I made friends over there. With my classmates, with the locals, all the same. A good number of my classmates, of my friends, are from Baltimore. But there’s a good number who weren’t. A good number who I may not see again. I left a lot behind. I left my name on the Belfast Peace Wall, the top of the dresser in the Armagh Youth Hostel, in the minds of others, and their names have been left in my mind, and even those who will remain nameless to me, they’ve left an impression of themselves in my memory.

In the airport, as I awaited my plane, it dawned me that I was leaving. Questions began to rise. Was that it? Could something like this happen again? Had I made the most of it? All I could do in the airport was choke on emotions and hear this song resonate within my skull so strongly, I’d swear someone sitting nearby could hear it. Did I leave behind all those hills I climbed, all those unturned pages, all those poets and playwrights, the parrot in the hole in the wall, the ancient hills where stories were once made, the blue skies, the gloomy gray clouds, the pure green grass, the tall wheat fields, the shapely stepping stones, the rickety rope bridges, the lazy days, and the green isle? Did I leave it all behind? Will I ever go back?

I’m no poet, but the only answer I can think to answer those questions is;

Wanderlust, wanderlust, take me home.
Wherever that be, wherever we go.

At the start of every semester I buy one moleskin for every class. I keep class notes, writing and ideas all from that one notebook. There are semesters, or classes when the notebook is lost, or unfilled at the end of the semester. Sometimes the notes of other classes creep in if I’ve grabbed the wrong one, or misplaced the correct one for a week or two.

At the beginning of my summer I bought three notebooks. One for my Book Arts independent study, one for my thesis, and one for Armagh. I didn’t know how I was going to juggle both Book Arts and Armagh this summer, but I knew the notebooks would help  me organize the processes and my steps. I started working feverishly on my independent study project and carefully filled that notebook. I spent a lot of time thinking about my thesis and carefully unfolding the ideas of this project into it’s own notebook. I organized the contents and color coded things. When I left off  to Armagh, the notebook for that journey was empty.

My Armagh notebook is two pages shy of full.  There is no need for the previous thesis notebook, I have launched off in a completely different direction and feel content with where it is going ( In all honesty, it wasn’t until writing this blog post that I remembered I had an idea for my thesis before coming to Ireland), and my Book Arts notebook is filling up as consequence of Ireland.  Here’s the point: This experience has completely swallowed me, and spit me out enhanced and centered. Armagh Project has boosted me to a new level of creative madness and clearing. I came not knowing to expect, but being open and ready to work. I completely this experience with a body of work and creative ideas that answer all questions and will keep me busy for the next year at least. I am so thankful. My time here in Ireland has been beautiful and full of creative and personal growth. I could write another blog post on just my cohorts and network. It was all amazing and I leave feeling rejuvenated and at peace.

This place and time have been absolutely magical and I couldn’t be more thankful for the opportunity. I have squeezed out all the nectar from this moment and it’s wonderful.

Day One:
It is a Monday. It is the first day of the John Hewitt Festival and I have just finished taking in the problems and potential of a foreign political system. I am sitting in the venue’s cafe processing how this impacts me and my work as a writer when two things hit me. First, this is a really interesting mix of people here. The panels are pretty diverse and everyone here has something unique to share. Here’s the meteor that rocked my world — I am presenting at this festival. I along with all the other Armagh Project participants are presenting excerpts of our work as a result of our month long residency in a foreign country. Shit just got real. There’s a feeling in my stomach, but it’s not terror or frustration or butterflies. It’s the still hum of contentment. It’s the release of satisfaction for work well done. I check my time hop, it’s an app that takes all your social media posting from the years before and shows it to you. It’s like a daily time capsule. This is when the second thing hits me — four years ago, on this day I was packing all the worldy possessions my Honda Civic could fit and moving to Baltimore to start my MFA in Creative Writing and Publication Arts. Four years ago, I had no idea what this life would be. I knew I had to get out of Alabama to start the next leg of my life. I had no idea in four years I would be sitting in Armagh, North Ireland having coffee and preparing to present my latest creative work. Today, I realize that I am part of a global creative community. I have achieved more than I could have ever imagined for myself and I am so thankful.

Day Two:
It is this day that my admiration for Maureen Boyle is solidified. I have a creative writing workshop with her which is three days long. She is a wonderful memoirist and her validation and encouragement help solidify my resolve to slip into memoire. It think she can tell that. What I think she can’t tell is that the conversation on memory and our interaction with it as humans is helping form something new in me. I am excited to finally record my life and how it’s happened.

Our presentation was beautiful. I have never collaborated with people in this way before. It is wonderful. I read my poem first and opened the performance and spent time acting in the plays of others. We did a wonderful job. This was validated afterward while we had wine and socialized with our audience. It is thrilling to have the congratulations and encouragement of people in the crowd – all accomplished writers and creatives in their own right. I blush when I am flanked by June Caldwell and Malachi O’Doherty; they are both telling me how much they enjoyed my reading and the poem. They encourage me to finish the project. They tell me it’s necessary and it’s a good idea.  Terri and Nessa O’Mahoney tell me, that Pulitzer Prize winning poet Paul Muldon was in the audience and heard me read my poem. There are many sips of wine, and later whiskey.  Later, in the quiet the early morning my cohorts and I remind ourselves that the job has been done and it was a good one.

Day Three:
I am sitting in the audience as Paul Muldon talks about regionalism, the simplicity of poems and making the unexpected connection. I feel good hearing these things again, I am happy to hear his ideas about the tools writers carry. I appreciate his laid back approach. The American connection in his work was particularly interesting. Before he’d ever arrived in America he was writing about it. I find this particularly interesting and started thinking about what locations were a part of my own writing but outside of my experience. Later, myself and a cohort are in line to thank Muldon for coming to our performance. He is pleased to see us and apologizes because he could not stay for the entire performance. He gifts us his Pulitzer Prize winning book, signs it and congratulates us on our work.  As my cohort and I walk away, I offer the book to my cohort. “You should take it, Charles – it’s meant for you.”   I feel content with the notes I received from the talk.

Later I  laugh and cry watching Two Sore Legs. It’s a one woman show and it’s beautiful. We see Martin Lynch again, he’s produced and directed the show. We sit and have drinks with him for a time. I meet the actress and she signs my program. I am inspired. She has breathed life into a written work in a way I’d not thought about before. I tell her it was a stunning and moving performance. she is concerned about the thickness of her accent and how the large theatre may have weakened the performance. I tell her it was magnificent and I had no problem understanding her. I tell her she’s liberated my writing in a way I’d never expected. I am impressed with how she’s able to take someone’s text and bring it to life, all by herself.  She blushes and her face folds in a way I am familiar with. We hug, say thank you and part ways. It was a good day.

Day Four
Today is odd because it is ending. It is my last day of creative writing class and I am sad, but empowered. I leave the space for the last time, thankful and exhausted.

Wrap Up

In all I find myself thinking of myself differently. Not in a haughty way – but in a way of gratitude and realization. I have to admit, I can’t wait to attend more residencies and literary festivals. John Hewitt gave me a final tasting of Ireland and how she’ll deal with difference. I know that the people here want the best for themselves, and it’s nice to know that accepting difference and learning to move forward with is a part of North Ireland’s evolutionary plan.  Living is a long road and progress is a step by step movement. It was nice to hear the dialog and be accepted as a part of the conversation.

1. Poetry Workshops: I expressed my enthusiasm about the workshop in an earlier post about my first day at the festival, but I think it deserves another shout out. The first two classes were dedicated to exercises that transpired into beautiful poems. I learned so much about the form just through critiquing each other’s work; coupled with lectures by Siobhan Campbell. I also learned a little about the publishing process and literary magazines. I left feeling inspired to continue to read and write poetry
2. Two Sore Legs: A fantastic one-woman show that made me laugh and cry, and cheer until my voice went horse. There was a minimal set and the actress had a fur coat as her only prop, and yet I was completely captivated- I could envision every thing, person, and place that she spoke about. After watching this play I gained a better understanding of how having a beautifully written story and a talented actor can make all of the other gimmicks of theater obsolete. It’s interesting to think about how we are returning to more traditional styles of oral storytelling.
3. Open Mic Night: Apart from not being able to hear half of the poets, the poetry that I was able to hear (mainly the Americans, even the one that was not with the Armagh project) was great ‘crack’!
4. The Cool Kids from Queens: Chain smoking outside the festival and having hop scotch conversations- going from one topic and jumping into another one equally interesting. Lots of information sharing, laughing, and general excitement.

Also, for everyone that was interested in the translation of the Gaelic in my play:

Bás fort béolu- A curse upon your lips

Narab marthain duit- May you not remain alive

Thank you Armagh and thank you Armagh Project 2015. Stay green.

Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a one-person show, but I’d gladly watch another one (particularly if it’s a rerun of Two Sore Legs). I looked online to see if a printed version was for sale, but there wasn’t any.