-
two poems, via Japan
Today I was in a Haiku mood, so I came up with this: The heart is swallowed By despair’s gravity. The mind orbits mute. I wasn’t in the sweetest of moods when I came up with that one, but that’s why writing is a useful cathartic experience. Even the blackest of humours is fodder for something. Then, I considered writing a Tanka, which is a longer form of a Haiku. I wondered if I could write a micro-fiction–with an SF feel– in Tanka form. This was the result: Shattered, I report. Gore vibrates off matt armour. He listens, eyes bright With data streams; orders. “We remain.” I nod, aghast. I…
-
I always enjoy being in the presence of other creative people
My Name is Joe is a profoundly touching film that exhibits the best of the Loach/Laverty partnership: superior writing, accomlished direction, tremendous characters, and phenomenal acting. Yes, this film does deserve those adverbs and adjective. Combined with seeing Ae Fond Kiss (review here) the previous night, I was looking forward to posing a couple of questions to Mr. Laverty during the screenwriter’s masterclass. The Huston School is a curious white building that sits by the river, just across the bridge from the main site of the NUI Galway campus. When the sun is shining, as it was today, it’s a beautiful location. After class I perched on the steps that…
-
hard work pays off
Yesterday I received the results of my Diploma in Film Studies: I got a 1st class honours. It would be completely dishonest, and falsely modest, to admit that I was anything short of ecstatic. Last year my results left me on an average of a 2.1 (or second class honours, 1st degree, to those of you unfamiliar with Irish/UK classifications), though I had scored a 1st in one of the modules. This year I was given the precise mark in each course and I was flabbergasted at the grade I achieved in one of this year’s modules. I don’t think I’ve ever achieved a grade that high in an Arts…
-
a long piece about a horny boy and an experienced woman
It’s Bloomsday. James Joyce is a megalith on the Irish literary landscape. Yeats and him cast long shadows over Irish writers even to this day. I doubt I’ll ever be as good a prose writer as Joyce, or as good a poet as Yeats, but I hope I’ll discover my own voice and style that will be considered genuine “McHugh” by those who read my work when I’m dead and dust. Today I’ll start with a look at A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, which is a semi-autobiographical account of a young man’s life from boyhood to rebellious adult writer. Most people say it’s useful to examine…
-
I accept
This morning I got a letter offering me a place on the one-year taught Masters of Screenwriting at the Huston School of Film and Digital Media. I’m chuffed, and stunned. I’m pleased that the material I put together for my application was deemed worthy enough for a place on the course. But, I did a MA before, and even though that was a long time ago, I still remember the hard graft. It was a MA by pure research, so I had to motivate myself to do the work and get it completed on time. The last five months were torturous. I’d get up at 7am (Mon-Fri), so I’d be…
-
examining The Dead
In the run up to Bloomsday on Wednesday, which marks the 100th anniversary since the fictional events occurred in James Joyce’s Ulysses, I’m going to look at some examples of Joyce’s material. Of Joyce’s work, I’m particularly fond of his short story collection, Dubliners. Most people plump for Ulysses, or if they’re trying to be particularly impressive, Finnegan’s Wake. As someone interested in the short story form, Dubliners strikes me as the pinnacle of achievement. Let’s start with his most famous story from that collection: “The Dead”. I won’t analyse the entire story, though I highly recommend everyone reads it, but I’ll quote the opening paragraph: Lily, the caretaker’s daughter,…
