Teaser Tuesday: Being Watched

Hello, all! It's been such a long time since my last teaser, and this one's pretty short; I'm only just getting back into the swing of writing. Bad Caitlin.

Just before this bit, Maire was being her usual lovely self, certainly endearing herself to all her new coworkers. Silly girl. She's starting to learn, though, I think.

Now, I am back to work on this! It's going somewhere - not exactly sure where half the time, but somewhere!

Enjoy!

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“Now. If you’ve a mind to be civil, I’ll give you your task for the day.”

Maire nodded and got to her feet, glancing back at the other two girls as she followed Agnes out of the room. Neither of them were looking at her. Oh, but this was certainly a grand start to it all.

“Familiar with farm-work at all, or just fish?” Agnes asked as they walked back out of the house and towards the fields.

“Yes,” Maire answered. “Potatoes.”

“Ah.”

They fell silent again. Maire felt that her answer, while certainly not excusing her rudeness, perhaps explained it a bit. It certainly explained her filthy, tattered, skeleton-like figure, and her sudden appearance on that farm. She hoped it explained her association with the Secrets Man.

Maire turned suddenly, stumbling over her own feet, to look at the ridge at the top of the farm. There was no one there, especially not an unfathomable stranger or his demon horse, but she could not shake the feeling that that man, with that smile of his sliding across his face, was watching her.

Agnes had gotten several yards ahead then, so Maire shook her head and hurried along after her, trying to remind herself not to think or talk back or cause trouble. Just follow. Just do. 

Mind the Gap: Tourist vs. Townie

Once again, the crowd in front of me had come to an inexplicable standstill encompassing the whole of the sidewalk. "God, I hate tourists," I would mutter to myself as I wove my way through or dodged around or shoved past whatever people had decided to stop directly in front of me.

While it is true that no one in London knows how to walk, I'm not really sure that it's fair for me to be so incredibly frustrated with the people unknowingly blocking my way. Especially considering that I encountered these people while trying to do the same touristy things they were doing - exiting the Tube at Westminster, and later watching the Changing of the Guard.

I seem to be in the middle of a weird dichotomy. I both am and am not a Londoner - I have been here since January, and this city feels more like home to me than the town where I have gone to college for the past three years. I've learned a lot in the past five months, enough to feel incredibly comfortable navigating these old streets on my own, enough to be able to give directions when asked, but not enough to keep from turned around coming out of the Tube and having to backtrack. I certainly haven't got encyclopedic knowledge of all of London's many streets and corners, and there's still quite a lot I haven't seen, but there are certain areas that I consider to be mine. The street where I lived, the journey from the flat to school, the South Bank walk - all these are places that feel like they belong, at least in some part, to me. I know them well, and they have seen me come and go many a time.

I live here. Or rather, I will be living here for another few days. And yet, at the same time, I'm doing many touristy things this week - the Changing of the Guards, for one. Camden Market, the parks, the museums... all of these are places that the locals might visit, of course, but certainly not as often as the tourists do. And I should think that a Londoner going to the Changing of the Guards happens with the same frequency that New Yorkers visit the Empire State Building - only when they have guests from out of town!

So where does that leave me? Am I a Londoner, or am I a tourist? Am I both? Neither? Does it really matter? Probably not. I've just been struck by this strange mixture of belonging and not belonging over the past few days. I've had a very strange reception here - just about everyone I meet seems to think I'm French until I start to talk, and then my accent automatically pegs me as an American (and then, sometimes, the automatic exasperation will start to appear by degrees).

I think I'm simply wrestling with the dualities of my last week here. Am I a Londoner or am I a foreigner? How much am I looking forward to going home, versus how much do I wish I could stay? And perhaps the biggest question - how do I go about leaving one home in favor of another?

But those questions don't need to be answered just yet. So for the time being, I will simply enjoy this city that I have come to think of as home, and I will make the most of those tourist attractions, even if I will curse the crowds and the queues like the most savvy of locals.

Gorgeous Scenery Galore!

I'm back off to London tomorrow, after quite a lot of time on buses and a short period of time on a plane. My time here has been really grand - lots of fun, very relaxing, amazingly beautiful.

Yesterday, it was really quite gross out, so I stayed in all morning writing (the most writing I've done in quite a long time!), and then I ventured into the library. The library wasn't so much disappointing as unenlightening; I found some books and took some notes, and maybe I'll look those books up again via the magic of interlibrary loan, but I didn't find any of the local history I'd been hoping to. Maybe I just wasn't looking in the right places. After that, though, I went to a cafe and had some tea and a delicious cupcake (eating cupcakes with a fork seems so civilized!!) in a cafe called Beile le Cheile, which the server told me how to pronounce and I have promptly forgotten, but she also taught me how to pronounce An Daingean, which is the name of this town in Gaelic and also its official name (the English version isn't recognized in terms of government anymore). It sounds something like "ahnDEYNGin." How that got Anglicized to Dingle I shall never know.

Today, though, I spent the morning doing a bit of writing and a lot of scrolling through all the pictures from this semester (I've taken over 1,000 photos this semester. Sheesh!!), and then after lunch I followed the recommendation of one of the guys who works at the hostel and walked out to the Dingle lighthouse.

The trail out wasn't so much a trail as it was a walk along the edge of the harbor through various cow pastures, but that's okay. The weather was cooperating, and I took tons of great pictures and met a very nice Canadian woman along the way.

And then I was rewarded for ducking around cows by this view:

 Oh man, but it is gorgeous here. I just love the way the clouds look, the different shades of yellow and green and brown on the hills, the light on the water, the way the blue of the harbor fades into the grey of the distant mountains. The way the sheep and cow pastures creep right to the edge, and then the land falls away, the grass disappears into jagged rocks that shoot down into the bay. It looks very different than how I imagined it to look. Everyone here is so friendly and helpful, and this tiny town is such a vibrant one. I am so lucky that I got to come here and see this for myself; hopefully I can do this place justice in my book!

"So me mind is inclined for to ramble and roam"

Guys. I am currently staying in a (surprisingly busy) hostel in a small town in County Kerry, Ireland.

That small town is the setting for my current work in progress, The Long Road Home.

*cue ALL the geeking out*

For someone who has never (successfully) written anything set in contemporary America, being in Europe has been especially amazing. I'm getting to actually see the places I'm writing about and reading about and studying, and there really are no words to explain how perfect that has been. (I think my reaction to being in Paris was something like ASKJLWREKJZS;CLJWERFSDFKJQWER. In other words, completely incoherent joy.)

It's something else again to be in the place that is so integral to the story I haven't yet finished. I get to shape the story around being here now, around actual experience. When I go home, I'll be able to pull out the photos I've taken and say "right, that's what that looks like." This is the ultimate research; it isn't multiple maps and books and internet sources woven together with a little bit of guesswork and embroidery. It's real. I'm here.

It's also really nice to be in a new place and yet be relaxed about it. I have absolutely loved all the running around and sightseeing I've done this semester, and I would do it all over again and then some, but I'm getting tired. It's nice to spend the day walking around, nonchalantly exploring a new town for several hours, and then heading back to the hostel to poke at your Word document and talk to your friends online. Today, I went for a trail ride (somewhat recreating Maire's wild ride with the Secrets Man, although nowhere near that fast!! Fittingly, I don't think my horse was very fond of me, although she wasn't a demon horse, she was just a bit cross with the world I think) which was great fun. I made friends with a really adorable barn cat and saw the town and the surrounding country from the top of the mountain (well, more like a veeery large hill, but still); plus, it's been so long since I've ridden a horse, and it was quite nice to be back in the saddle, even if, like I said, Dubai didn't like me very much. I am now completely worn out, though, but that's okay, because I can absolutely spend the rest of the evening in the hostel, drinking tea and writing and interneting. It's really nice to have that sort of freedom to do whatever the heck it is you want to do - even if that something is nothing much at all.

The other people in this hostel might think I'm a bit strange though. It's really quite busy - the internet works best in the common room downstairs, so I've been spending a lot of time there and seeing an awful lot of people come and go. There are a lot of very outdoorsy types - which makes sense considering there isn't too much to do here if you're not inclined to go hiking or boating or riding - so they must think it odd that I spend so much time with my laptop. But oh well. I have claimed a chair in the common room (the one next to the outlets, heh) and I shall continue my wonderful stay here with a mix of wandering, adventuring, sleeping, and just sitting around.

I should really get to work on that writing thing then, shouldn't I? :)

*The title of this blog post, by the way, is a line from this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kG2hW-Ax3TU

Gosh it's been a while...

Hello, blogosphere! I'm sorry I've been so silent for so long; first there was the debacle that was my computer, and then my family came to visit me and finals happened, so... yeah. I've been away so long that Blogger has completely changed its posting format without me noticing! Weird! Well, I am back, and I should have internet access for the duration of my last two weeks in Europe. (Trying not to think too much about that: two weeks from today, I will be getting on a plane and going back to America. Hopefully this will be a plane that I don't get sick on, at least.) Currently, I'm mooching off the wifi in a cafe (I should probably buy something else, actually, I've been sitting here long enough...) in London; I'm here for the night before I set off on an adventure to Dingle, Ireland (the setting of The Long Road Home) and then one last week in good old London town.

 The last two weeks have been kind of strange and awesome and sad, all at once. My family came to visit me (during the world's easiest finals week) and it was so much fun getting to show them around the place that has become my home over the last four months, in spite of the fact that it rained and was miserably cold almost the entire time they were here. Oh, England. You're in drought for months, and then the skies open the one week I don't want them to? Gee, thanks. On the one nice day, I took them on the South Bank walk that was my introduction to the city - it's the walk along the Thames from Westminster to Tower Hill, and it's a really great way to see just about every London landmark all in one go.

 But by the end of the week, it turned into a festival of leaving. My mom and my sister left on Friday to go back to work and school (my dad stuck around; more on that in a bit), and then one by one my flatmates started to leave. Lisa moved out first, although she was still in London until yesterday; even though I still got to see her until it was my turn to leave, it was really strange to be in our room without her things there, or not see her huddling next to the heater in the kitchen. Matt left next, and with him most of my other friends, as the London Center's group flight was on Monday, and then Tory left the next morning, off for some adventures in Morocco with her sister. Then it was my turn to do the leaving - I had my last day of work and my last London pub dinner with Lisa. The next morning, it was time for my dad and I to set off on some adventures. I was really excited to go see Florence with him, but at the same time I was really quite sad to hand over my keys to my landlady, shut the door on my flat, and walk down my dimly lit three flights of stairs for the last time. It really punctuated the fact that this amazing experience that I am having is really coming to an end... and I don't want it to!

 I just arrived back in London after a few days in Florence with my dad. It was a lot of fun! We climbed up an awful lot of things (the terraces in the Boboli Gardens, the Cupola of the Santa Maria Del Fiore cathedral (aka the Duomo), the Bell Tower of the Duomo...), saw some pretty stunning views from the top of those things, learned a lot about the Medicis, and, of course, ate a lot of really good food and lots of fantastic gelato! It was great to spend some time with my dad and to see some sunshine for a change!

 I'm here on my own for another two weeks. Navigating European travel alone (granted, it's just to Ireland and then back to London, so I'll be in English-speaking places the whole time, not too bad) is both a scary and daunting prospect and... kind of liberating. I intend to stay in this cafe until the internet kicks me off (can it do that?) or until the place closes and they kick me out, and then I'm going back to my hostel and I'm going to bed. It's pretty early in the day to be thinking that, but I'm exhausted and currently, I have no one to please but myself, no plans but my own, no place to be but the airport in the morning. It's nice - I suspect that by the time the two weeks are up, I'll really want some friendly faces around me and I'll actually be ready to go home, but for now I'm quite ready for another adventure.

Well... bother.

So, I'm sorry to have to give you guys yet another "well, here's this excuse I have for not blogging" post, but I'm afraid I must: my laptop decided to completely crash on Tuesday. Huzzah...

Hopefully I can get it fixed before, you know, I go home in a month and a half or so, but until then, blogging might be a bit sporadic. I'm going to be going in to school quite early for a while to use the internet there, so hopefully I can still blog sometimes.

At any rate. I certainly will have more adventures to relate to you; how soon they will be related is the only question.

Talk to you soon, then, blog (I hope)!

Teaser Tuesday: What You Don't Know

It's been quite a while since my last teaser, hasn't it? Well, here's a new one for you! Just to remind you of what's going on: in the midst of the Irish potato famine, Maire has been whisked away from her shattering home and brought to this new place to work by a very mysterious character, all at a price she doesn't much like to think about. This picks up right after the man has left and Maire's being taken to the farm where she's going to work.

I also use the name I've finally settled on for Maire's mysterious benefactor. I think it fits pretty well, all things considered, but please do let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

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Maire followed the woman through the field of sheep and then around the field of winter rye, marvelling all the while at the soft squish of the fertile ground beneath her feet and the gently waving lines of golden grain, still half-convinced she was imagining everything. She said nothing as she followed along; she walked in silence, her head too full of questions for her to voice a single one, her ears buzzing with the once-familiar sound of farm work and sheep, of people’s voices – voices that did not sound so very desperate. What was this secret place she had found? Where was this Ireland that was healthy and whole again, and why was it only here?

Gritting her teeth, she tried to force her cacophony of questions to the back of her mind. If this was to be her new workplace – not her new home, it would never be her home, she would not allow it – then she would have plenty of time to seek out all the answers she needed. There was no need to fret over those thousand questions now. Now, all she had to do was follow this woman and do as she was told lest she be thrown out on her ear after only five minutes. And then where would she be? Nowhere. Nowhere at all, miles from a home she could not go back to, with no work and no shelter. It would be best if she forgot her questions for good, accepted her fate and moved silently, dumbly, into her new life.

But there was one question she could not help but ask.

“How do you know him?” she heard herself say, wishing it unsaid almost at once.

“Know who?” the woman asked, brusquely, but after a short pause, and Maire knew that the question was only to stall the eventual answer.

“Him. The man who brought me here. The... the Secrets Man.”

The woman stopped and looked at her, and Maire could not tell what it was that she was trying to judge.

“He has his ways. You should know that by now.”

Maire nodded and set off behind her again, feeling as though all she knew by now was nothing but a tangled mess of secrets that she would never be able to unravel.