Why Northern Ireland?

I'm a native of Norn Iron and being born in the 70's I've seen the horrors of The Troubles and the pain they caused so many people and families throughout our country. I left, when I was eighteen, as did so many of my generation, to go to university and it was over a decade before I moved back to Co. Down.   Like Charlotte, in Twisted Truth, I often returned to visit my family and once the peace progress started was amazed by the changes I saw. Things that I couldn't even begin to comprehend would ever be possible. Like my character, although my life was elsewhere, I also always felt a little twinge every time I left.

Despite all of its problems I love Northern Ireland. I've been back in Co. Down for eight years now and whilst it saddens me to see our politics still remain largely entrenched, elements of division and mistrust still evident, we live in a beautiful landscape with so much to offer. I mentioned in a previous post how encouraging I found the amount of tourists we met this summer, who finally felt safe to visit this little patch of the globe.

When I picked up the laptop and started to write Twisted Truth in 2010 I decided to include several chapters set in the 80's developing the teenage relationship between Charlotte and Mark. Whilst I couldn't write about that era without mentioning The Troubles I kept any mention of it to a minimum, wanting to show that it didn't control every element of daily life for all citizens of Northern Ireland and even though horrific things happened, on an almost daily basis, it became a part of every day life. For many it didn't stop them living ordinary lives and as teenagers we had the same issues as those in any other country. So much, fiction and non-fiction, had already been devoted to the topic I wanted to write about a Northern Ireland without every page referencing hatred, bombs and bullets.

When I uploaded the MS to Authonomy the feedback said that people were interested in The Troubles, what was happening, what it was like to grow up through that and they wanted to see more of it. When I edited, cutting out a lot of the teenage chapters and restructuring the story, I added in more glimpses of life in the 80's and how it affected the characters.

Most of my writing is set in Northern Ireland because there is so much inspiration to be found within the landscape, the people and the history. Whilst I'd like to see us move forward and have my children grow up in a more accepting, peaceful society I recognise that we still have a long way to go. Much has changed but more still needs to be done and none of it can happen with the signing of a document or one single compromise. It will take a very long time for decades of pain and suspicion to be healed. So, whilst my stories may mention our striking scenery and tourist attractions there will also be elements that reflect the past and the issues that we're still trying to resolve.

I hope some little part of what I do in this site will encourage more of you to visit NI and see what it, and its people, have to offer.

Crom Estate, Co. Fermanagh

The Crom Estate sits on the edge of Upper Lough Erne in Co Fermanagh and contains not one but two castles (albeit one is in ruins, but no less spectacular). You can hire a boat at the National Trust site or, like my family and I, you can take your bike and enjoy the trails. It's a beautiful estate and well worth a visit.

One highlight of the day, for me, was discovering the walled garden and the dilapidated glass house within it, not only as someone who would love to be a great gardener but also because it conformed so well to my vision of Caitlin's walled garden and glass house in my work in progress, The Glass House. As there are so many photos to post of the estate itself, I'll reserve the ones of the garden and glass house for another day.

Crom Old Castle

Current Crom Castle (privately owned)

The Boathouse

Bridge to the island (where the walled garden is) and the Summer House

View from the Summer House 

National Trust: Crom
Discover NI: Crom
http://cromcastle.com/index.html

In the mood...

I love it when I get to that stage of a manuscript that the characters begin to take on a life of their own. You can plot the story, have an idea of your beginning and middle and end but sometimes those characters do things you weren't expecting them to. I'm over 30,000 words into The Glass House now and Chloe (Niamh's step-daughter) has become a much stronger and integral character than I'd initially intended. She's a teenager with troubles and they're about to get a lot worse.

An extract from the chapter I'm currently working on:

 When they eventually broke apart, their breathing was laboured. Sharing the bottle they both drank the water until it was drained. He reached for her again but she stopped him.

'I better check in with Sam. I'm staying at her flat tonight and don't want to get separated from her.'

He let out a breath, laughing as he did so and shaking his head. 'Okay, just give me a minute.'

Spotting the lit up Ladies sign, Chloe stood. 'I'll be back in a minute.' Taking the bottle from his hand, she swopped it with the one on the floor, taking a swig from the one she held. 'And don't drink my beer.'

Change of Season

It's all feeling a bit gloomy and glum around here as autumn well and truly settles in. After two days of ceaseless rain the river near my home has burst its banks, the fields and roads are flooded. A few snaps of the swollen river (you can compare them with the winter photos in this post to see how much more water is there than normal) and judging by the lights over the Game of Thrones set it looks like they were filming through the deluge. The river runs by the set.

If only my greenhouse was heated, like Caitlin's Glass House, I might be able to take sanctuary in it.

What's your sentence?

Love this idea that I got from Shortbread Stories on Facebook.

For international book week, grab the closest book to you, turn to page 52, post the 5th sentence. Don't mention the title.

The sentence from my nearest book is, 'She'd have to wear the green dress again.' 

Nice coincidence  - that 5th sentence also came from chapter 5, which begins on page 52.

So, what's yours?

Shortbread Stories
Shortbread Stories Facebook

Glenariff

Glenariff is in the Glens of Antrim and is the setting for my short story, The Final Time. It's a dramatic and stunning spot. From the car park and picnic area you get views out to the Irish Sea, framed by the V-shape of the glens as they dip away in front of you. Following the Waterfall Trail takes you down into the gorge, by two waterfalls via boardwalks and pathways.

Ess na Larach

Ess na Crub

http://www.discovernorthernireland.com/Glenariff-Forest-Park-Glenariffe-Ballymena-P2825

http://daytripsireland.com/forest-parks/glenariff-forest-park/

The Final Time - short story

The Final Time

Tightening the laces on his hiking boots, he hefted his burden over his shoulder, cradled her close and stomped out across the car park and onto the grass verge that lead to the paths, snaking into the gorge. Ignoring the view to the Irish Sea, that he knew lay before him, he dipped his head away from the last drops of rain drained from the grey cloud.

'It'll have stopped by the time we get there,' he assured her, 'and I've got the waterproof blanket in the rucksack.'

Finding the sign with the red arrow, she'd shown him before, he headed for the Waterfall Trail. Pace increased as the slight incline became steeper, carrying them deeper into the forest. Reaching the stairs, built into the side of the gorge, he lead the way. Water dripped off ferns, soaked into moss, ran along branches to plop onto the wooden steps. Webs sparkled with diamonds of rain.

'Not like the first time we came,' he said, shaking his head at the memory of that sun soaked day, when the forest had sheltered them. Dappled light had picked out the dragon and damsel flies that flitted round the river, the butterflies that sought the wild flowers growing from the banks and crevices. But not today.

Picking his way carefully down the steps, he reached the stilted boardwalk that would give them access to the far side of Glenariff River. Halting halfway across it, the roar of the first waterfall prevented any conversation. Ess-na-Larach was its name. He'd looked it up on the internet when she'd first told him, wondering what it meant; the Mare's fall. He stared up at it as it cascaded down the gorge, levelling out once before continuing on its narrow, channelled descent. Perhaps he could understand the name, imagine a lithe horse with a long mane and muscular legs leaping from one level to another. Leaning on the rail he bent over it, watching the water swirl and froth underneath him, bursting with energy and enthusiasm as it flowed down the wall of the gorge, unsettling the calm river that lay at its base, pushing it onwards to another destination, another purpose. Dropping his rucksack on the boardwalk, he climbed onto the wooden rails, his foot slipping on their damp, shiny surface. His knees rested against the top rail as he pushed his weight forward, the spray from the falls finding his face. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel to let go, to drop down and let the water carry him onwards but just as his feet threatened to loosen their tenuous grip she stopped him, pulled him back. Holding her close he laughed, promised her it was a moment of recklessness he wouldn't repeat.

The boardwalk continued, following the base of the gorge wall, rising above the water, even on this day when it was swollen with spring rain. Ferns, liver wort and moss clung to the rocky walls around him, softening the sharp, dark stone, that towered over either side of the river, narrow at this point but widening ahead of them. The river shallower but broader ahead, seemed sleepier, flowing round the rocks and boulders that dimpled it, rather than crashing and coursing over them. The walls of stone began to recede, broadleaf trees replacing them. The boardwalk began to curve, passing a timber lodge containing a cafe, before traversing the river again. He didn't stop to smell the coffee, or search for fellow walkers. No insects zapped by to distract him with their bright colours and flashing wings. His destination was too close to be deterred.

The path began to ascend and as the incline hampered his breathing he sought the branch that he knew would descend to the next waterfall and their spot. The heavy tread of boots on the gravel trail gave way to the soft thud of feet on soil. The deep grooves on the soles gave purchase in the soft mud and then he heard it. The patter of water upon water, the Glenariff meeting the Inver. Ess na Crub, the fall of the hooves. In three streams it fell over the rock face, rippling the shallow pool at its base, which spread out before him, settling to a flat surface by the time it reached the edge of the path.

Spreading the blanket out under the oak tree, its skeletal branches now covered in buds that proved a change in season, he set her down upon it and unpacked the flask of comforting tea and box of buttered bread. The last time they'd sat in this spot the tree had been heavy with green leaves, the ground dry and dusty. Then they had a thirst to quench, chilled water and refreshing fruit had been on their menu. A mid-week day had seen them unaccompanied and undisturbed when she'd rolled her trousers up and run into the cold water, encouraging him to join her, before drying their feet on that same blanket. Stretching out on it together. He remembered how her lips had tasted of the strawberries they had shared.

But that was then and this was a different day. That time had passed. No invitation to taste her lips would come today. Instead the warm, brown liquid slipped into his mouth and down his throat as he watched the waterfall. Unlacing the boots he removed them from his feet. Tucking the thick socks inside them.

Lifting her they moved to the edge of the water. Holding her in his arms he tried to find the way to say it, seeking the words that would tell her how much he'd loved her, how often he wished he could have brought her back here, to this spot that had been a beginning but now marked the end. A way to say goodbye. Words fled.

The water chilled his feet, clung to his legs with cold purpose but on he waded, through the rippled water to the intersection of falls. Her sandy-like cream ashes clouded the air before spilling into the pooling Glenariff. The Inver fell upon her, the white foam darkening for a brief moment as she joined and mixed with it. Swirling her around, it absorbed her, taking her away.

He wrapped the empty urn in the blanket and packed it into the rucksack. As he pulled it onto his back, laughter and the squeals of excited children interrupted the silence. A small boy and girl raced into view, followed by a woman, warning them to slow down and stay away from the water. They stopped when they saw him. He wiped the trace of tears from his face and smiled. Walking towards them he nodded, saying hello and passed them by. At the top of the ridge, he stopped and turned. The children stood on the path, the falls behind them whilst the woman took their picture.

'Goodbye,' he whispered.

Game of Thrones Set

As I mentioned in my last post about Game of Thrones, a black ship has been visible on set recently. Some excitement today when we drove by and saw sails unfurled on it.

Just Keep Moving...

Conscious that autumn is arriving, the nights getting longer and days getting cooler, a bright and dry start today drove me to get the bicycle out again. We're lucky enough to have easy access to the tow path which runs by the canal from Newry (County Down) to Portadown (County Armagh) and villages along the route give ideal opportunities for start points and destinations. I went from Scarva to Poyntzpass, which took me via Acton Lake.

It got me wondering - what inspires you to get out and about, take some exercise, enjoy the sights? Is there something about your local area you particularly enjoy or wish you had better access to?

More information can be found on the cycleni website:
http://www.cycleni.com/110/newry-canal-towpath/

Mount Stewart

Another National Trust owned house in Northern Ireland. This one is on the Ards Pennisula and is located in an area with a micro climate that provides for a spectacular garden. The house is undergoing a huge renovation project.

Scrabo Tower in Newtownards, built as a memorial to Charles Stewart.

The Sunken Garden (side view of house).

Italian Garden towards the Dodo Terrace

Spanish Garden

Italian Garden

Tir nan Og - the family private burial ground which looks over the lake.