Setting Sail for Inishmore

Miss Wendy and I tried to do the overnight B&B trip to Inishmore. We got up early Tuesday to go get our tickets for the ferry and make arrangements. The woman at the ticket office said the crew were making a decision at 9. They decided not to go that day.

More timid folk would have decided then and there not to make a crossing in January.

Miss Wendy and I, however, were determined, so we went back yesterday and sure enough, the ferry would be sailing so we got our bus & ferry tickets, but decided not to do the whole B&B thing, which ended up being just as well. Remote islands in the Atlantic in January, it turns out, do not offer experiences conducive to relaxed enjoyment. Imagine our surprise.

We found ourselves back in Connemara on the bus, which took a bit longer than we had anticipated to get to the ferry terminal. Miss Wendy, as you know, used to work at the Coast Guard Academy and has been on whaling trips and whatnot. My family used to have its own boat and I've been on ocean ferries before.

I have never been in water that wild! Miss Wendy said she understood now why Poseidon was the patron of horses as well as the sea as we plunged up and down in the waves. Arm rests have other uses than just resting arms, I discovered. I was trying not to think of things like The Poseidon Adventure and just roll with the waves. Even as I write this, I feel that strange sensation again. I didn't feel ill at all, just nervous.

Very very nervous.

It didn't help that all the islanders we met that day said, "Rough crossing?" and then proceeded to regale us with their own decisions not to take the ferry that week. The woman in the stone shop showed off her arm brace and said how she was supposed to go to her doctor on the mainland, "But I'll leave it until next week."

Our tour around the island brought us to seals (which I don't think either of us could make out) and lots of sea birds, which Miss Wendy found in her guide book. The ruins of the 8th century monastery and its cemetery were quite lovely and picturesque, living history.

The beauties of Dun Aengus were considerable but there was a bit of a problem; as the woman in the heritage office told us, "Be careful by the cliffs." What she might have said was, "The opening to the ring fort creates a kind of wind tunnel that combined with gale force wind will knock you off your feet." We discovered that for ourselves. Some dramatic footage of the cliffs.




The cafe where we warmed up before the hike up to the fort gave a lovely warm glow from the turf fire and the delicious food. The pub at the end of the tour proved a welcome sight as we tried to steel our resolve for the journey back. By the time we walked to the pier, the wind howled and the rain assaulted us. We got on board, but they warned us they were changing us to another boat. After about a quarter of an hour, we all decamped for the smaller, less swank ferry.

A few people had told us the journey back would be better, but coincidences added to our nerves. In the pub the telly showed a Raging Nature program on people dying in blizzards detailing how it feels to freeze to death and the woman sitting across the aisle from Wendy read a novel Dead Tomorrow! or something like that. I think we both blanched when one of the sailors, after staring out the fore window for a time intently, reached up to the row of life jackets hanging on a shelf above our heads. However, he was just retrieving his newspaper which he'd put up there. So we plunged on through the sea in the dark this time, rolling and pitching, rising to meet the waves and it was a bit better but still nerve-wracking, so we were glad to reach shore.

You can see all the Inishmore pictures at the end of the Ireland album. I think we're going to treat ourselves to a spa day today. I expect I may be back to visit the Aran Islands.

Critters Poll: still time to vote for me for best horror short, or as part of the Dark Pages: International Noir anthology; you can also vote for the lovely QoE's artwork as cover artist.

Boxing Day v St Stephen's Day

I'm packed and ready for the next journey -- meeting Miss Wendy in Dublin which ought to be a lot of fun, but makes it no less difficult to leave Dundee. A bus to Edinburgh Airport then a flight to Dublin and one more bus into the city centre. Hopefully Miss Wendy is having a chance to sleep off her jet lag as she should be there already. I leave the UK where it's Boxing Day and arrive in Ireland where it's St Stephen's Day. Will I feel the difference?

I'm over at the New England Horror Writers blog today with a little information on Dundee's Howff: drop by and enjoy!

A Writer Discovers the Famous Dundee Cemetery

by Kate Laity

The Dundee Dragon (picture by Kate Laity)

I have a lot of New England friends who enjoy exploring the graveyards of the northeast and probing the histories behind them, so it’s a treat to be able to visit an even older cemetery here in Dundee where I am spending Christmas. Of course the big holiday in Scotland is Hogmanay, but I have to be back in Ireland this year, so I’m going to miss it. Dundee also has a famous dragon as well, though it’s best known for the three Js: jute, jam and journalism. The jute mills once employed much of the population, until jute production was outsourced to India in the 1920s. Orange marmalade continues to be a staple of British tables. And Dundee remains the home of DC Thomson, creator of The Beano, The Dandy and The Sunday Post... [read the rest]

Did you get a Kindle or some other reading device for your holidays? Need something to read on it? I have some suggestions :-)

BitchBuzz: Making Small Talk

The light begins its return today: a relief. It was beginning to seem like the sun had gone down before I'd properly gotten up. Then again, that could be due to my lazy schedule. I am getting some good relaxing in :-) and a bit of writing, too, as well as watching Allan battle angry penguins in cars (o_O).

It's Short Story Day, I hear. May I suggest my collection Unikirja? Or if you like something more gruesome how about It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7. Guaranteed quality!

My column today may seem a tad ironic: who's less qualified than me to talk about conversational skills? Ah, but those who can't do, teach or so I'm told. Better than I used to be.

Dos and Don'ts for Holiday Small Talk

By K.A. Laity

Holidays bring the often trying task of making small talk with people you do not really know, whether they are co-workers in distant cubicles, business acquaintances you've never really had a chance to develop a rapport with or relatives you can't actually recall having met before, or at least not since the age of three. While Oscar Wilde maintained that, "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative," I say any port in a storm when faced with days of chit chat with unfamiliar people.


As a person accustomed to spending the better part of her time alone, I find it taxing to make conversation. Like most introverts, I am stressed by time spent in groups.


While I have been able to develop extrovert abilities for my professional life, the fact remains that I am not a good conversationalist except with a few intimate friends (or online -- the internet is a great gift to introverts). But it can be possible to make small talk without falling into Eliza Doolittle perils...

Read the useful tips over at BBHQ. I guess penguins are the theme of the day :-) Yes, I was pleased to work in that scene from My Fair Lady as well as The Testing of Eric Olthwaite. Black pudding at the ready!

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...

Snapshots of Galway

As I've been getting nudges to show you a little of my new home city, here are a few snapshots from my new phone. I still don't have internet at home (ayiii!); but I do finally have a mobile! Which means I have a camera now, too. I love living surrounded by rivers and canals as well as the bay. Above is abbot canal on the way to campus near the Salmon Weir Bridge and the cathedral.

This was some interesting ivy on the wall along the canal on Nun's Island.

Folks on Facebook already saw this: a late lunch at the Mill House Restaurant, right over the canal and next to the Corrib.

The local Galway Bay Ale is quite refreshing and I recommend you give it a try, if you don't go for the Galway Hooker Pale Ale (it refers to a kind of ship!).

I live in the bustling centre of the city. Folks prowl up and down Shop Street or down to the Latin Quarter, all a minute's walk from my flat. And yes, the madness goes on late into the night, so I will likely be keeping late hours here, too.

And in Eyre Square Centre, it's all about the wolf! Hee, I love this new window display. It's weird living adjacent to a mall. One exit takes me right into Dunnes (during opening hours) who're kind of like the Irish M&S. And yes, that means there's a Foodhall in the lower level (phew!).


Ooh, that reminds me! I need to get some batteries so I can get the Newgrange video off the camera. Here's one photo from the old camera. More soon.

10 Things I Love

Tapped by my Twitter pal, Betty Herbert, here is a random list of 10 things that I unabashedly love. They are not in rank order and this might be a completely different list tomorrow. Anyway, it distracted me for a moment from the packing panic.

1. Peter Cook

2. Mark E Smith

3. Jane Austen

4. Beowulf

5. Cary Grant films

6. Martinis

7. London

8. AbFab

9. My kantele

10. Writing

What are YOUR ten?! Don't think about it; just list them. I challenge you! Come here and leave a comment to tell me when you've answered.

Purposeful

I started out the day purposefully: I got a needed oil change, ran to the store and then came to campus. There things began to bog down a bit, not only because there was a lot of email to get to and a call from the Dean but then there was the printer not working. I haven't bought new ink for my printer at home, so I've generally relied on the printer here on campus. When we got new printers and a whole new print admin system, I was the only one who never had a problem printing. Everyone else was screaming for blood because of course they decided to change the system at the beginning of the semester. So I've taken advantage of the one colleague in the building to have him print a couple of emergency things and will hope the Mac guy gets around to me soon.

Yes, we have one person in IT who's competent in Macs. We have (last I knew) over 200 Macs on campus. And you wonder why our last Mac person quit to go to Skidmore where she has fewer headaches and more pay... oh, that's right. No wonder at all.

You can catch up with the latest episode in La Ronde, the round robin story started by Patti Abbot. Today's installment (#10 already!) is "It's Raining Down in Texas" by Graham Powell. Amazing turns this narrative has taken: now in Texas.

Kit Marlowe's The Mangrove Legacy will be available from All Romance Ebooks on December 15th! You can get The Big Splash there now (as well as at Noble Romance and Amazon).

21st Century Gothic will be printed on my birthday :-) though it won't be available until 2011.

I just got word that my presentation "Bringing a Medieval Woman to Life" (about writing a play on the life of Christina of Markyate) got accepted for the Great Writing Conference in London next June. Looking forward to that. I'm also considering a conference in Akureyri, Iceland as well. We shall see. Yeah, don't remind me of that note which says "Just say no!" I am (on the whole) doing less. Well, less of some things. Combining things, too, seems helpful (work that does double duty). But yeah, it remains the case that there is so little time, and so much to do!

Weekend Round-up

Here's Kipper showing why it's so easy to find excuses not to write. Good intentions often get trumped by someone who really wants attention right now and will sit on your pad of paper to make sure he gets it. One of the things I was trying to do on that paper was try out my new fountain pen (which I think I neglected to mention when it came last week -- I really do need to have some minions and/or acolytes! What kind of a cult is the Cult of Kaity if it remains minion-less?!).

The Victorian which I got from His Nibs is quite lovely and looks suitably retro to be either steampunk or a murder weapon in a Wilkie Collins novel. Inspiring to write with -- or that's the plan. I did manage to get a good bit of writing done this weekend after a week of mostly frustration and discarded dreck. Like the man said, sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn't.

Sunday I took part in the first of what will be a monthly series of open mic readings at the Arts Center in Troy. Hosted by Dan Wilcox and Nancy Klepsch, it featured both poetry and prose! Okay, let me repeat that: PROSE! All the open mics around here are open to poets only. Why doesn't prose get the love, too? Part of the reason I started Prose at the Rose is because there are precious few outlets for reading prose. I love reading, I love hearing other people read, but no one but poets allowed in most readings. So kudos, Dan and Nancy. I read "Vironsusi" from Unikirja and it seemed to go over well, despite going over the time limit (d'oh! just cut me off next time, I told Dan). Second Sunday of the month at 2pm will be the regular slot. Come on by and bring something to read.

One more thing I forgot: here's one of the costumes from A Winter's Tale at Shakespeare and Co. They had some out in the lobby at The Real Inspector Hound. It's always so lovely to see the fine craftsmanship on the costumes up close. Really wonderful work. They had one of Richard III's costumes there, too. Wonderful work. I forgot, too, to mention that when Inspector Hound made his entrance at last, he had these steampunk accessories which made me laugh.

Wombat Day

I did not start this particular celebration, but you know I'm willing to lend a hand for a good cause. So join the dance for Wombat Day. Wombat cake below made by the Wombies. How to celebrate: Eat chocolate, think marsupial thoughts, put something in a pouch. Smile. Hug a wombat.

It Must Be True

With Buzz and Bertie at the Veep's

What dog doesn't love having gutted soft toys balanced on his head?

If Buzz didn't like ripping their guts out so much, he'd have more to chew on...

Robert relaxes by the pool: sort of.

As close as I get to "sunbathing"

Despite this look, he made me some very fine meals including marinated steaks on the Vice President's grill (one of two--oooh, luxury) -- yum! At night we could hear the music from the Duchess County Fair (oh boy, Foreigner!). Alas, my idleness is over: classes (and departmental meetings) start tomorrow. The autumn arrives with a shock every year.

Rather Predictable That

Fancy Meeting You

Yesterday on my morning walk I ran into this snapper at the edge of Buckingham Lake. It may be a bit difficult to gauge size, so I should mention her shell was about a foot long. Clearly not in a hurry: on my first lap around the lake, she had just got out of the water. On the second go-round, she was sitting on the path. Maybe she was just posing!

At the Fair

My pal Jenise talked me into going to the fair last night; that's one of her pictures of the fine fowl on display there. At least by the evening the heat had abated somewhat and once the sun went down, things were actually comfortable. We ran into people we knew very quickly (yes, even me!). Jenise and Mary tried very hard to resist the Bengal kitties, which did look like miniature leopards. We ate unhealthy food (no fried dough for me), looked at a wide variety of livestock -- one of the horses had a sign, "Friend me on Facebook" so the fair ain't what it used to be. Nonetheless, I felt like an extra in Oklahoma! walking around the barns and the midway.

This morning it was so humid, mist rose right off the surface of the lake and wrapped the trees in diaphanous white gauze. I kept an eye peeled for Avalon, but nothing appeared through mist but ducks. Another hot day today: thinking of gazpacho, thanks to José mentioning it on Facebook.

Independence Day

Robert invited me down to see the place he was house-sitting for a VP at his college. Here he is poolside with Buzz, AKA Busby Berkeley, the dog who required the sitting. Buzz is a really friendly dog and very happy. He lives in a rather large house set among the trees some few miles from the campus itself. Swank, eh? Not a bad gig. The weather was cooperating, although it had tried to sprinkle off and on, there was never much in the way of rain really.

So we sat poolside, played with the dog, watched the birds coming to the feeders and sipped some G-n-Ts. Mmmm, doesn't that look refreshing? Something about a summer day and the flavour of a good gin and tonic -- although, Liz, I must say I miss the addition of Elderflower cordial! You have not had the very finest g-n-t until you've had one with some elderflower cordial in it as well. Yum! All in all a good way to spend a lazy day. Later that night we could see the fireworks in Rhinebeck through the trees, so that was nice.

I suppose enjoying the privileges of the privileged without actually being one of them has its perks, too. After all, who wants to have to clean a house that big, spend all that time walking around from one room to the next, looking through all the drawers in the gigantic kitchen to find your lemon zester (to be fair, they had labeled most of the cupboards that contained likely use items like glasses, mugs, plates, etc). I would doubtless get bored sitting by a pool for more than a day or two, anyway. But it provides a good excuse to wear a fancy hat or two.

Back in Black

I lie -- I'm wearing grey at present, but how could I miss the opportunity to put a bad AC/DC tune in your head (okay, it's not that bad). Seems like LoudTwitter gave up the ghost the last couple days, so you missed fabulous tidbits like:

Kate Laity fell up steps Thameside, but did not drop her Magnum; gentleman who helped me up clearly impressed with my priorities. Slight bruising only.
Tue at 4:05am · via Twitter [necessitating a link to explain which Magnum and the discovery that the camera appears to have been a casualty of the fall]

and

Kate Laity thinks it might take a crowbar to pry her away from London: yes, that is definitely needed. Waah! [included video thank you to all my pals in and about Britain]
Yesterday at 2:14am · via Twitter

and of course,

Kate Laity has returned to Albany where, ironically, it's cold and rainy.
10 hours ago · via Twitter.

There are some more pictures to put up (yes, including Kew Gardens, Joey!) and of course, lots to write about, but first I have a few practical things to do, such as making certain no bills went astray while I was gone and that there's still enough money in my account, etc.

So -- what did I miss?

[by the by, photo above from the tube station at Green Park]

NYC and Beckett

I headed down to the city on Saturday and the first stop was to have brunch with pal Dana from the Horror list. Dana joined the list when he was thirteen, so he made me feel ancient. Nonetheless we had a good time laughing and gossiping over our meal at Iguana. After our meal, I sauntered down to Studio 54 to see Beckett's Waiting for Godot. They still have the leopard skin carpet that Bianca and Andy waltzed down while on their way to groove the night away with their plastic bags.

It was a interesting production. The difficult things with stars is that it's hard to see them as anything but themselves. As good as Bill Irwin and Nathan Lane are, you can't really forget that they're who they are and not really Didi and Gogo, although I completely believed their adventures. The clowning aspects in particular came off well -- the hat sequence and the (apparently) fortuitous popping off of Lane's hat into Irwin's hands. Wonderful! Goodman, too, was wonderful, but you couldn't stop seeing him as Goodman.

Glover, however, made me forget who he was. He was Lucky. He took up this often stylized part and made it both shocking and real. I have a beef against Glover because I really didn't like his audio book version of The Thief of Always, but I suppose it's time to let that go and let him get beyond Lionel Luthor.

Walking toward Columbus Circle and Central Park, I saw this woman-positive advert and tried to take a picture of it to capture the Hooters restaurant in the background (that's the orange neon), but I don't think my phone was up to the complexity.

I hung out in Central Park and watched the people who crammed the park playing and relaxing, before heading back to Grand Central and the train via the cramped and sweaty subway. I got some lovely cards from Papyrus which I plan to use and enjoy, and drove back from Poughkeepsie listening to Robyn Hitchcock (yes, still!).

Soap Opera Digest

Titmuss Street: Babs and Henry finally agree to give the kitchen a much needed make-over, while ignoring Frederick's pleas for help from under the floorboards. Felix, fretful over his creeping baldness, shaves the cat in a desperate attempt at camouflage. Hilda, however, remains unimpressed and leaves the gallery opening with Carlo, who intimates to Felix that he will be painting Hilda later (without a canvas). Marnie waits.

'Round Uxbridge: Ralph and Penelope continue their affair, although she finds there is too much friction between them and starts fantasizing about Teddy's gentle ways. Over lunch she confides to Sarah that she will ask Ralph to change from leather restraints to silk, but Sarah conceals that she, too, is sleeping with Ralph and has already claimed the silk. Pauline drowns her sorrows in bitter, but they prove able to float. She conveys her myriad disappointments to Ralph over dinner, but finds her brother distracted and instead turns to Teddy, who immediately reveals that he has come to the realisation that he is gay and has fallen for her brother. Ralph calls Sylvia suggesting an evening of Nutella and spoons.

Netherwood End: Because he is unable to hide his accounting irregularities, Peter avoids meeting with Linda, fearing she will fire him, unaware that she is working to bring the company to bankruptcy because Old Netherwood once ruined her father. Patsy discovers the second set of books and forces Peter to acquiesce to her soft toy fetish. Bertram spots the two of them together at Hamley's and immediate files for divorce. A clerk in the store uses his mobile to record their inappropriate encounter with an elephant puppet and puts it online, although it is dismissed as a hoax.

Frithville Five: Spurned by Rodrigo, Millicent heads to Harvey Nichols for a shopping orgy only to run into the Babcock twins, who convince her to pleasure them in the intimate apparel fitting room. It seems the perfect pick-me-up until the constables arrive. The consequent headlines help Caroline distract Kevin from thinking about her pregnancy and its unlikelihood while she concocts a plausible medical excuse. Bunny cleans. Lawrence, in a fit of pique, shoots his father, who complains bitterly about the ungrateful youth of today.

Trubba Not

In a tweet last night I used the word "trufax" and was pleasantly surprised to get a response of "trubba not" from a fellow tweeter, someone I know only from the internet, but who has proved to have a wealth of overlapping interests with me, including studying hagiography in grad school. When you find someone who also loves a book you adore, you've found another member of your tribe.

For me, that's the internet.

My online information is filled with little details and inside jokes that will mean a lot to a very few people, but when people respond, I know I've found another member of my tribe. Well, one of my tribes anyway: there are so many! Some overlap, some don't. The only point of meeting may be me, but I'm surrounded by a network of people who like the stuff I do and share sensibilities I have. It's wonderful.

I have friends around the world that I would never have met but for the internet. Yes, some of them I have since met face to face. Some of them I might never meet, but my life is richer for their friendship. Distance used to keep people from meeting who might correspond over the years, letters slowly reaching across the globe, though they never clapped eyes on one another. It's a wonderful treasure to be able to communicate instantaneously with a friend on the opposite side of the globe.

This is, of course, to counter the picture of the internet simply as the domain of child-molesters, scam artists, tax-evaders, trolls and the disgruntled. Old media has a tendency to play up that aspect, unfortunately.

As usual, I'm thinking about these issues because I'm going to be teaching a grad class about Literature/Performance/Visual Narrative. One of the themes linking it will be how we use the 'net to create narratives of ourselves using visual, aural and verbal techniques. Also as usual, I'm not entirely certain how it will work -- it's an experiment. The class has a Facebook page, they will have to write a Twitter length narrative (140 characters), do some kind of performance, and write a biography of someone's online "performance" of their own life. I have no idea what we'll discover, but I'm looking forward to it.

Figuring things out

I've been skimming through Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers. In the midst of the chapter "The Trouble with Geniuses, Part 2" suddenly so much seems plain, particularly when I look at the way people behave in academia. Despite all my years spent in that realm, I retain an uneasy feeling of having one foot in and one foot out of it. It's an obvious thing, but one I didn't connect to behavior. Gladwell argues, for example, that the difference between two geniuses, Oppenheimer (you've heard of him) and Chris Langan (you probably haven't heard of him), really comes down to class and culture:

That was the lesson Langan learned from his childhood: distrust authority and be independent... He didn't learn entitlement. He learned constraint. It may seem like a small thing, but it was a crippling handicap in navigating the world beyond Bozeman [his hometown]. (110)