Galway Sounds

Snufkin packs her bindle again: I am away with the lovely Maura for a jaunt north; with luck I will be able to share pictures along the way here and there, but for at least part of the weekend I will be -- gasp! -- without WiFi so I will necessarily have to curtail my posting a bit. Doubtless I will get a lot of writing done and maybe some reading, too.

So here are some sounds of Galway. I can't believe it's the end of May. How time has flown in this beautiful place.

listen to ‘Sunday Impromptu’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘Getting medieval’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘Brigit's Garden’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘House Martins’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘Birds in Cong’ on Audioboo

Six Sentence Sunday: The Claddagh Icon

Another Sunday has rolled around; in the States it's Mother's Day, so happy Mother's Day to my mother and all the other mothers out there. It's also Six Sentence Sunday, so I've selected another story to tease you with. It's definitely a tease, because while I've sent the story off to my publisher in Italy, I don't know exactly when it's coming out or even if it will be available in English (I think so). It will be part of a series of sexy noirish tales set in different cities around the world -- yes, another publication venue that Mr B pointed me toward.

The story is named after a local landmark, this sculpture that appears on the Claddagh side of the bay, which is doubtless hardly surprising. Across Grattan Road there's another statue which really does look as I describe it in these opening lines. I enjoyed finding the voice of this character. As you might expect, I've spent a lot of my time here listening to the ways people talk:

I first saw her standing by the icon. I was saying hello to Father Burke's statue as he raised a glass to the offie across the street and thinking about indulging myself, it being a grey sort of day that calls for a smoky glass of the gold nectar. Under the halo of the icon, her golden hair glowed. The cormorant rose above her as if to proclaim her beauty to the world. I'm not sure what the boat represented: maybe it was my hopes sailing away...

This story won't be for everyone: steamy! And noirish, so not everything's going to go well for everyone. I'm enjoying the crime groove. My head's full of interesting ideas.

Don't forget -- you can sample a bunch of writers' sixes at the official site.

Six Sentence Sunday: Mandrake Anthrax

I've been getting all noir lately. I blame Mr B. Ireland's so lovely, but I've been setting stories here that are undeniably grim. So I blame Ken Bruen, too. While I'm spreading the blame around, might as well point a finger (or two!) at Mark E. Smith, too. If he hadn't written a lyric like, "A serious man /In need of a definitive job /He had drunk too much /Mandrake anthrax," then I wouldn't have had the idea for this story, which first started up on Twitter. Let's blame Twitter, too, shall we? It worked for Franzen.

My six:

Hanley eyed the brick façade. The door proved to be a gothic affair, metal bound and painted all black. Seeing no modern convenience, he lifted the oversized bat knocker and clapped it to a few times. They both craned their ears but all around them it was suddenly as quiet as death, as if all the people had walked hand in hand into the bay abandoning the city behind them. Hanley shuddered.

When he had just about surrendered all hope and began to get thirsty for a tall foamy pint, the door groaned open to reveal a disheveled looking eurotrash reject of indeterminate age...

You can read the whole of this bleak little tale over at A Twist of Noir. While you're there, read some of the other fine stuff they've got.

Drop by the Six Sentence Sunday blog and sample some new writers today.

On Tour with the QoE & Marko

Next week, I'll be back to regular posting, but for now, here's a nice picture of my guests. We'll see how many photos they let me post :-) probably better when they get over the jet lag. Yes, a picture at Spanish Arch is required of everyone who sets foot in Galway. Tick that box!

Idling around Town

The mobile uploads are crap: see the nice pictures at the Picasa album. And many more!

Surprises and Melancholia (Bitch Buzz)

I meant to do a Friday Forgotten Book, but today took a few unexpected turns which involved a glorious day at the beach, a much overdue haircut and a shiny new iPad2 (thank you Fulbright Foundation) which is charging now. So I have added some lovely photos to the Ireland photo album, including a cute little Scottie dog (oddly enough, I'm working on a story that has one as a character). It's often difficult to get the corvids to sit still long enough -- or close enough -- to get a good picture, but rooks have been the best so far. Sitting in a tree on Claddagh Walk, one proved low enough to allow me to get a couple of shots that look all right. I keep trying to get the hooded crows and the magpies -- they're such fun to watch, but wisely wary of humans. Of course, in Galway there are always swans.

Low tide always has such interesting textures in the sand. I like the barnacles and seaweed exposed as the water recedes. Such a variety of textures. Makes for interesting pictures. And there's always my favourite spot. Sigh. It's so picturesque.

My column is up a bit later than usual: overdose on film coverage in the wake of the even more disappointing than usual choices. How the impact of a film like Melancholia could be overlooked seems a mystery. Oh wait, no it doesn't. It focuses on women and isn't a "chick flick" (horrid term).

Oscar Nomination Melancholia

As Bitch Magazine has already observed, the sky is blue, water is wet, and the Oscar nominations are a big feminist disappointment. This seems to be the year they officially become as irrelevant as the Grammys, an industry showcase that reflects no vision of reality outside the industrial boardrooms. In a year when awards can be offered for run-of-the-mill biopics that make horrid people "vulnerable" and "human" (one begins to suspect a subterranean right wing campaign funding both the films and the awards). At least the National Society of Film Critics and the jury at Cannes  picked up on it.

In the seemingly ever smaller number of films that pass the Bechdel Test, one major film got completely overlooked for the major awards: Lars von Trier's Melancholia. It's kind of stunning because it includes the sort of bravura acting that usually gets awards—had it been men in the roles, perhaps the statues would be lining up. Perhaps it was the uneasy accusations of misogyny leveled at von Trier particularly in the wake of Antichrist. But here's the thing: every female character does not have to be a squeaky clean role model or redeemed hooker. Male characters have the space to be good, bad or better yet, complicated. Women remain largely relegated to secondary roles in most films and to films dismissed as 'chick flicks' when they star in them.

Melancholia is no chick flick. It is harrowing in so many ways—not least for the unflinching portrayal of real depression...

Read the rest at BBHQ as always. I have more to say about Melancholia, I think. I've really only scratched the surface here: I want to talk about visualising the end of the world -- and the music, too. Anon -- always too much to do!

BitchBuzz: Why the Blackout Mattered

An unusual day: me away from the net. Be honest -- you didn't really notice I was gone, did you? It's all right. I know occasionally I should take a break from yammering across all media. Besides, I took some more lovely photographs over in Salthill. Nothing jazzes up a photo like a happy, bouncing Lab.

I also managed to finish a story and send it off to my editor: it was meant to be 5K but ended up closer to 8K. Also not like me: if you get paid the same, why go over the target? Well, sometimes the story demands it. Characters can be so pushy. Thinking about tonight's Over the Edge reading, I also thought I should have something on hand to read in case I can get on the list, so I finally started writing the new novel. Yes, about time after thinking about it for so long. It reminded me that the best way to edit your writing is to read it out loud. I know that, but I seem to always forget it. You may ask, how's that academic essay coming along? [cough] Today for sure! Here: go read Peter Cook's Jekyll and Hyde script and stop hassling me.

Better yet, go read the column, featuring a rudely hilarious animated GIF from The Oatmeal:

Why the Blackout Mattered

K. A. Laity

After some speculation about whether they would take part, it was telling that Google applied the now familiar black censorship bar over their corporate logo (in the U.S. anyway—Google.ie continued in normal mode). More obvious homes of net freedom like Boing-Boing, Reddit, Wikipedia and Wordpress likewise blacked out for the day, but the participation of Google confirmed the broadening opinion that even for a mega-global outfit like Google SOPA and PIPA continue to be very bad ideas.

The so-called "Stop Online Piracy Act" and the "Protect IP Act" would radically affect everyone who uses the net, by making a criminal of anyone who links to anything deemed to be copyrighted material as explained by the always insightful Stephen Colbert. Why catch criminals when you can make everyone a criminal? Anyone who thinks that of course the laws won't be abused this way by corporations should follow the horrifying saga of how the Recording Industry Association of American (RIAA) and the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) have already invoked draconian measures against anyone they can catch—apparently because they're frustrated with not being able to catch real criminals.

People who do not understand the internet should not be legislating for its control; the sad fact is they allow corporations like the RIAA and MPAA to do it for them. While many people will support measures to stop internet piracy, those who do not comprehend how these poorly written measures will forever change the net need to know that Facebook, Twitter and all the rest will be as dead as Napster should SOPA or PIPA pass...

Read the rest at BBHQ. And hey, call your representatives and remind them they represent you and not multimillionaire corporations: fight the real enemy.

 

Year of the Owl

Don't I live in a gorgeous city?

First, a little importuning: I know, it's a bit much coming from someone who's had more than her fair share of luck lately. But I'd really like you to vote for me for best horror short story for It's a Curse. Pretty please? And as long as you're voting, you could also vote for the anthology I'm in, Dark Pages: International Noir, and for the Queen of Everything for best cover for Four Play and our pal C. Margery Kempe for best romance short, Dragger Ella. Thank you ever so. Only a couple more days to go. These contests can help boost sales and get a little attention. It's a constant battle against obscurity.

Full moon tonight. Where wolf? There, wolf!

Tip of the hat to my pal Mr B for pointing me to a post by Iain Rowan on "folk horror" inspirations from the past. Alan Garner's Owl Service has come up before. Probably Mr B mentioned (along with things like The Tomorrow People and Children of the Stones) the series made from the novel which looks amazing. Must track down the book: the library here doesn't have it, but I'm sure I can locate a copy. I don't know how I missed Garner's books as they clearly fit my own obsessions. More on this tomorrow.

I know in Chinese astrology the coming year will be the Year of the Dragon, but for me all signs point to it being the Year of the Owl. Yes, in part because of the forthcoming release of Owl Stretching (at last, at last), but there's something more. Everywhere I turn, it's owls. I know, birds a-plenty all around me: my magpies always, the swans of Galway, more rooks than you can shake a stick at. But owls keep popping up at significant moments. We shall see what that means.

So from Professor Elemental on Twitter this morning, a gift for you:

Obsession: Guest Post at Trestle

I'm up on my publisher's blog today with a piece on obsession. Yeah, you wouldn't imagine it, eh? Me? Obsessed? Nah. Here's the first part of it. Read the rest over at Trestle and feel free to share.

K.A. Laity- "Obsession"- Guest Post, author of "Drunk on The Moon-It's A Curse"

Obsession

I seem to have two speeds: obsessed and don't care. The greater part of the world falls into "don't care": politics, fashion, television, sports -- I just don't care. For that matter, add cooking and cleaning and talking to people who don't amuse me. Obsessions: writing, Peter Cook, The Fall, writing, myth, magic, folklore, writing, travel, theatre, film, writing and classic British comedy. And writing. I completely understand P. G. Wodehouse's comment, "I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write."

My ex once accused me of having hypergraphia. It's a clinical disease where people obsessively write anywhere, anytime, on anything they've got in front of them. Most people who suffer from the little-studied disease write nonsense: it's the action of writing that comforts their manic sprees, not content. I have a head bursting with stories that want to be written and I spend a lot of time in front of my black Mac going tappity-tappity. I also go out to the pub with friends and go see plays and walk along Galway Bay and think nothing at all but what a wonderful world this is. But writing is what I do. Writing is how I see the world. When something terrible happens to me, I struggle through it by finding the right words to describe it in my head. ..


Read the rest over at Trestle Press and if you haven't checked out It's a Curse, well criminy! It's only 99¢ -- it's not going to break the bank! Hee hee, and this is the beginning of my birthday week, so don't forget about my birthday wish. I appreciate your help.

BitchBuzz: Penguin's Vanity Press

Great night out with colleagues at the tapas restaurant and then the French bistro. It's supposed to get very cold tomorrow, so an excuse to hide inside. At least we're not getting the much worse storms that are hitting Scotland -- take care up there!

Today's column takes up the latest cynical move to fleece would-be writers:

Vanity-Publishing vs Self-Publishing

By K.A. Laity

The digital revolution continues unabated, or perhaps it's just the grumble heard round the world as writers feel their words devalued again.

Penguin started up their very own "self-publishing" business. The "self" is optional, of course. As the coverage in The Wall Street Journal describes it:

In a sign that major book publishers are now recognizing the potential of the digital self-publishing industry, Penguin Group (USA) on Wednesday is launching a service to help writers publish their own books. For a fee of between $99 and $549, plus a cut of any sales revenue, Penguin's subsidiary Book Country will offer an array of tools—ranging from professional e-book conversion to a cover creator—to help a writer make their work available through digital book outlets and print-on-demand services.

So, it's the kind of "self-publishing" that you actually pay for, between $99 and $549. This is the kind of thing that's generally known as vanity publishing, not self-publishing. It's fine—there are all kinds of reasons to pay for publishing like wanting to see your work in print even if no publisher wants to print it. It might be too edgy and revolutionary for them, or it just might be crap, but you're an adult. You can make choices...

Read the rest over at BBHQ.

I have a couple of acceptances, but they're a ways off: one is reprint news for "Fear and Loathing in Deptford" which hasn't really got enough of an outing, I think. One of my favourites anyway, but that usually means it's something that only makes me laugh. There have been a couple of reviews for It's a Curse but as one was written by someone close to me, it may not be entirely dispassionate. :-)

Converting Galway

Thanks to Michael, there's a photo of me giving my talk at the Moore Institute yesterday. There was quite a good turnout! I suspect it was the sandwiches. The audience seemed to be receptive and laughed in the right places, always a good sign.I will put the talk on line when I get a moment. I went out to the pub with Leslie and Michael after the talk and then ended up tagging along to dinner with some of Michael's colleagues later. They're sad as their time in Galway is nearly over. I'll miss them.

They're asking me to teach a creative writing course in the spring, so now I will begin brainstorming about what tack to take for that. I suspect I will use it as an excuse to get some of my colleagues to Skype with my class :-)

Krampus and Digital Monks

Did the Krampus visit you last night or did Saint Nicholas fill your shoes with gifts? Happy Independence Day, Finland (let's have a little Värttinä for that).

My talk is today at the Moore Institute. It's an update of my keynote address from April; I wanted to hit a lot of the same issues, but I've also cut it a bit as well. Mostly the jokes: different audience. Not all of the jokes, of course. But I figure some of the offhand popular culture references won't travel well.

Writers: have you taken my survey about writing in the digital age yet?

No idea what kind of audience there'll be. Some friends have promised to show and there will be sandwiches. We'll see. And no, I didn't go through with my plan to graft a Guy Fawkes mask onto the Moore Institute logo for one slide. Coward.

News, a Wish and BitchBuzz

Criminy: it's December! How the time has flown by this semester, even though I haven't been in class. My sympathies to my colleagues knee-deep in exams and grading. I know how it feels -- and couldn't be happier that I am not.

Sorry! But it's true.

NEWS: 

It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon, Book 7 by moi should be about tomorrow from Trestle Press. Thanks again to Mr B for inviting me to have fun playing with his werewolf PI, Roman Dalton. I hope I did him justice -- it sure was fun :-) I will have a book trailer up soon: just waiting on the cover art.

I'll be on the G-ZONE blog radio show, AKA Gelati's Scoop tomorrow night to talk about It's a Curse. You can listen live and call in, or listen to it later online. I'll be on about 4.30 pm Eastern time, which is about 9.30 pm here.

I'm interviewed in the latest Broadly Speaking from Broad Universe which is about mentors and teachers in literature, so I talk about Owl Stretching and Pelzmantel a bit and my own teaching experiences a little bit.

Next Tuesday is my talk at the Moore Institute at NUIG. I keep thinking about trying to add a Guy Fawkes mask to their logo just for a lark, but I lack the requisite skills.

My column for BitchBuzz this week is on gifts that won't steal your soul. Give something genuine if you're gift-giving this holiday season.

WISH:

It's my birthday month, so I want to ask you for a gift. Nothing expensive -- all it costs is a little of your time. I don't need stuff: I spent some harried weeks this summer trying to get rid of a lot of my stuff. What I would really like is some attention: not for me, for my books. My wish is for any who have the time to "like" my books on Amazon, Goodreads, Shelfari, LibraryThing etc. and offer them reviews. They need not be elaborate; they need not be glowing. But books without reviews seem chancier to potential readers. No one wants to be the first to do something; they want to see that others have trod the path before them and it's safe. So if you have a few spare moments, can you help out a fellow American who's (okay, not really) down on her luck?

Know-vember: Frances McCormack

Okay, what're the odds? Oh sure, it is entirely likely that I would get on with the first medievalist I met at NUI Galway. After all, we medievalists have to stick together like all endangered species. But we keep finding amazing things in common like our birthdays (!) and P. G. Wodehouse and the Marx Bros and Tony Hancock. Destiny took a hand in things, I think, when it sent me to Galway. She even invited me to talk to her Old English course so I wouldn't forget entirely what the inside of a classroom looked like. Here's the lovely Frances, award winning lecturer.

1. What's the first thing you do upon waking in the morning?

Let the cats in for a cuddle and go back to sleep, even if only for two minutes. I'm not a fan of sleeping late, but I do like to wake up slowly.

2. What's a song you might be persuaded to dance to?

I'm a trained dancer, but the best songs are those that make me dance like I don't know how! "Come on Eileen," by Dexy's Midnight Runners, has made me jump up and down on ever since I was a bairn in 1982. I remember the first time I heard it: I jumped around the breakfast table with such enthusiasm and abandon that my mum cried with laughter. "Late in the Evening" by Paul Simon makes me do what my husband calls "Muppet Dancing", and it works best when I'm in the passenger seat of the car (although God knows what the people looking in their rear-view mirrors at me are thinking)!

3. Where in the world do you live?

In books. I much prefer stories to real life!

4. What's a great night out for you?

I don't tend to go out. I much prefer 'in'.

5. What's a great night in?

Learning languages, or doing something craftsy. I like to be busy!

6. If you were offered an all expenses paid trip anywhere in the world,where would you go?

Japan, Japan, Japan...or New York! But unfortunately, as I don't really like 'out', traveling is not the easiest thing for me to do!

7. What book do you wish everyone would read so you could talk about it?

The one with the boy with the orange pyjamas...but I can't remember what book it was. I vaguely remember reading it in bed--there was a boy who may have been an orphan; someone (it may have been a man) took him in, and a woman (whose name may have begun with a J) brought him pyjamas in which to sleep. The pyjamas either had oranges on them or orange buttons, and the boy had an aversion to the colour orange, so he slept in his clothes and then crinkled the pyjamas the next morning to make it look like they'd been slept in. I can't remember whether I actually read this book or DREAMT that I had read this book so if it sounds familiar to you, let me know what on earth it is!

8. What movie makes you cry?

I don't cry at movies...but Graham Greene's books always have me in tears!

9. What makes you laugh?

At the moment, Diary of a Wimpy Kid. But everything in general...I'm a giggler! [Ed: I can attest to this.] Ooh yes, and games where you substitute the word 'goose' for either a noun or a verb in a film title. That one makes me chuckle too!

10. Are there fairies at the bottom of your garden?

Yes! There's actually a special fairy garden in my garden, where the dead trees are and the primrose grows. I don't like to visit it very often, because it's also where the septic tank lives, but the fairies don't seem to mind.

Thank you, Frances, a delight!

Friday's Forgotten Books: The Best of Myles

After the harrowing process of moving and desperately trying to unload many of my books, I have sworn to buy no more books and to adapt wholeheartedly to my gypsy life. Of course that lasted until I visited Charlie Byrne's Bookshop, a Galway institution. I was there for a reading, but I couldn't quite resist this book. So far, it's the only one I bought there. Let's hope I can keep to that.

Most people will know Flann O'Brien [true name Brian O'Nolan] from At Swim-Two-Birds or The Third Policeman, acknowledged comic classics. The Best of Myles collects the "Cruiskeen Lawn" columns he wrote as Myles na gCopaleen in the Irish Times. Yes, a lot of pseudonyms, eh? No wonder I love him.

I was reading this on the bus to Shannon airport last week and giggling in my seat, doubtless disturbing the poor woman next to me who thought I was some kind of lunatic. Ahem.

O'Brien maintains a tone of daft reasonableness whether he's plotting to take over the Irish Writers, Actors, Artists and Musicians Association (rebuffed in his offer to take charge, he first finds fault with all they do, then decides to form a rival splinter group), suggesting dialogue at the Abbey Theatre be printed as banners and hung above the stage so audience members can read ahead to catch their buses on time, or developing get-rich-quick schemes like his Beard Food (accompanied with appropriate sketches of the wonders it will provoke). He relates many adventures of "the brother" -- a schemer of the first order who nonetheless seems to garner a grudging respect from many despite his high-handed ways.

He addresses "the Plain People of Ireland" often -- and offers their suspicious views of his meanderings. No surprise as he invents business schemes of dubious execution: artisans who will give wealthy stupid people's books the impression of having been read, with increasing fees depending on the amount of wear and the addition of pithy ripostes or citations annotated on the pages, or ventriloquist dates to accompany the not very bright and provide their half of the sparkling conversations. The Plain people are inclined to interrupt with corrections of his spelling or signs of impatience when his self-glorifying goes on too long.

Among his vaunted skills are the accompanying drawings illustrating various points. The drawings are wonderful as well, offering valuable visual advice such as how to carry your drunken friend who has collapsed or how to cross a river without getting your top hat wet. Valuable advice indeed.

See the full list of books over at Patti Abbott's blog.

I did go to the reading last night and read my new poem because Kevin was soft-hearted enough to squeeze me in at the end. It seemed to go over well. I tagged along to the pub afterward and it was great to have a chance to get to know people a little more. Quite a community of writers here.

BitchBuzz and Over the Edge

I'm fighting off a cold that seemed to ride my coattails from London but if I'm feeling not too bad, I plan to head off to Over the Edge's reading tonight at the library (where I am now mayor :-) and perhaps try out a new piece at the open mic if there's room. A rather silly piece, but one I'm already fond of and having run it by a couple of people, I'd love to hear how it goes over with a crowd.

My column nearly didn't happen this week: I tried a couple of different things and nothing jelled (maybe it was coming down with this cold -- can't remember the last time I was sick!). So I emailed my editor to admit defeat and voilá! She had something for me to write up. Looks like a fun event:

Put the Kink in Your Ink at Eroticon 2012

By K. A. Laity

One of the undeniable effects of the ebook revolution is the explosion of erotica and erotic romance particularly for female readers. Freed from the dead giveaway of the saucy cover, women now fill up their Kindles and mobile devices with a glorious variety of fun smut and sexy takes. It's about time someone got some of the practitioners of this writing genre together.

Eroticon 2012 will be the UK’s first sex bloggers and erotica writers conference and will take place on March 3rd next year. Over 100 sex bloggers and erotica writers will meet in Bristol for a unique conference.  Eroticon is the UK’s first conference aimed exclusively at sex bloggers and erotica writers and has a schedule crammed full of great sessions and speakers.

The conference is the brainchild of erotic author Ruby Kiddell, who says:

"The idea for Eroticon came about having attended the Cybermummy conference where I was sponsored through my erotic writing site.  There were other sex bloggers there and I knew that we held back in discussing the content of our blogs in such a general atmosphere and so I conceived Eroticon, a blogging conference exclusively for those writing about sex online..."

Read the rest over at BBHQ!

BitchBuzz: Jane Eyre's Everlasting Appeal

A perennial favourite of mine, for sure -- especially in the Dame Darcy illo'd version, I wax rhapsodic about the book over at BB:

Jane Eyre's Everlasting Appeal

By K.A. Laity

This month marks the 164th anniversary of the publication of Charlotte Brontë's immortal Jane Eyre. Women love Jane—well, a certain kind of women love this heroine. Women who love Jane Eyre tend to appreciate her backbone. Jane does what needs to be done, she overcomes outrageous odds and she never gives up—or gives in to what she knows is not right. Her fans also tend to like middle-child Anne Eliott in Persuasion or the poor overlooked and overworked Fanny Price of Mansfield Park.

Jane is a real plain Jane; not an ugly duckling waiting to bloom. The truly plain know they have other qualities more worthy, but also know well that most people will never notice them. Her whole early life—slipped over in most film versions—shows Jane's real strength, her utter faith in herself, her complete self-reliance. 


A lot of men I know hate Jane Eyre; not dislike, not ignore, but actively hate this book. I think the primary reason is Rochester. In my River Song voice, "Spoilers!"...

Read the rest, including those spoilers, over at BBHQ as usual. Feel free to 'like' or 'share' it too. This is how people find my stuff, you know. I rely on you all to be the Relay. You can tell how much I love Jane: the serial's main character is her daughter! Did you realise that? :-) One of the reasons I really enjoyed the recent very gothic film version is that it was totally Jane's story, not focused on the romance as the center. Of course, my fave Rochester will probably always be Toby Stephens.

I can't believe it's Thursday already. This week has been a blur for many reasons. Tomorrow is the Fiction Slam, which I will attend and maybe, just maybe, read at, too. Saturday I'm bound for Dublin. Madness!

Talk About the Weather

Everywhere I've lived people have always said, "If you don't like the weather, wait a minute." Even in Houston, which flabbergasted me because nine or ten months of the year it is relentlessly hot and humid with only the regular 3pm brief thunderstorm to break the hellfire monotony. It was slightly more true in Michigan, but you could generally get a picture of how the weather would go in the morning and plan accordingly with reasonable accuracy (contingent on your knowledge of the seasons, I should add).

In Galway, however, it is literally true. I do consult the weather oracles (i.e. I check my phone) and look out the window, but I know that what I see outside may instantly change. I have walked out into rain and arrived at my  destination in sunshine. I have generally given up on carrying an umbrella, as the bins on most days look like this one. The gales of Galway are legendary. I risked an umbrella today because there seemed to be no wind and it was that kind of pervasive misty rain that quickly soaks everything. But by the time I was crossing the Corrib on my way to campus, the wind had begun to gust again.My umbrella made it here, but I suspect that it may be a challenge on the next leg of my perambulations.

In Galway it's important to wield your brolly like a rapier, twirling it to brace against the shifting winds, dodging other umbrellas on the narrow pavement -- so far it seems to be a very gendered norm, with men raising their umbrellas and women lowering theirs, but we shall see if that has just been coincidence so far. But most of the time I either just get wet or wear a hat (shock, I know). I was walking along the Claddagh the other day, enjoying the dramatic skies (thanks for the touch up on the photo, Ayub!) and watching a jackdaw eat mussels by flying up a few feet and dropping them on the rocks. There were a few rainy clouds out to sea, but while brisk, it was quite pleasant.

And then it started to hail! The wind blew so hard that it was difficult to walk as I hightailed it back toward the centre. Yet by the time I got up to the street again, the sun was out. Sure, it was still raining. But the sun was out. It's crazy, but it always gives people something to talk about, eh?

This weekend there's the Fiction Slam on Friday and then Octocon on Saturday, so I'll be heading up to Dublin to finally meet Pádraig Ó Méalóid face to face after all these years. Next week I'm off to London for some fun including not one but TWO Alan Moore events and some idling in East London with the mad Mr Murphy. Next it will be off to Scotland, but more about that anon. For the present, let's talk about the weather...

BitchBuzz: The Perfect Hat

You know this was inevitable, right?

Three Easy Steps to Finding the Perfect Hat

By K. A. Laity

If you live in the west of Ireland, you discover quickly why hats are a better idea than brollies; the gales in Galway are powerful! Most blustery days the wreckage of ruined umbrellas becomes a common sight. My visitors last weekend discovered this quickly, one of whom used our lazy morning to buy a nice new hat.

The other refused, saying, "I don't look good in hats."

I realise I'm a bit prejudiced here, but hats are good. Hats make you look good. People who claim not to look good in hats haven't tried the right hat. It's like trying on a bubble skirt then claiming "I just don't look good in skirts." Well, no one looks good in a bubble skirt (no, no one) and no one looks good in a baseball cap (which doesn't really count as a hat because it's equipment), which is probably the hat most people have tried on.
—or some kind of uniform (shudder).

I know better: as a sufferer of perpetual bad hair days, I am completely in love with hats...

Read the rest at BBHQ as always!

Good news! I've finally begun the overhaul of the website. After a disastrous move that lost most of my connectivity, I have finally just moved the website to a Wordpress blog. The URL should point there now (or very soon) and I am slowly reconstructing the info. Tell me what you think of the new design. I kind of miss Kali, but change is good. Lots of tweaking to do, but you know how I am with tedious work, so it may take a little time. And I have a lot of idling around Galway to do!

Well Done, Gardai

So, two trips wasted now.
(V)-_-(V)

I spent yesterday finding the Garda Immigration Office in Galway. It turns out to be in a mostly unmarked building (there's a tiny plaque among the others) in the Byzantine wastelands of a charmless industrial park in the part of Galway that doesn't end up on the postcards. After at last locating it with a lot of help from Google Maps, I was told that not only were there no forms available to register, but they were "out of numbers."

Silly me, I assumed this meant some kind of glitch with their machine. At least I knew where it was now and could return in the morning, when (surely!) it would be less chaotic.

I got up early, passing through a twilit Eyre Square, where the crows fought a turf battle against the gulls with plenty of commentary on both sides, and repeating the less-than-picturesque ramble out to the industrial park. Returning for the opening hour of 7:30 was early for me, but surely a wise thing to do.

Apparently not.

Arriving minutes after opening, I found the line out the door and into the parking lot. I ducked in to grab a form, but after asking several people, was unable to find anyone who was giving out the tickets to officially queue for a place in line. I joined the end of the line and filled out my form, hoping someone would appear soon. More people joined behind me. Everyone looked anxious. Children were already bored with waiting, as apparently many people got here quite early. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about that.

Finally one of the latest folks to join the queue came out with a form in her hand, saying angrily that they would not see anyone that day who did not already have a ticket. We were wasting our time. Yes, that's right. Arriving at the time the office opened meant we were too late to actually see anyone in the office that day (o_O). So the posted hours -- which a hand-written sign declared could be changed "without notice" -- mean nothing because if you are not there before they opened (in fact, well before they opened) they will do nothing for you.

Apparently, this is typical.

I suppose if you're in the midst of a financial crisis and want to discourage immigrants, this is one way to do it. However, I am not costing the Irish nation a penny, and am bringing the prestige of the Fulbright foundation and a lot of money to spend here, but apparently that's not enough. Perhaps a dance of some kind is called for, or a round of drinks...?

And they're not answering their phone. I shall have to write a letter to The Times. Oh, wait...