Ethel Rohan's Blog, page 13

Want to Write With Me?

I’m teaching a three-hour intensive on the short-short story this Saturday at Book Passage, Corte Madera. The class is limited to 10 and I believe there are now only 3 spots available. Won’t you join me? You can register here.

“Flash” fiction centers on the art of compression and the brilliance of brevity. To inspire and enliven us, we will read and briefly discuss a sampling of excellent, inventive short-short stories from Mary Miller, Myfanwy Collins, Kathy Fish, Joe Kapitan, and more. The main focus of the workshop will be on your writing and we will work from prompts to generate ideas, encourage risk, and bring forth trouble (only trouble is interesting). Our goal is to enjoy our group’s collective charge and to produce a first draft of tiny but meaningful narratives.

I’m not a fan of the term “Flash Fiction” and worry it gives credence to the idea of short-short stories being fast, easy, and lazy writing. Stories, done right and well, are stories. Amen.

Mel Ulm at The Reading Life

gave an astonishing amount of time and love to my work, in particular my story collection, Cut Through the Bone. I would be so grateful if you took the time to visit Mel’s website The Reading Life which is dedicated to writers and their works, in particular Irish writers. Mel’s selfless dedication to writing and books is truly impressive and laudable. Thank you, Mel.

The View From Here

My thanks to Kate Brown, Fiction Editor, The Front View, for including my short-short story, “The Care of Babes”.

Most of my stories have betrayal as their subtext, but I believe this is the first time I’ve ever overtly written about infidelity.

Now I’m going to go eat a plum.

I Must Be Off

Christopher Allen, curator of I Must Be Off!, a website dedicated to interviews with expats, kindly featured me here.

An excerpt:

“As a child I struggled with learning differences and for years attended what in Dublin we called “remedial classes” taught by an elderly nun, Sister Gerethie. Luckily, despite Sister Gerethie’s hunchback, walking cane, and black garb, she didn’t succumb to the stereotype and I remember her fondly. My challenges to read and write were never diagnosed, that I know of, and to this day I’m not sure if my difficulties were cognitive or emotional (I’m a survivor of childhood abuse). The memory of the struggle, though, remains like a bird on my shoulder that every now and again pecks at me. On one hand, I’m proud and frankly astonished that I’ve grown from that girl who jumbled text to, of all things, a writer, and on the other hand the insecurities around feeling stupid still burn and I worry that, as a writer, I couldn’t possibly be in the right place.”

Thanks, Chris, for including me.

 

The Dodo: “… An early example of humanity’s ability to sabotage the natural world.”

The quote in the title above is taken from a tiny, pretty book of memoir, illustrations, and fascinating footnotes on objects, animals, and people. My thanks to Brandi Wells, Managing Editor, Black Warrior Review, for publishing my response to Stephanie LaCava’s intriguing memoir An Extraordinary Theory of Objects:

 

“What is most exceptional about Stephanie LaCava’s memoir The Extraordinary Theory of Objects is that it contains little of Stephanie LaCava. Through story, footnotes, and illustrations by Matthew Nelson, the book chronicles a wide range of people and, most brilliantly, objects. In the first sentence of her introduction, LaCava declares, “I was always strange.” What follows in this brief but gripping memoir is the chronicling of her desire, separateness, depression, loneliness, and her inability to feel settled in the world and within herself. Since childhood, LaCava sought out stories and objects both ordinary and extraordinary. Her imagination and sense of awe distanced her from reality and freed her from everyday drudgery: “Some people’s bodies need to make extra blood cells or insulin for survival; mine manufactured fantasy.” This relentless curiosity and attachment to things is a capacity she both cherishes and at times laments, recognizing that in childhood she coveted unusual things to distract herself from her unraveling.”

 

You can read the rest here.

It’s Been A While

since I’ve written here. I first started blogging four Januarys ago under the title Straight From the Heart in My Hip: Snapshots of a Writer’s Mind. My intention was to write straight and honest out of the swirl of my head. The plan was that there would also be photos, lots of photos.

The photo idea quickly fizzled out. I’m not great about taking photos, let alone posting them. The confessional impulse still remains. For me, my best posts have been those where I’ve laid myself bare. That’s the way the words here have wanted to come out. Ideally, I suppose, confessional writing hits on matters that resonate and have meaning for both you the reader and me the writer, that help us discover.

There are many reasons I haven’t posted in such a long time. In general, I haven’t had the urge. Then there’s the fact that personal blogging and its readership are dying. Really, who cares anymore? I’m also busy as a mother and busy elsewhere as a writer, so busy I sometimes wish my skeleton could step out of me and help too. Mostly, though, I’ve been hurt hard and the pain hangs over everything. I can’t write straight and honest without writing about that pain and that’s something I won’t do here.

I also don’t want to write straight from the heart in my hip because I’m afraid of what I might discover–truths I’m afraid I’ll find and big changes I might have to make, and I don’t want to have to face all that. I don’t like change and I don’t want to lose love, however imperfect it might be. That’s what I most wanted as a child: to feel safe and secure and loved. That’s what I still most want.

I reviewed Martha Long’s memoir Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes for New York Journal of Books. The memoir has flaws, but it’s a devastating and worthwhile read. What struck me most as I read was how many times Martha Long as a young girl told herself with equal parts rage and hope that she would survive and go on to live a better life. I remember telling myself the same thing as a child: I knew with uncanny knowing that I could and would do better; that I was born for more.

My first real boyfriend, the one I stayed with for five years and almost got engaged to, he often played Bob Dylan, the times they are a-changin. Ironically, that song gave me the courage to leave him, that and The Pogues with Kirsty MacColl’s Fairytale of New York, Happy Christmas me arse I pray God it’s our last. That and that, and the uncanny knowingness that I was born for more all empowered me to leave him, to leave Ireland.

It’s a New Year. I’ve got a new book coming out. I know this year is going to be big. I still feel like I was born for more. I hope the more, though, is not where I’m afraid it is–I hope to get to more I don’t have to leave anyone behind again. Because I love you.

SF Weekly Shortest 25 Question Interview EVER

It’s that time of year when notable and award lists abound. Yeah, that isn’t what this post is about. Maybe someday … (Yes, this is a shameless nudge.)

In the same spirit, however, I announce myself Winner of the Shortest 25 Question Interview EVER.

You can read my brief 25 answers and watch my brief video reading here. I could not bring myself to do the latter, but perhaps you can.

Thanks to Evan Karp and Sarah Griffin (Twitter: @griffski) for making this happen.

The New York Times

published my op-ed essay on women’s rights and Ireland’s antiquated abortion laws, written in response to the terrible death of Dr. Savita Halappanavar in an Irish hospital.

Split

I co-wrote a brief article on emigration for The Irish Times with fellow Dubliner and new emigrant to San Francisco, Sarah Griffin (photo via The Irish Times and taken by Ian Tuttle).

Excerpt:

Sarah voiced a reluctance to join the Irish community here, largely because she doesn’t want it to mirror everything she is missing about Ireland and to suck her right in. I understand her reluctance. While I believe the Irish community can be of vital support to new emigrants, there’s a danger of getting trapped inside the smallness of the familiar, allowing that sense of living in a strange place to remain forever. Emigrants have to let go of any sense of preciousness around having a single identity.

 

 

Pure Class

Finished Laura van den Berg’s chapbook, THERE WILL BE NO MORE GOOD NIGHTS WITHOUT GOOD NIGHTS, from Origami Zoo Press and highly recommend the read. The stories are so skillful and moving and imaginative. Really beautiful work. Readers, treat yourself. Teachers of short-short fiction, this tiny, powerful book is a must for your students. Skeptics of short-short stories, go read and get thee converted.