I think I’ve been procrastinating on writing these blog posts because I want to refuse to believe everything has happened already. I don’t want to process the experience and understand the end. It aches to reflect on the impact of these past few weeks. It aches to think of Sunday. It aches to realize the potential for finality.

Allow me to backtrack..

July 19
As a writer, who is your audience for the Armagh Project? How does audience affect or impact your writing?

I don’t know how to answer this question. Generally, I deeply consider the audience//performer relationship but I did not write “Ma” with an audience in mind. I did have a foundational understanding: they spoke english and understood the connotations of the gestures and language. “Ma” was a piece I needed to get out of my arm. It was a selfish piece that I had to projectile vomit from my system. I was my audience. The dialogue played out in my head. The workshopping process invited the audience in and I was grateful for the clarity, questions, and criticism. Although the suggestions were difficult to digest at the time, audience input ultimately helped shape my story into the product it is. Even after our presentation, I took in audience feedback to further improve.

July 22

Free Blog!! Write something about Armagh – the place or the people or . . .  

CULTURE SHOCKED. Arm Ah!
Extends past histories like
Fingers grasp for breath.

Walls. Accents. White people. Hills. Closed at 6pm. Boring. #hostellife Cathedrals. Religions//Politics. Why Armagh? I still don’t know. But it was nice for what it was. Navan Fort was bitchin’. Chris and I finally climbed to the top of the hill and saw for infinity. The walk was brisk. This town is a bit depressing, like Joliet. They’re both outside bigger cities. Litter everywhere. Green malls. It’s alright. I don’t think I’d return. Can everyone in the Armagh Project come live with me in Illinois? You can bring your family and friends too, and we’ll be together and get to know each other better. 🙂

July 23

What was your day like at the Hewitt Festival?  What surprised you?

It was alright. I felt bad for falling asleep during the reading. The Hewitt was not overtly inspiring to me. Nothing jumped out al me, compelling me to create ideas or to write. I felt strange around older people and highly misinformed about literature and the world around me. I notice the way people dress immediately upon notice. This was comforting, aesthetically, I felt as though I fit in well. However, I struggled to converse with such intellect. I did take away Simon Armitage. I bought his book, “Kid.” His poetry was different. It was imaginative and in honest, simple language. It contrasted the flowery explanations of the reader before him. I loved his humility and simple, poetic observations. I’ve collected another favorite.

July 24
What was your day like at the Hewitt Festival? What workshop are you taking and what are you writing about?

POETRY! It was alright. My poetry is the red headed step child of the class. My poetry workshop started out as a slightly chaotic throwing together of papers. The first day, we did an exercise which required us to go outside and look. Just look. Just observe. Which is perfect, because looking is one of my favorite activities. After ten minutes, we returned to class and wrote what we saw. We then workshopped Ben’s piece about Balthazar and partnered up with our observations from before. We shared our lines and underlined our favorite of our partners’ notes. We then performed a makeshift piece out of our two lines by reciting the favorite two in order. Our homework was to bring in two poems to workshop the upcoming days. This was awesome because I usually need a reason to edit my poetry or else they remain suspended on the page. (Which is fine by me, but they usually prefer to land.)

After the second day of workshopping, I was intimidated. My poetry wasn’t like anyone else’s. I don’t use meter or structure or rhyme or whatever. I write simply, what I feel and what sounds best. I was stressed out that everyone would tear apart my product and critique on a nitty-gritty level. But I was pleasantly surprised. I read my untitled work and it was well received. In fact, a few people came up to me later to praise words//methods I employed. I’m performing it tomorrow at the workshop showcase. It’s called “Meters per Second” and I’m dedicating it to Pusheen. Right on. Write on.

Poetry, friends!
Eleven + Eoghan.
Workshop. Read. Write on.

July 25
Congratulations on your presentation!  Tell us about that experience.

I don’t know how to articulate what happened to me at 415 on the afternoon of July the 24th at the John Hewitt Summer School. I am at a loss for words. RAD.

Watching “Ma” being performed. Wowza. It was unmatched. Joan and Alison were exceptional with my text and I am consistently blown away with their interpretation. I still react naturally during the fight scene even if I know what’s coming. Sinead, a workshop classmate, approached me afterward. She said she’d been watching me throughout my performance and that she caught me smiling every now and then. Maybe that encompasses my reaction to my work. A fleeting, contemplative smile.

We were all nervous with positive energy ahead of time. We wanted to move into the space. After performing and competing and what have you, this aura is all too familiar. I love it.:) We listened to “Go The Distance” from Hercules as a group and warmed up. I wasn’t nervous about the presentation itself, I knew we had it down and if anything messed up, we’d improvise. I was anxious about the event itself. The fact that it was happening and would soon be over. We were allowing strangers into our space, which had been so intimate until our arrival at JHISS. Our work was embraced by the audience. Memorably, another fellow poetry workshopper, John, approached me and said my piece really resonated with him. He opened up to me about his relationship with his Mother and his subsequent growth. We quickly found common ground. I thanked him for sharing with me- it meant a lot. Writing grants strangers permission to do that. Open up, relate, tell you things they wouldn’t be as upfront about, honesty. During our talk, why I do what I do was overwhelmingly clear. Sure, I know what I want to change about the piece from here and there are a few lines I want to adjust. But just knowing that John found something to relate to, meant the writer’s world to me.

Feckin rad. Can’t be
live it’s over. We are too close
now. Up to know good.