It’s the third year I’ve attended this Summer School. First as a bursary student in 2022. Then as the lone woman in the van last year. I couldn’t afford accommodation, so slept in my wee wagon outside the city every night. This year I was selected by the John Hewitt Society and Irish PEN/PEN na hÉireann as one of ten up and coming prose writers on the island of Ireland. As part of the Freedom to Write Project I had access to the full festival and accommodation in the Charlemont Hotel. The wee wagon was parked up and I slept in a real bed, wrapped up in gratitude.

Do you know why I keep coming back to this festival of literature, arts and ideas… apart from the literature, arts and ideas? Community. This blog could be just that one powerful word. But then you wouldn’t believe I’m a writer at all, so I better give you some more.

Successful and acclaimed writers such as Donal Ryan, Tessa Hadley, Cauvery Madhavan, David Park and Wendy Erskine shared their process, advice and experience generously. The skill of Jan Carson, Bernie Mc Gill and Maureen Boyle in interviewing these authors made it relaxed. They intuitively asked the questions that fans and aspiring writers would ask themselves, exploring heart and head, why and how they do this writing thing that we all love so much.

Generosity overflowed from auditorium to foyer where authors happily milled about, chatting and signing books. My Christmas shopping was done in July, because who doesn’t want a personalised signed copy of a book in winter? I even asked the nice man at No Alibis independent book store to please bar me so I wouldn’t buy every single book on the table, adding to the jenga tower of ‘must reads’ already by my bed. He wouldn’t, so I ducked, dived and ran past temptation every day. Well, nearly every day.

The genius and wit of Wendy Erskine, and me in flip flops straight from the beach.

Community also includes ‘Fidelma’ who I met in the toilets washing our hands. We chatted and walked out together, then stood chatting some more. Fidelma has never written anything, but has always wanted to. She told me about her life and the book inside her bursting to get out. She said that being here was making her brave and she was going home to start right now, because it’s never too late. Yes Fidelma! Tell your story. Be brave! Should it topple both my jenga tower and bank balance, yours is the book I will definitely buy!

Over coffee and pints, I chatted with and hugged many more beginner and emerging writers. They motivate and inspire me as much as the literary stars and their well-earned success. It’s a privilege to share successes and challenges, hopes and dreams with my peers. When we talk to people who are lit up by the same thing, we all shine brighter. And nobody else understands how bloody hard it is like a fellow writer totting up yet another rejection.

This was also a theme in our workshop with the brilliant Paul McVeigh. His experience of being where we are now meant he was well placed to power hose us with real, raw writing truth. Imposter syndrome and lack of confidence seem inherent in all writers. Paul’s message was loud and clear; we’re not playing that game, we’ve earned our place, now we’re getting on with it.

Then there was the sucker punch! A programme so packed and varied meant opportunity to attend events that we may not otherwise go to. I’ve always been a bit intimidated by poetry because I don’t know the rules. Then, thanks to Paul Maddern I fell in love with the genre a couple of years ago. Prose writers can learn much from poetry, so I sauntered into the Gallery Goes event for a pleasant morning of beautiful, flowing words. Kelly Michels read, and every word was like a punch and a hug at the same time. I don’t know poetry, but I do know addiction. Of the million words available, this poet chose the ones that would rattle my bones and burst my heart wide open. Resonance is the profound experience of a stranger speaking to your soul. Without knowing a couplet from a sonnet, I knew this was poetry because I felt it, and I cried. The stranger beside me squeezed my hand. We exchanged ‘Wow!’ looks in silence for a long time before leaving the auditorium. Again, with this one person, I felt community.

So much unseen work goes into making such an event possible and the work of the John Hewitt Society committee and volunteers is legendary. It feels like family with Paul Mc Avinchey and Frank Ferguson always there, genuinely caring that everyone is ok. Niamh McNally and Amy Elkheart taking the time to know every single student well enough to keep up with writing progress and dietary requirements.

Amy Elkheart and Niamh Mc Nally, powerhouses of organisation . . and me

The Summer School isn’t just held in Armagh, it’s held by Armagh, one of the friendliest cities in Ireland. I met local people that I’d met before, who remembered what I’d read before and my wee wagon with the net curtains. The open mic night at the Abby Lane Theatre was the perfect way to celebrate the end of an intense, inspiring and memorable week. The venue was packed and the only thing better than the talent was the palpable support for each and every person, local and visitor alike, who read or performed. I shared ‘Mother Nature is an Irish Mammy, and she’s left you a voice note.’ Nearly off page, nearly.

Of so many highlights, Bernie Mc Gill agreeing to mentor me through the next stage of writing my novel was a particularly shiny one. I’m not sure if this stage is the home strait or another false summit, but have no doubt that Bernie’s expertise will keep me on track. The story is called ‘For the Price of a Stamp.’ I’ll tell ye all about it when I’m on stage, being interviewed as a published debut novelist, because there’s something in this afterglow of community and support that makes me believe it’s possible. To quote my fellow Freedom to Writer and rising star, Sean Mc Nicholl, . . . .

““You can do it, when you John Hewitt!””

Freedom to write at the John Hewitt International Summer School

Diagnosed Disconnect – Prescribed Harm