writer as it provided creative freedom, support and privacy.  He said it was possible to live like a king in Paris despite having almost no money.  Hemingway did his work mostly in cafés; he knew the ones where he would be left alone and despised those people who frequented certain cafés in order to be seen.  Having almost no money but needing to support a wife and his 'blonde and chunky' son - love that description - he frequently went without food and lied to his wife about having a had a wonderful lunch.  He found however, that the abstinence of food sharpened the senses and he felt it made him a better writer. 

Hemingway is known for his sparse writing which keeps the story moving along at a clipping pace.  What I love best are his dialogues.  They are funny, cruel but witty. Envy is one of my lesser qualities and I would give anything to be living in Paris back then and to have Gertrude Stein as one of casual acquaintance and be able to live well in that beautiful city on so little.