Scribblers Corner

I made a deal with myself - if I edited eight pages this morning I'd go to Scribbler's Corner.

Eight pages later I was running around the flat for my notepad and pen. Making myself as presentable as possible I dawdled up the hill, gulping at the semi-fresh air of Dublin city centre and gave my nerves a lecture.

At the Writer's Centre I was met by Simon who ran the group, and he was so friendly and helpful that I got my breath back. Many in the group were newcomers and we exchanged nervous glances. The first topic that we were to freewrite about for twenty minutes was 'The Flag'. I came up with this:

The flag unfurled in the light wind, the material rippling. The three men attached it to the flag pole. They stood in ceremony, dressed in heavy black coats with deep pockets for shelter from the winter's day. All eyes on the fluttering material as it strained and tore against their grasp.

The flag is fixed now, and the dark haired man handled the rope with a practised accuracy. The tricolour screeched as it inched up the chipped metal. Satisfied, the men stepped back to bow their heads, fingers pressed together in prayer. The only sound was the creaking of the metal.

The wind died. The flag swooned to the floor; the men rushed forward to protect it from the muddy ground. But something distracted the blond haired man, the glint of sunlight against a flack jacket. Two Guards* are running towards the Garden.

The white haired man grabbed the rope and pulled sharply. The flag tore a quarter of the way up. They swapped glances as the guards bore down on them and they nodded. A match was put to the cloth. It burst into flame.

Simon gave me lots of advice about publishing in Ireland after the meeting, and he told me not to be nervous about reading my writing - because it was there already, and it would just get better with practice.

I'm so glad that I went now.

*The Gardai are the Irish policeforce.