26 August 23: Inkslingers writers’ group event, IWC Open Day, Dublin
I admit, using first person can feel like a grape seed between my teeth. But here I go again. (Well there she was again, the infernal “I”, almost an advance, a clutching to myself.)
(Do me, my and myself add even more seeds?)
I’m in a room with people I’ve never seen before. We/I evaluate words, put some down, put others out. The room heaves with breath, thoughts, intention.
Am I really here, ascribing thoughts in the haze of recovery. (Twenty-three hours travelling yesterday, mostly above ground).
This could be a celebration: of arrival, of dates lined up by coincidence such as with this event, with the American football games happening today in Dublin. (I wish they’d all go home. Woops! I meant to avoid the political).
I’m in advance of myself perhaps. An Australian masquerading. It’s all pretence, the director might say. Identity and so on.
But the show must go on, I say to myself.
(Improvised text written in open writing session at the Irish Writers’ Centre Open Day, Dublin: Inkslingers writers’ group. Convened by Harry Browne)
Prompts for the 30 mins writing time were: season of fruits; director, evaluate, admit, celebration, advance)
Protest! Image at the ‘It Took a Century’ exhibition of women artists, Irish National Gallery. ‘Direct Provision’ provides (or not) accommodation for asylum seekers.
Samuel Becket Theatre, Trinity College, Dublin. I would love to have looked inside, played/improvised in there…waiting for Godot!
Trinity College, Dublin, a mecca for tourists to see the Book of Kells.