All right- jokes aside. The last article was full of spelling mistakes (done on purpose to demonstrate how far I still need to go). Please forgive the little jest. Here is the correct one.
Attending the launch of the anthology called "Years of Mondays" was an experience in itself. First of all I had never gone to one before, was most probably holding out for my own. (Crossed fingers). Secondly it was fantastic. I arrived shortly after 19:30 and scanned the crowd for members of my writers group. We are the Writer’s Block of Mayo and that tells it all. Not block as in blockage, but block as in solid, hard and determined. To my delight I spotted some and the night was ready to begin. I might be a chatterbox, but I do need backup at times. After a bit of chitchat we obediently followed the group into a hall and took our seats. (Not actually away with us, but you know what I mean.)
Many writers took to the stage, brave people in my eyes. I hope one day I will be published but dread the day I have to stand in the spotlight. Hopefully I’ll make a fortune and am able to hire someone to read for me. But then I do live in the fantasy word most of the time….I play the lotto for goodness sake, that should tell you something.
Anyhow, besides going totally off the mark, as usual. The evening was very interesting. I bought the book and glanced through it before the reading. At the time I did not know there was going to be one. The first name that popped out at me was my good friend Peter Jordan. We have known each other since my desperate attempt to move to Castlebar. And there he was, in red on black (book cover) and in person, smiling broadly at me.
Although I gathered from the reaction of the audience that the work presented was great and much enjoyed, I can only speak for myself. Peter Jordon spun us into the reality of life at it best value. Rosalind Pulvertaft danced us cleverly through the love and loss in a Boarding House. Eoin Walshe accompanied us from the Sea through to a world of cream, making me rather sorry I had left my chocolate fudges behind. Ken Armstrong wittingly made us believe in hallucinations and the strong arm of the law. Lizann Gorman introduced the art of hitching in a husky tone, due to her sore throat. Lucy Bingham-Mc Andrew took us on a jog through the beauty of parts of Ireland. Mike Garvey showed us the true depth of the love for children. Brid Quinn gave us something on passion and Irish romance. Sue Minish dazzled us with Words. Micheline Egan made us respect the elders and Edith Geraghty made me glad to live in rural Mayo.
A long list I know, but each has its own message and wonder. For those I have not mentioned I add, it’s my age. The poem of "Jim", one of "Celiie", and one read in Irish were stunning, I just can not remember the names of the great writers. If you are thinking what happened to Darragh Quinn? I didn’t forget. Who can forget such a voice? I am not sure if it reminded me of angels, but my hair stood on end as I listened to him sing " Don’t forget" and "Black Veil". Will definitely look out for that one in the charts soon.
Now, last but definitely not least my favorite person of the evening. Gordon Wood. He read a poem called "Two Sausages". A weird name for a poem one might add, but it put the message across. He stood under the light, white beard, and a hat shielding his eyes, a mature man from Kilmaine. He read the last few lines, and may I quote…"….and looking around this lovely morning, eating house, two waitresses and myself, no youth with sparkling eyes sits down, his fresh young spark like lightening, bright, then gone!" I thought, now that was a bright spark. Youth might be somewhere behind him, but the lightning still strikes when he speaks.
After having said all that, I say good night to all you wonderful writers and thank you for one of the most memorable evenings. For now I will cross my fingers and hope to achieve a level of writing as close as possible to what I experienced tonight. I will certainly remember this evening for more than a month of Sundays.