Reflections on visiting Inishmore
(September 2020, a year after my visit)
Waters of the Atlantic as we began our journey to the Aran Islands
Would it be worthwhile to travel to the other side of the world to be part of a memoir writing course amid a group of strangers? Not even sure that I wanted to write about my own life, I felt daunted among a lively collection of seemingly professional writers who appeared to have large and significant stories to tell, led by a warm local woman with prodigious skills to enthuse and teach. Momentarily overwhelmed by the company, I soon lost my diffidence and felt included in the creative group hosted in the old stone building of Kilmurvey House on Inishmore.
Outside grey dominated the landscape: rocky outcrops, stone cottages, the ruins of ancient churches from the 12th century, and the prehistoric monument of Don Aonghasa, a massive Celtic fort defensively perched on the grey cliffs overlooking the Atlantic where its massive limestone walls have weathered silver over 22 centuries or more.
The patchwork of green fields behind grey stone walls impounded cattle and sheep seemingly happy enough munching in the austere landscape. Apart from its exterior, nothing about our home in Kilmurvey House was grey or bleak, however, for our rooms were sumptuous and warm, and the breakfast and dinners extraordinary, albeit loudly accompanied by laughter and writers conversing in various accents.
For lunch we broke from our bookish pursuits for a bowl of soup, soda bread and a Guinness at a bright café nearby, next to the shop offering famed Aran sweaters and other Irish woollen products.
Back in the classroom we exchanged confidences and shared stories. As committed writers, whether from Canada, US, England, Australia, or New Zealand, we were all keen to hone the craft of getting experiences and reminiscences into words. Irene Graham’s methods helped us find the tools to do so, to access both sides of our brains, to break free and unleash hidden levels of memories, and to handle them in a structure that suited each individually. Above all, the communal energy of writers together inspired and motivated.
Writing can be lonely but sharing intimacy and creativity in these wilds of western Ireland would rebound and continue to stimulate us writing alone in our widely dispersed homes, an ongoing gift of memories and techniques to reignite our mojos when the writing flagged in isolation.
I always relish the dislocation of travel to fire my creative juices and reinforce my desire to write. I find being outside domesticity and free from the external demands of the everyday disrupts familiar patterns and throws me into uncovering unused inner resources. Shades of colour return as I regard with new eyes. I pay attention not only to visual details but also sounds, speech and voices, as smells and tastes intensify, and I note richness of textures. In the grey landscapes of this wind-swept island, senses intensified, and creativity surged.
In Ireland where literary history is an overlay of an almost spiritual nature, self-belief and joy in living seemed contagious. On Inishmore I felt connected to the reading that had propelled me across the world. I paid attention on many levels. Yes, I thought, I am glad I came, and a year later the memories are still a richness to exploit as I revisit those lessons and savour the privilege and depth of my Irish experiences.
Outside grey dominated the landscape: rocky outcrops, stone cottages, the ruins of ancient churches from the 12th century, and the prehistoric monument of Don Aonghasa, a massive Celtic fort defensively perched on the grey cliffs overlooking the Atlantic where its massive limestone walls have weathered silver over 22 centuries or more.
The patchwork of green fields behind grey stone walls impounded cattle and sheep seemingly happy enough munching in the austere landscape. Apart from its exterior, nothing about our home in Kilmurvey House was grey or bleak, however, for our rooms were sumptuous and warm, and the breakfast and dinners extraordinary, albeit loudly accompanied by laughter and writers conversing in various accents.
For lunch we broke from our bookish pursuits for a bowl of soup, soda bread and a Guinness at a bright café nearby, next to the shop offering famed Aran sweaters and other Irish woollen products.
Back in the classroom we exchanged confidences and shared stories. As committed writers, whether from Canada, US, England, Australia, or New Zealand, we were all keen to hone the craft of getting experiences and reminiscences into words. Irene Graham’s methods helped us find the tools to do so, to access both sides of our brains, to break free and unleash hidden levels of memories, and to handle them in a structure that suited each individually. Above all, the communal energy of writers together inspired and motivated.
Writing can be lonely but sharing intimacy and creativity in these wilds of western Ireland would rebound and continue to stimulate us writing alone in our widely dispersed homes, an ongoing gift of memories and techniques to reignite our mojos when the writing flagged in isolation.
I always relish the dislocation of travel to fire my creative juices and reinforce my desire to write. I find being outside domesticity and free from the external demands of the everyday disrupts familiar patterns and throws me into uncovering unused inner resources. Shades of colour return as I regard with new eyes. I pay attention not only to visual details but also sounds, speech and voices, as smells and tastes intensify, and I note richness of textures. In the grey landscapes of this wind-swept island, senses intensified, and creativity surged.
In Ireland where literary history is an overlay of an almost spiritual nature, self-belief and joy in living seemed contagious. On Inishmore I felt connected to the reading that had propelled me across the world. I paid attention on many levels. Yes, I thought, I am glad I came, and a year later the memories are still a richness to exploit as I revisit those lessons and savour the privilege and depth of my Irish experiences.
Celtic ruins have stood guard on the Atlantic for more than 22 centuries
Limestone walls enclosed pastures on soils created over centuries by bringing sand and seaweed to this inhospitable and bleak landscape
Kilmurvey House behind the island’s Fuchsias
A wild coast full of allure, and of salmon and other fish to be enjoyed locally
The beach saw writers enjoying and early morning walk
For further information, book or art sales, or to visit Eliza Cottage at 8 Daniels Road, Yankalilla, please contact us:
Lorraine McLoughlin +61 408 400 010 or [email protected]
Peter Fitzgerald +61 438 151 432 or [email protected]
Lorraine McLoughlin +61 408 400 010 or [email protected]
Peter Fitzgerald +61 438 151 432 or [email protected]
For online book sales visit Freestyle Publications