Day... lost count, twenty one and twenty two!

The saying goes, 'if you do something for 21 days, it becomes a habit'

So, blogging and the new wellness regime must be a habit by now, although I didn't get to write yesterday, as I was away!

Mariela brought my Dutch cousin Ton, who is visiting for a few days, and myself to visit my brother in Kenmare. A two hour journey by car... I settled into the backseat and 'rested' when I could. Arriving in Kenmare, we went for 'coffee and treats' before taking little stroll/scoot around town.

My brother had lunch ready, and brought the three of us into the mountains along the coast to visit a bronze-age stone-circle.

I was deposited at O'sullivan's bar at the pier in Kilmackaloque, while the others went for their hike up the mountains.

For once, I didn't mind not being able to partake in this pursuit, as I very much valued my time alone at this glorious spot.

I sat in this ancient bar, and looked through the open door at the mountains rising up from the bay. I wrote...

...and went for a walk.

I wondered what it would be like to spend a few days in the beautiful desolate location and focus solely on writing. No distractions other than the sea, the seagulls, a few tourists, and the boats coming in with fresh salmon and mussels.

cousin Ton and me

Day Twenty! Beach

Today I had to bring the car for a NCT test in Youghal, which is about a half hour drive from here.

I was apprehensive if I was able for the drive, but did it! And oh boy, was I rewarded for my efforts.

After the test I drove to the seaside, about 5 minutes further. The tide was in and waves were hitting the rocks. My cousin, who was with me, walked along the rocks and along the tiny strip of beach while I sat at the top of the concrete stairs, baking in the sun.

A young man was sunbathing; Two men at least in their seventies, were changing into their swimming togs, their bare bottoms showing; A nun walked along the promenade, her vale tucked into her grey fleece, left hand on her back, holding a rosary beads.

The delight of this gloriously sunny day so late in September showed on everyone's face.

I was proud, so proud, to have driven to this glorious place!

My only regret.... no camera...

Day Nineteen. Copy cats of copy geese?

A visual blogspot today.

Copy cats?

Or copy geese?

Day Eighteen. Write a story from this picture

I found my first ever story...

A short story...

Now I wonder, will this story about a young poor girl finding her riches, written at the age of eight (or there about), be good enough to enter into this rather prestige writing competition?

Paris literary prize

In all seriousness, for the writers among you, this Paris Literary Prize might be worth having a look at.

For the M.E'ers among you, this might be of interest? Story contest

Happy Writing!

Day Seventeen A reflection on creativity

Seed

Observations

Thoughts

Feelings

A word

All

place

a tiny

seed

in my

creative

being

Some

will make

their presence

known

to the world

Day Sixteen; Reflection on writing

My mothers illustrated notebook with stories about her childhood

For a long time I wondered where my love, desire, and need for writing came from.

I didn't have to look far. My parents, siblings, and great grand father, all wrote.

My great grand father wrote letters for other people, during the late 1870's. "Even to the queen", as my mother recalls in her notebook. The letters were closed with waxed seals.

Oh how I wish to see one of his letters.

My fathers notebook

My dad wrote during the second world war, while in the army. His words are all about how much he didn't want to be there.

Letter writing was a big part in our family as first my mothers sister emigrated to Canada in the early 50's. Later her children, including me, emigrated. My mother had kept many of the letters we wrote to her. Three of my siblings spend many years travelling the world, in which again, writing diaries and letters were a big part of their day.

As consequence to her emigration children, my mother travelled to us in Canada, Chile, USA, and Ireland. All her travels were documented. Apart from this she wrote an illustrated notebook about her childhood. A valuable piece of storytelling.

Is it a wonder I like to write?