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.