Elizabeth Rose Murray

I have to tell you, Dublin is truly seductive. There’s a surprise around every corner, a multitude of things to see and do at any hour of the day, and like a true love, it leaves you wanting more every time. Now, one of the things I particularly adore about this place is you never know who you’ll meet or what they’ll spark in you.

Take New Years Day with Pat Ingoldsby, for instance. You’ll have to imagine what that would entail because he is admirably private (even more so than myself) and so I’d never discuss details. Not even on how he takes his coffee. My point is that a few hours in his company left me completely on fire. I was forced to run to one of my favourite me-time writing haunts: La Cave. Bar-flying it in my usual style with just a notebook and THE PEN, I enjoyed two glasses of wine and concocted 13 poems. For anyone who isn’t writing poetry; this is no mean feat.

Then a couple of weeks ago, I joined some friends for drinks in a hotel, and ended up in the company of Sarah Rees Brennan. Now you don’t expect that. Neither do you expect to only actually realise who you were sitting with a few days later after googling her half overheard name. That’s when you go…”Oh. Fuck.”

Sarah was/is brilliant. Her book is also brilliant. Both are colourful, confident, witty and quirky, but after Google, something felt wrong. I was unnerved. It took a while to figure it out. There was a niggle that suddenly wanted to make-believe she wasn’t wonderful. Then I realised; it was because she wasn’t me. Or more truthfully, it was because I wasn’t her. Or even more truthfully – it had nothing to do with that at all. What was I playing at? Why didn’t I have a book published?

Now, I don’t have a book published because although I have a first draft of two novels, they are nowhere near finished. I’m spending all my time writing poetry. So what did I do after this revelation? I sat and wrote some more poetry, obviously… Until today, that is.

Today I unearthed both drafts and dipped into them. After reviewing several publishing blogs and agencies, I determined the direction that I need to follow. But the strange thing is – it was the last person I’d expect to give me the kick I was looking for. It was my boss.

His words were simple, “You’re a writer. I don’t like your poetry but I like your writing. You should finish your book.” And he’s right. I’m here and I’m copywriting and it’s a fantastic job in an excellent company but sometimes I feel like it’s eating my soul. Why? I am a writer, not a copywriter. Now, consider the discussion that brought me to that realisation:

Him: You’re a writer. You have to write. That’s who you are.
Me: I don’t have to write. That sounds so pretentious.
Him: You’re telling me, if you didn’t write for 3 days, you wouldn’t go crazy?
Me: Of course I wouldn´t, because I write every day.

That’s what I call giving myself a custard pie in the face. But I’m happy because I learned the following things:

1. I do need to write.
2. I am completing my novel.
3. My boss doesn’t like my poetry.

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