So – closed pubs, fines for restaurants who do serve alcohol (without a meal, as far as I understood – regulations are plenty and confusing), cloaked towers of wine and beer in the supermarkets so customers aren’t reminded too much of their renouncement, or – like Lidl in true German no-nonsense style – just let the good stuff dangle in front of their faces while telling them they can’t have it.

Good Friday Offer

Of course, Ireland wouldn’t be Ireland if people would make the best use of that quirky little shot at one-day prohibition. And so, every Thursday before Easter it is mayhem at the supermarkets, with people schlepping trays of beer cans and dozens of wine bottles home with them – for their traditional Good Friday home party – restaurants offering BYOB (bring your own beer) options to coax their customers out on a dire day like this, and all other sorts of little tricks. Of course, I was among them, filling up the wine stash as much as our brave little car could hold. Because who knows what might come up on a Good Friday like this?

Happy Easter, dear blog-readers – hope you have a great time with your loved ones!

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Early spring usually is the “time of hope”, as hubby likes to call it – those blessed couple of weeks who see the relentless wind whipping the country die down and people basking in the sun until they turn lobster (which usually takes appx. 30 minutes).

This year, Ireland has been spoilt by a particularly nice “heatwave” of 18 to 20 degrees and sunshine, and that for days. Like every year, a mild spell that would not even raise an eyebrow elsewhere, lets media get into overdrive, both in euphemistic headlines (see below) and feeding the hopeful nation signs of an impending great summer (like swalms nesting in certain trees, Funghi the Dingle dolphin showing his nose in a certain angle, and other dead sure signs). Just before, like every year, in an equally cruel and foreseeable twist of fate, the weather turns into a windy, rainy and autumny mess … until next March.

For the record: it was 20 degrees (thanks Isabel for spotting )

It would be tragic, really, if it would not be for the Irish, who really know their shit when it comes to appreciating their glimpses of summer. You think that ad below is exaggerated (even if made in UK)? It really isn’t. While people from Central Europe never stop complaining about their horrible and unreliable summers, a long history of no-shows and disappointments have made the Irish masters in seizing their opportunities for sun long before others even notice them.

So now excuse me while I hold my pasty face into the sun (next to a topless man, of course). Typing up this post pretty much cost me half the summer …

Irish Summer rush, well captured

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Yeah, yeah, good for you, but where does that leave this blog, biatch?

Well, post-frequency-wise it has become a patchy affair alright, and although I keep promising to be better it might stay that way. Fact is my humble blog hasn’t made it yet to the lofty traffic heights that would turn it into another stream of income. And so, to further finance my lavish life of being a full-time writer, I guess I have to keep doing just that. Write for money. This blog’s gotta live from the leftover scraps of my time. Meaning fewer or shorter posts, or both, depending on how it goes. Simple truths in lengthy and overly colourful words. The story of my life. Just look at the 540 epic pages of Wie du mir, my first published book.

Anyway – what I really meant to tell you is this:

During the boom years, it never seemed overly important to anyone buying things that were grown/produced/manufactured in Ireland. Just the other way round – Polish sausages, French sourdough bread and swanky mint-chai-frappucino powder in the supermarkets, American apparel brands on Grafton Street and imported craft-work from Africa flooded Dublin. Everyone was basking in the glory of imported goods. And who could blame them. Buying Irish? That was totally, like, 80ies.

Then everything that could burst just did that, bubbles and all. In times of necessity, every possible and impossible product suddenly turned into being Irish, and huge signs started to guilt-trip you into doing the right thing and support the Irish producers. And we are not talking spuds or carrots here, but washing powder, sugar (ahem) and light bulbs. Even fashion-shop Pamela Scott started playing the Irish card (P.S. We’re Irish – gotta love that slogan), although their Grafton Street shop is plastered with “Made in China” tags.

Guaranteed Irish Birthday Greetings

In fairness, I really see the point of promoting Irish companies, and so, while I didn’t go as far as getting myself a Supervalu loyalty card, I at least started doing my bit to pay back Ireland’s bail out bills, by going for Termonfeckin’ potatoes (I swear they do exist!) and shunning that evil cheap Spanish iceberg salad in Tesco’s in favour of a decent (if a bit lacklustre) Irish butterhead and going for that meat “slaugthered and cut in Ireland” (what about the rest?). For hubby’s birthday, I even found a birthday card that proofs my pro-Irish dedication. Well, maybe they could have put a bit more effort into the layout, but c’mon – a Russell Terrier with glasses and a hat? AND it’s got the “guaranteed Irish” stamp of approval? This is what I call a complete no-brainer!

So well done me on supporting the Irish economy. Expecting to receive Enda Kenny’s Thank you-note any day now …

What have you done to support the Irish economy lately?

... and I can prove it!

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Although I came quite close to that scenario, in some regards. My publisher and I have actually managed to sell out the first modest batch of printed copies within 6 weeks of publication (Thanks so much to all you readers and promotors of the cause – thank you, thank you!!). And I also now live on an island that allows writers 40k of non-taxable income for their published books. Now that’s a tremendous relief, you know? Because for all I know that is an estimated 50 times more than I might ever earn in a lifetime with my first born love child. So frankly, if I had a proper non-writing day time job – now would be the time to cling to it for dear life!

But as we all know it is not about the money, right? It is about the journey and the learnings from your experience that count, exactly! So apart from an income staggeringly lower than the benefits for the long-term unemployed, these are the insights that I have gained over the first 10 weeks as an author, published with a micro-publisher:

create your own on www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

Blessed are those with a loyal circle of friends & a big network

They are the ones willing to give you and your little brainchild of yet questionable quality the benefit of the doubt. They are more likely to make an additional effort to get their hands on your book even with a weak distribution structure like mine was. They are the ones who will force your opus on all their friends and family in form of Christmas gifts. And they are the ones who will canvass for you. The book itself always has to stand its own ground nevertheless. But it makes getting a foot in so much easier. Thanks again so much to everyone that made WIE DU MIR’s birth easier in that way. Many wet kisses, mwah, mwah!

Damn you, amazon!

I used to be one of amazon’s faithful clients since 2000. That won’t change entirely. But I also have to admit, as a writer I got to see the less fluffy side of their great price deals. Like gracing small publishers (and through that, writers) with business practices that are anything but ethical. For instance taking 60% discount on the selling price of each book (the usual discount for book stores is appx. 35%) and then asking you to take over the postal fees to send you the books on top. You don’t agree? Tough! Then you will just have to charge outrageous shipping costs to anyone who is ordering your book and in general will be cut off a distribution channel that is used by a huge amount of people nowadays.

Size Does Matter

“This isn’t the hardest one to figure out Missie”, I hear you say. Yes, and I thought I went into this adventure being prepared and having set my expectations realistically. But of course I underestimated the sheer amount of worms that can creep out of that particular can. Because as first (and so far only) book of a small publisher you won’t be able to make it into the index of the 2 book wholesalers on the German market. Meaning whenever a person attracted to the book by relentless plugging and emotional blackmail but with no access to amazon wants to order it, will be told that the book is “not in the system”, meaning, it is not in the wholesaler’s system, which is a different thing but only a determined client/bookseller will go the extra mile to get it over the alternative route. All the others drop off. So size matters, mainly in the possibilities to distribute your work.

Readings are Great

There is no way denying it. Although I am a writer I so much enjoy being around people, and my extraversion brings me in all sorts of trouble. But after my extensive experience of 2 readings I can already tell readings are my favourite thing! I normally dislike talking in front of people. Turns out I LOVE reading my stories to them. The way you establish a relationship to strangers just over your story and they are (gasp!) really ready to discuss it with you. Amazing. (note to self: should write a separate post about readings soon)

Christmas – A Blessing and a Curse

The decision to publish before Christmas all in all was a good one for me. Loads of my lovely friends have decided to shower their loved ones with my books, deciding that bleak stories about Northern Ireland is just the perfect gift and thereby multiplying my sales. On the other hand, we competed with all these bells and whistles from the big publishers who are hosing the readers with book adverts and trailers and posters and literature supplements and what-not to get hold of their book spending money. Or those 100 readings (no joke!) that happened in Berlin on the exact same evening as mine did. Try to stand out there with your niche book, bitch!

So that’s my initial 5 cents on the topic of being finally published. What do you think guys? Does it sound worth it to you? Any comments or questions or solutions? I am all ears!

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But you know what? Sometimes they fully deserve going through hell. Because they do share one of my most despised character flaws: Their mood and actions change with the weather. What they keep promising me in one chapter, they gleefully ruin in the next just because they feel like it.

found on freizeitfreunde.de

My inexperience with my characters’ unpredictable behaviour led to my first manuscript taking 8 years to emerge and at least as many reviews and rewrites, which saw main characters becoming pushed out of the picture by minor characters and whole storylines becoming obsolete.

With “Number 2″, my current project, I promised myself I will finally restrain them from running wild by having not only an overall structure of where the story goes, but also creating more detailed chapter previews of one page each for appx. 5-7 upcoming chapters. Problem solved …

found on sheknows.com

Oh, the naiveté of it all! Again I had to learn the hard way that I stand no chance outsmarting my characters as they are always a step ahead of me. The other day, when trying to finally catch up on my writing after another (not yet totally finished) move, I could only realise in dismay, that my latest chapter preview had become an unusable mess after only 3 chapters out of 7. Because topics couldn’t be addressed as planned, because characters decided to make an entrance although they were supposed to stay on the sidelines, because one storyline is moving slower than the other.

So it is time again for another review of the overall chapter structure, which I have only done all new 3 months ago. And which, I should mention, has been conveniently lost  in the move, with a documentation picture too blurry to actually reveal not only who is part of a scene but also what the scene is actually about. I guess a few too many drinks as reaction to that were in order.

But then again I maybe should just not stress out too much about it. My characters will most probably show more erratic behaviour that make whatever structure there is of no use, anyway. And I, vengeful bitch that I am, will keep retaliating with even more drama and hardship for them. Which hardships exactly I of course cannot tell, as that will definitely change in the next chapter… Hm, starts sounding like a kind of Sean Penn/Madonna relationship.

found on redjeweledmedia.com

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What I will miss and remember about Munich

Our dear friends Natalie and Manuel, who have helped us out so much when landing and even agreed to take care of our one and only house plant (which is definitely good news for its life expectancy). Guys, I swear to God our somewhat hurried departure has nothing to do with us having agreed to help with your upcoming move …

Nabend!

Nage & Sauge bar and restaurant around the corner of our apartment. It was my little piece of Berlin. Whenever I felt about sitting on uncomfortable, duct-taped together chairs and enjoying a generous, delicious salad while my outfit and hair is being eyed disapprovingly by the hipster patrons – it was THE place to go. That and their disarming teutonic “n’abend” (very un-bavarian way to say good evening) sign whenever they are closed.

The Asian Take-away up the road where I could order “Mädschik Suschi” with a middle-aged guy straight out of the Bavarian picture book and one of the thickest Bavarian accents I have ever heard. Lovely Sushi, by the way!

Taking a walk in the English Garden. To me it is the quintessence of beauty and serenity in a city centre. That is, as long as I managed to steer clear of the middle-aged nudist guys that regularly put their jewels on display on the west side of the Eisbach.

English Garden Delights

Talking of which. Munich is the town that I have seen the biggest amount of naked people spread right before your eyes ever. Spending time on the Isar during the summer really confronts you with a kind of body cult that is often less pleasant than it sounds on paper …

Mingling with the legendary Munich Schickeria. With Berlin and Dublin people are usually careful to dress down, it was quite refreshing to see the Munich people blissfully bask in their affluence. An exploratory night at the infamous P1 disco was a whirl of Jogi Löw-Lookalikes (guys, finally get off those scarfs, will you?), not-so fresh big spenders doing the Saturday Night Fever on their own on the dancefloor, and painfully (for me, not hubby) beautiful girls on the look-out for the next Bayern Munich footballer. So much fun!

Sitting on Gärtnerplatz enjoying lovely Italian ice cream from “Al Teatro” in Reichenbachstraße, talking about life and the future with hubby and friends.

And last but not least – thanks to my very first visit to Oktoberfest I now know first-hand why I never missed it…

Oktoberfest Fun

Hm. Reading this, I wonder why I write this from my couch in Dublin but couldn’t think of anything to write about when actually being in Munich. I am honestly mystified. Must be something in the water, maybe.

Anyway – dear readers, if I haven’t lost you completely yet:

Here’s to Munich, who deserves better. And here’s to Dublin and hopefully more productive times for this blog.

Mia san mia - old Bavarian wisdom

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found on tinseltownspeople.blogspot.com

Now my baby is born, sitting on my lap, all fresh-faced and smelling sweetly. I have to admit, I am smitten. Will and Dally have finally made it to paper. And for a moment it’s happily-ever-after.

But I also realize that by having finally physically born my brainchild, it means that it’s gone and out of my reach. Waddling out there on its own, with all its potential and all its flaws for others to enjoy and to judge, or simply to ignore. While I am condemned to watch from the sidelines, it’s going to fend on its own in a world that I imagine pretty much like the one in 300, only with hoards of unpredictable critics and readers.

This mixture of being proud and ecstatic and and anxious and sad all in one is one of the most intense feelings that I have experienced on my journey – the closest I got to “real” motherly feelings in my life, actually.

And that’s it for the cheese. There’s another book out there to finish. There’s another new country to explore.

And to all of you German speakers/readers out there – there’s a bloody book to read!
Order WIE DU MIR now and let me know what you think.

found on http://3.bp.blogspot.com/

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from the brilliant someecard.com

And where is our crazy, toe nail curling life leading us this time, you ask? Back to my spiritual home Ireland. Aw, how I missed it all this time (eerrr, like, 21 months). As you can see by the microscopic number of posts, my current home Munich neither irks me with its gentrification hypocrisy and self-celebration nor houses as many cranky inhabitants like Berlin did. My last 7 months have been a quite even flow of pleasant days in the English Garden, meeting our lovely Munich friends, hosting our visitors (mwah, mwah, you know who you are), spending more time with family and even making one new writer friend.

People are mainly lovely, speak my language, their accent resembles mine, and everything is in order, neat and tidy (well, apart from the many “Bierleichen” – drunkards – during Oktoberfest). I even got a Dirndl … Perfect! There’s no single thing I can say against Munich. But that it doesn’t inspire me. Maybe because it’s too close to home. Maybe it’s because as a writer I need something to go against my grain. Most probably though it’s because I am simply too stupid to enjoy the good life for long.

found on heirloomsforyou.blogspot.com

Because after spending over five years there before I well know the shortcomings of Dublin. Infrastructure, eternal autumn weather, public transport, plumbers, fake tan, Martin McGuinness as a presidential candidate … you name it. But hell, will it be fun to write about them! So hold on to your underwear, dear readers, and prepare for some first class Post-Celtic-Tiger exploits. I very much hope to see you on the other side of the channels. In person. Or on this blog. Thanks so much for putting up and sticking around (damnit, I start to sound like hubby ).

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Chased by a dream, found on lifedestiny.net

Listen and learn, nods my coaching self.

CODSWALLOP, screams my driven, writing self.

Because what would my life be without this constant pang of guilt that shoos me away from fun activities, BBQing with my friends or just happily sitting on my couch, dabbling with my facebook account? Where would it be without the urge to go over that sentence, that paragraph, that manuscript, one more freaking time to make sure it is the very best it can be? Without this crippling fear that all the effort is in vain anyway, because I am void of talent?

It would be a happy place, content even, one might argue, and it might be true. But it would also be a place without a finished book, and without one that I am really proud of, because I have polished every word until my eyes hurt.

This kind of permanent angst-ridden drive doesn’t only apply to writers but to many people who try to achieve something beyond easy reach. Illustrated by the following paragraph out of tennis legend Andre Agassi’s highly recommendable autobiography that strongly resonated with me, where a matured Agassi, poised to reach the peak of his career approaching his 30ies, talks to his trainer Brad Gilbert :

“I feel a remarkable confidence in my game, and a new purpose for being on the court – so how come I still feel all this fear? Doesn’t the fear ever go away?”

“I hope not”, he (Gilbert) says. “Fear is your fire, Andre. I wouldn’t want to see you if it ever completely went out.”

I have nowhere nearly achieved the things yet that Agassi has but I really can relate to this. Because just as much as doubt and fear can limit you, they can be the fuel you need to make it to your goal. As far as I have come with pushing my creative writing career, it was always blatant fear of letting myself down and not writing well enough that jabbed me in my behind to keep moving. Yes, yes, it is negative energy but then what comes out is not only good. It’s better.

Contentment just doesn’t do it for me as a writer. I know because I have  gone through an unusually long stretch of “feck it all, I am just happy” mentality during recent months. It was a really great time, me reading books, idling about, cooking and loving it. All rosy in the garden, except my current manuscript stopped dead in its tracks. No new paragraph, no new word. Nada. I didn’t feel like continuing it and nobody was there to beat me up for it. I was happy with what was. And nothing new can come from that. I just can’t get enough mojo out of contentment. It is a cosy, energy-sucking, self-hugging comfort zone that would simply smother me and my writing if it wouldn’t be for my inner drive.

Will it make a difference if there is no such thing as a book written and published by me? Certainly not on a universal level. Most probably not on a global level. But it might for some people who read it. And it damn sure does make a difference to me! And so I keep driving and pushing. But it’s okay. Thanks to many coachings, I have finally accepted that as part of myself…

What do you think? Drive to die? Drive or die? Let me know your opinion!

found on blogcdn.com

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As an entire biossphere we are going to overheat

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