Writing from Ireland Book

Found this book in a tat shop in Cork, Ireland. It was the price that caught me. I thought, "Why did they bother putting a sticker on it. Seems they won't get their money back at all."

Handing over 10 shillings and hoped I hadn't just been ripped off.

I wasn't. It was cheap and cheerful in all the best ways. A lovely book full of great stories, sad stories, stories that landed right in my heart, and a couple I skipped because they had no place to land at all.

Watery Lanes: Shane Connaughton
All I ever wanted was to see the stars in daylight. And there should be a law against charging a sixteen year old boy with murder. ---WHAT? This was the first line and I was all in. What in the hell is going to happen now?

When her coffin was lowered into the grave a jumbo jet thundered above. Its shadow slowly ghosted across us, darkening the headstones all the way over to the cemetery wall. Wings, but no angel.

Fashion is a strange disease.

One Day When We Were Young: Vincent Banville
Joey Malone look puzzled, but then most things had that effect on him. Just as he was about to come to terms with one conundrum, another trotted along to give him pause.

The place was deserted, a quietness brooding over everything...

Saying Goodbye: Tony Hickey
A story about what we feel we have to do to untangle ourselves from expectations. And the people we break along the way.

"Maybe I never knew myself until lately. Maybe I'm meeting myself for the first time. Maybe I didn't tell you because I'm jealous of the fact that you belong here in a way that I never cold. I could stay here forever and just be rubbish. I could go away fro twenty years and come back and still be rubbish.But you love this place. You love your families farm. You love the mountains and the rivers and the lakes. You'll do well on your exams. You'll go to agricultural college and get a degree. You'll get married, have kids, buy more land. You won't even notice how dull your life is. Well, that kind of life isn't open to maven if I wanted it."

On the Verge of Extinction: Peter Cunningham
Hauntingly lovely and cheerfully bleak- if that's possible.

To Dream of White Horses: June Considine
Last night I watched a nature documentary. I saw new born squid rising from the bed of an ocean with nothing to protect them from the lurking dangers floating all around them. No mother. No father. Their parents had paid the ultimate price for their brief encounter by dying as soon as the eggs were laid. They left nothing behind but their genetic imprint and an inherited need for survival.

Sooner of later someone always sat down beside me.Old guys with yellow eyes and booze in paper bags. Old women with memories to spend.

The past is a sharp corner.

Aren't you scared of being homeless and on your own all the time? I asked.
Does a home stop you from feeling scared? She stopped and turned to face me.

They formed a space that I must not be afraid to enter. A space where pain had to be endured so that it could pass away. Where the waves wasted upon the sand before turning to gather strength for a new day.

Good Girl: Marita Conlon-McKenna
Painful stuff.

Landlocked: Helena Mulkerns
...it was hard not to get to know people on the midnight shift. After one o'clock or so, there was a lifeless stretch until about five or five thirty in the morning.

He had that stupid, endearing look on his face that used to induce a Kate all-systems shutdown.

Why you here?
Why? Because I got off the Greyhound and saw the Help Wanted sign.
So maybe now you get back on the Greyhound bus.

There was no reason for Kate to be out here, in the middle of nowhere, landlocked. There was no reason for her to hide, or sit waiting in the dark for anybody-ever.
Outside the freeway was glittering with vehicles in the early morning sun. Somaybe now you get back on the Greyhound bus.

Thicker Than Water: Emma Donoghue
I don't believe that rubbish about you have to start before sixteen or you'll never be any good at it. And I'm gonna be picky about the fella too...When they're going on about how fabby it is, they make it sound like Belgian Chocolate, but then when you hear about AIDs and stuff, it sounds lore like a half eaten Mars Bar you've picked up off the street.

Off Ya Go, So: Chris Lynch
And while we're at it, how do you say nine'o'clock sharp in Irish? Eleven thirty.

Where ya been? I been standing here forever and those jugglers and mimes won't stop juggling and miming.

Did plenty of things with girls hand before that. Never did the holding before. Lovely.

She came at me like an accountant. An angry accountant.

I looked up ready for the fight, but she was already done. Done with me, anyway.

...and inside, world famous artworks and things you were definitely not supposed to touch but were right there, so of course somebody like me was going to touch them. I was always touching things I wasn't supposed to be touching.

...a collection of stupid geegaws.

I listened to Cait more. Listened to her breathing, since she wasn't speaking.

I started spilling notes all over the desk, the floor, the desk, looking at the woman, looking at Cait, at the floor, over my shoulder, like I was making a drug deal.

We spread ourselves on the oversoft bed and tried to watch TV, which was bolted onto a step arm so close to the ceiling it was like watching a light fixture.

Cait didn't answer right away. This seemed like a place where they needed answers right away.

In my ear Cait was possibly trying to talk but what I was hearing was the persistent gasping of the air, as if I was hugging a racehorse or a steam engine.