Writing Brain

Overall my experience of Ireland has been positive, but the second farm I worked at didn’t do much to contribute to the positive pile.  The horses were sweet, the countryside was gorgeous, riding again was fun, and quieting a half-wild yearling with nothing but singing and petting made me feel like Aragorn when he tames Brego in “The Two Towers” movie.  But the work was hard, and there was a lot of it.  And getting yelled at in an Irish accent is no more enjoyable than getting yelled at with an American one.  So, I booked a flight to Germany, and came to stay with my best friend’s parents, to remind myself why I love Europe and travelling.  While in Germany I visited Frankfurt, wandered around Oberursel, and caught an evening at an Irish pub with one of my favorite bands, 6’10.  I also got a lot of writing done.

Something I’ve learned about myself,is that not much writing happens if I’m not in a good place.  Before I planned my trip to Europe, I felt trapped, stuck in the world of job hunting and car shopping with no chance of escape.  So not much writing happened.  After that long night, hardly a day went by that I didn’t write something.  And if I didn’t write, I edited, which is by far harder.

When I was at Samaya House, I wrote. I even wrote poetry, which doesn’t happen often.  At Fairfield Farm, I could barely bring myself to type up what I had hand written, except on the weekends, which I spent alone, or going into Loughrea or Galway.

So I decided to go to Germany.  And sitting in the airport, I started writing.  A week and a half later, I’m packing again to visit friends in England. And I’m writing.

I may not always seem happy when I’m writing.  Apparently my “writing face” looks like someone just died.  I cry over characters who don’t deserve to die.  I get freaked out by my own villains.  I get frustrated when scenes don’t come out right.

But that’s ok.

Because if I’m writing, that means deep down, I’m happy with where I am.

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