Announcing: Updates to the “About This Blog” Page!

It’s been a while.  She tends to get very self-conscious, writing about herself.  Posing for photos.  Especially with groups.  Her right eye starts to twitch.

But all of that is water-under-the-bridge, because she’s in Ireland, and no one knows or cares what her persona is over there in America, or what her “issues” are (which must be why she’s writing hours and hours and hours every day)

As the very funny Irish playwright Abbie Spallen told her:  “You come from CaliforniaThe land of therapy!  For heaven’s sake!”

So, stuff it, self.  Just.  Stuff.  It.

So she updated her “About This Blog” page, and even added a picture she took in her farmyard cottage in the Tyrone Guthrie Centre.

Photo on 5-16-14 at 1.42 AM

And BTW, here’s a list of 17 Irish Independent Bookstores You Must Visit Before You Die.

But the list isn’t complete, because they missed Kenny’s in Galway.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Gratuitous Annaghmakerrig Selfie (Because What Else Is There To Do When One’s Written for Four Hours Straight)

Hello, dear blog readers!

This is for all the people in California who might be missing self right now!  While she cools her heels in this most amazing, green, rainy, fascinating corner of Ireland — Newbliss in County Monaghan!  Where there are absolutely NO ghosts or banshees, but where there are a most intriguing flock of wild swans.

Regarding said swans: five are a unit; one is a definite black sheep, because it is always off by its lonesome. And this one “lone wolf” swan is definitely a creature after self’s own heart, because it is always bottoms-up in the lake, or has been, the last four times self has seen it.  There must be very delicious food in the lake — or at least, an ample supply of pondweed and tadpoles.

Her short story “Spores” is shaping up quite nicely.  She’ll be getting it ready to send out, soon.

Two days ago, she began writing another one called “Residents of the Deep.”

It is raining again, boo boo boo.  Ireland’s such a bog.  But self loves it and its boggy, temperamental ways. And why not? In what other place could self receive lessons in how to “artistically” curse?  Curses sound 10x better in an Irish accent than in an American accent, self swears.

Self on the 2nd floor of her farmyard cottage

Self on the 2nd floor of her farmyard cottage

And here the chef’s name is Lavina, which reminds self of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, and also of that Avox in the Hunger Games trilogy.  Oh, this is such a bloody, cursed land, beset by dreams.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.




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