In fact, the only reason I’m writing about it now is because of a TV show that aired onRTE1 a few weeks back called “The Truth about Ireland’s Muslims”.

Now, the programme was meant to be an informative and enlightening show which would dispel “rumour and misconception”. But to be honest, it was like something I would have watched when I was in Primary School. In fact, I remember seeing something very similar in primary school; only, my peers asked more intelligent questions than the presenter.

Example question: “What will happen if I don’t take my shoes off when I enter the mosque?”

Thankfully, the reply was better: “Someone will politely request that you take them off.”

This is the reportage that Ireland requires for its citizens to become more culturally aware?

I spoke with an Irish friend about this and they suggested that because Ireland is a catholic country, it hasn’t been exposed to other religions and so maybe this was the level was pitched just right. I couldn’t agree – after all, we have so much information available at our fingertips.

I grew up in a multi-cultural environment which included various religions; Judaism, Islam, Sikhism, Christianity – so maybe I have an advantage there – but it’s highly likely that the people who would be interested in watching the show would also have done some background research already. And it’s also likely that they would have liked something a little more explanatory.

It’s not that the programme didn’t try to portray various aspects of Islam. It covered the usual stuff; the role of women, prayer, conversion, arranged marriages, fasting. The main problem was, the array of people chosen to represent the Muslim community was limited and, as you would expect with media, purposefully so.

If you didn’t see it, there was a section showing children in a Muslim school during Ramadan and the presenter fashioned a question around children “starving themselves during school.” Of course, the answer showed that the children were quite safe fasting etc, but the questioning was so contrived, it was painful. It wasn’t terrible, but it was ignorant and uninspiring.

But what does this have to do with my own personal experience? After all, I’m not Muslim.

Well, when I was in my teens, my father converted to Islam and this is how he told me:

Yes – on a postcard! Now, this may not be as odd as it seems – after all, I only met him when I was 13 and we lived at opposite ends of the country (pre mobile phones, pre internet) so a lot of our communication was via mail. Here’s the wording:

In case you can’t read the handwriting, it says:

“Dear Lizzy, Hope you are keeping well. Am having a great time, VIP treatment. Got married on Sunday, am now a Moslem, name: Sheik Mohammad Jallow. No more drinking beer etc. tell you more back home, Dad.”

It always surprises me that people find this so unusual – but it continually generates interest so I thought I’d share it.

The question I get asked is always; what was it like having a Muslim dad who you didn’t know very well? The answer: the same as having a non-Muslim dad who I didn’t know very well. Just fact – children are resilient and accept their situations pretty easily.

But I guess that your own experiences mould and shape you, developing a kind of second skin that helps define who you are. And so, my own contact with Islam (and other religions) as a child opened up concepts, acceptance and understanding that would have otherwise been unavailable to me.

But my question is this; if Ireland as a nation is to grow more culturally aware and open to understanding new ideas, is the media – RTE, for example – doing a good job of representing today’s multicultural Ireland?

As you can see – I’m obsessively tidy and organised. But there are some items I need on my desk:

1. Laptop
2. Notebooks
3. My favourite pen in the world (George Bernard Shaw limited edition Montblanc, complete with violet ink. Every time I use it, it brings me joy)
4. Tea (today, Spiritual tea from Germany) and china tea cup (a birthday gift from my friend Jo)
5. Salt Liquorice (from Finland)
6. Seashell (a gift from my friend Mick to keep me close to the sea).
7. Mslexia writers diary
8. Edits, feedback, scribblings
9. Postcards, maps and photos (for inspiration)
10. Printer (It’s underneath. But just as loved!)

It’s also true that writing is a lonely occupation and it’s difficult to find people who can help you develop your craft. There are always people willing to read your work, waiting to be wowed by your genius or overly criticise so they can rewrite your storyline for you (never asked loved ones or friends. They’re loved ones and friends, not editors or writers). So, one of the main ingredients for successful writing is often lacking.

Luckily, I recently discovered Inkwell Writers who are based in Dublin. On Saturday I attended their Commercial Literary Fiction workshop, with experienced speakers/instructors/advisors: Vanessa O’Loughlin, Noelle Harrison (morning) and Ivy Bannister (afternoon).

There were only eight people on the course which allowed for an amazing amount of attention to be given. What struck me most, however, was that the experience and expectations of the attendees was blissfully similar. Many writing courses or workshops are so intent on filling the spaces for financial reasons; they forget that the quality of the attendees is all important. This was certainly not the case. Everyone on Commercial Literary Fiction was writing seriously.

The course consisted of correct balance of practical and theory sessions. Think; starting the morning off with advice on publishing and story boards, moving on to techniques such as how to use landscape to reflect your character/story, before finishing off with writing erotic scenes.  The afternoon continued with titles, using a sensory approach, scene setting and character.

The important thing about this course is that there was no pretension, no division and no imbalance. Everyone got ideas and technique tips that they could take away and work with. They also enjoyed the course and went away with a sense of achievement. Now, it’s completely up to each person what they do with the knowledge and skills they gained. But to have such a resource available is invaluable.

Personally, I gained the idea for a memoir style short story which I will enter into a competition in the next few months. I also gained a first draft of a poem and belief in the title I’ve chosen for what will be my breakout novel: Nine Lives.

I will be attending the Writing the Breakout Book workshop on April 18th. I’ve even cut my holiday to Spain short by a weekend to attend, so you know I mean business. If you’re serious about writing, maybe I’ll see you there?

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.

I love this site, because of how raw it is. That’s why I’m always pleased to be included on there. This submission was added some time ago but I forgot to update the site. So here it is… Priceless on Word Riot.

II

In a lesson on trying to make the abstract more concrete,
one of my students, a Guyanese boy, late teens,

shares a draft in which he’s counting
the breaths of his sleeping girlfriend.

He’s met her father, shook his hand –
weeks later, the girl explains

that her Akan blood arrows back up to royalty,
that the boy is the son of a slave,

that there is no future for them, only a past.
I understand that the counting makes it easier,

lends a sense of a narrative, a march into the future
of something as simple as breath, in the face of something

so large it blots whatever light he’d been drawn by,
but it’s not working, and as much as I try,

I can’t suggest anything to make the poem any easier,
until he offers a resolution: a memory

of sitting on the sea wall in Georgetown, facing the Atlantic,
following the darts of sunlight riding the backs of waves,

wondering where each began, how each follows
the heels of another as they furl

towards wall or shore, how he can only understand
as much of it as his eye can drink in,

how the rest, for him, is a mystery.

*******************************

Critique

The second part of Magnitude is a continuation of a lesson on trying to make the abstract more concrete. The poet scales the theme of conflict and persecution from a global level to the viewpoint of an individual; one of my students, a Guyanese boy. Rather than looking at a grand concept, he uses a very real scenario, something as simple as breath, in the face of something/so large to
continue the search for clarification. Once again, numbers are
important, but this time they are scaled down to match the experience
of the individual, with lots of references to singular objects, people
and ideas; a resolution, a memory, in the face of something, his eye.

The main focus is a student who shares a draft in which he’s counting/the breaths of his sleeping girlfriend. The poet reveals that there is no future for them, only a past due to the fact that the boy is the son of a slave and the girl’s Akan blood arrows back up to royalty. Although they have been close and He’s met her father, shook his hand, it takes only weeks later for the relationship to collapse because of a past beyond their reach. The boy is late teens,
and the gap in age between him, his girlfriend, the tutor and their
ancestors, further highlights the continued struggle of generation and
it very real existence in modern day.

The addition of specifics such as Akan blood, a Guyanese boy, and Georgetown, facing the Atlantic position the characters and the concept initially highlighted in Part I now becomes clear; the divide that still separates African and Caribbean cultures. The
poet and student are closely linked through both their experiences and
struggles to make sense of the world. The poet acknowledges I understand that the counting makes it easier, and empathises when it’s not working. Part I had attempted to resolve the problem, something it could not achieve. The poet admits I can’t suggest anything to make the poem any easier as we witness their collective struggle to make sense of the situation.

In a hopeful climax, it is the student who eventually offers a resolution: a memory/of sitting on the sea wall in Georgetown, facing the Atlantic,/following the darts of sunlight riding the backs of waves. The fact that the student can still see the darts of sunlight and draw upon the backs of history and his own past experiences to understand the present lends a sense of a narrative, a march into the future. Although the boy can only understand/as much of it as his eye can drink in and the rest, for him, is a mystery he has by default helped the poet to come to his own real, fleshy equation ( Part I). The poet can
take comfort in the fact that future generations understand the
continued struggle and are looking to dissolve the problem of ethnic
divide.

As stated in the first part
of the review; the point of the poem Magnitude is the sum of its parts.
The two sections look at the same theme from opposing perspectives and
situations to try and address a difficult subject which mimics the very
crux of ethnic division. The first part opens up the size of the
problem and the second part tunnels it back into a single experience.
Through the interaction of two individuals a form of resolution is
found which ends the poem on a lingering sense of hope.

*****************************

*Magnitude by Jacob Sam-La Rose was commissioned by the Arts Council England. Reproduced with kind permission from Samenua Sesher, Arts Council England.