Wednesday, February 20, 2019

We're moving....

First of all, thanks for reading this blog and for your continued support.

Recently, I set up a new website for www.byddilee.com over at WordPress. They also provide an integrated blog. I have moved all my posts from this blog over to there to keep everything in the one place and for the past few months posted blogs up in both places but now I think it's time to move from Blogger fully to WordPress, which will be a challenge since I'm still learning that system.

So instead of posting the most recent post in both places - today I'm directing you to the new blog via the following link.

 https://www.byddilee.com/2019/02/exciting-news-from-flash-fiction-armagh/

I hope you continue to follow the blog over there and while you are there feel free to explore my new website.

Thanks for following, your readership is much appreciated.

Byddi Lee

Monday, January 14, 2019

Guest Post by P.V. Wolseley



I like to keep things physical – no Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or Instagram – so it’s strange even to me that I’m guest-blogging for Byddi Lee. Let me tell you how this came about.

It started, as so many writerly things do, with Byddi. She stayed in Paris long enough to co-found a critiquing group and for me to get to know her a little. With her blue eyes and blond curls, Byddi is at least one part Christmas-tree fairy but with her ferocious energy, drive and loyalty, she’s two parts word-warrior queen. It was no surprise to hear that, shortly after having left Paris for Armagh, she was hustling together a flash-fiction festival that sounded like the best fun.

Two fellow Parisian writers and I decided to crash it.

‘We’ll come and support you,’ we said.

Byddi being Byddi, she declared the festival an international event and welcomed us herself, at the airport, late one Belfast night.

We drove into Armagh through the sort of blackness the City of Light has long forgotten. Having fielded perfectly sensible Parisian questions such as ‘how can people see without street lamps?’ Byddi got on with the business of narrating the night, sketching out with words the towns and orchards we couldn’t see. I quickly stopped peering into the darkness and instead listened until we reached our cosy lodgings at the Charlemont Arms Hotel.

Breakfast was big, Irish and – being shared by three writers – wordy. We somehow got onto the subject of female forebears who faced risky and multiple pregnancies. The lady waiting tables served up the best story, top trumping us as she cleared our plates: 22 children born to one woman.

This emerged as a pattern when we toured the city. It quickly became clear that there’s not a stone in Armagh that doesn’t have a tale to tell; people swap stories the way the English shake hands. I left the tourist information office not with leaflets but with tales of a sword too big to wield and a giant warrior. At the Hole in the Wall, greetings took the form of ‘What’s your story?’ and refreshments were served with a tale of unhappy love and a hanging. At Emain Macha, myths and legends were illustrated on a big screen and so enchantingly told that when I later stood on the mound, I was sure any archaeologist digging would find story on story on story, stratified.

I heard plenty of anecdotes where arrests and bombings unselfconsciously shared sentences with meals, marriages and markets days – a reminder that for many years, strife and struggle were the daily lot of many in Armagh, but it was hard not to feel optimistic as we explored the city. My fellow Parisians and I were the only ones in black. Everyone else seemed ready to put on the glam and get something going. As we walked through the Market Place Theatre & Arts Centre before closing, the receptionist put the Christmas tree lights back on for us and suggested a photo shoot. Every social interaction became a networking, sponsoring or social media opportunity. When my friend tried on a jacket that fitted like it was made to measure, a picture was taken and posted on the boutique’s Facebook page, and when the guide at Emain Macha heard our enthusiasm for myths and legends, she got out from behind the desk to share with us the excellent and beautifully illustrated Cúchulainn by Réamonn Ó Ciaráin. Wherever we went we got a small-town welcome so warm it was hard to see Armagh as a city, despite its two cathedrals and world-class museums.

It was at one of these museums – Armagh County Museum – that we enjoyed the highlight of our stay: a flash-fiction feast served up before a portrait of Seamus Heaney and his piercing eyes, painted by Colin Davidson. We feasted like gluttons on stories ranging in inspiration from the literary and celestial (A Clockwork Heart) to the local (Cás na dteifeach), and in setting from the domestic (Say’s Himself) to the parallel world of horror-erotica (Always and Forever). All pieces were read with finesse and generosity in a venue that made for a magical evening. It came to a close much too soon – which may explain why we were slow to go. I was most grateful to our kindly, informative hosts, who let us explore the museum’s treasures long after our time was up.

Next day: home to beautiful and indifferent Paris. I took time to reflect on all I’d brought back in head and heart, based on the writerly principle that if protagonists come out of a journey unchanged, they’ve not been anywhere. With such a wealth of happy memories and stories, it seemed only right to share this story by taking an uncustomary toe-dip into cyber-sea – to say a big thank you, Armagh, and à bientôt, j’espère.  

P.V. Wolseley
 

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Flash Fiction Saturday Night in the Museum



His gaze is a little unsettling. Stern and aloof, he stares unflinchingly with glittering hungry eyes. It's a gaze that follows me and did back when I was a child visiting the Armagh County Museum. I wonder what he makes of the proceedings about to unfold. Every Armagh child who has visited the museum knows that stare; knows that stuffed fox. For Mr Fox has looked out from his place in the exhibits and mesmerized children for more than forty years (by my count.)

Photograph courtesy of the Armagh County Museum
Tonight, though Mr Fox has met his match in a staring competition because right in front of his furry snout is a portrait of Seamus Heany by Colin Davidson. Splendid in a wash of warm and vibrant colours the great poet looks sombre and somewhat formidable. With tables arranged in front like an altar, it feels like we are the congregation in a temple, with Flash Fiction Armagh offering up a sacrifice of literature. I search the canvas for a tweak of a lip, a hint of approval - but his expression is unyielding. It feels like he's right here with us, but I am confident... we have a fabulous lineup and I know our readers won't disappoint the great man, nor their enthusiastic audience.
 
We begin with a poem by Mark Brownlee simply called Armagh. Like a verbal tour of our city, it touches all our hearts and binds us Armachians together in a collect pride for our city.

On a similar note, Karen Mooney uses the analogy of nature to show us how much we have to gain by growing in harmony together with A More Sustainable Future.

All the way from Pittsburg USA, via Paris, Nina Francus captures our hearts and minds, as she reads her story To Wander, Lost.

In a piece that proves speculative/science fiction is a form of literature is accessible and can be widely enjoyed, Jay Faulkner reads Always and Forever.

Kerry Buchannan, from Yorkshire via Ballynahinch, enthrals us with fantasy in her beautifully written and delivered story, A Clockwork Heart.

Elaine Toal reminds us all what it is to be hurt and human in a story that has a message we might all benefit from heeding - Shattered. 

All the way from Paris, P.V Wolseley bring art to life with her masterful writing in her stories, L'Origine du Monde Speaks and La Grande Odalisque.

Réamonn Ó Ciaráin captivates the audience as he reads the story of Chúchulainn's death in Bás Chúchulainn

All the way from lovely Leitrim, via Fermanagh, Trish Bennett brings a smile to our faces and a glow to our hearts in her humorous poem Kilty Relics.

Hailing from Paris, Omaya Nasser has the audience spellbound as she reads End of the Line.

Seán Farry entertains us in Gaeilge and raises a laugh even in those of us whose Irish is limited as he recounts stories of his teaching experiences in his poems  Cás na dteifeach – Tá dhá thaobh ar an bhád and Feidhmiú an Ranga.

Sue Divins cracks open our hearts and our tear ducts with Says Himself.

Another crossing of the Blackwater River brings us Kieran Mc Gurk with his story Blobby, a cautionary tale about getting too big for your (pink and yellow spotted) boots.


From the moment he stood up, Malachi Kelly had his all grinning at his witty reminiscences in Mother, Son and Ghost.

Anne Mc Master rounded up the evening with a beautifully written and presented tongue in cheek piece on gardening - Gardener's World.


Thank you to the staff of the Armagh County Museum for their welcome and patience. Nothing was too much bother for them and everyone was very impressed with and enjoyed their evening in the Museum.

Thanks also to everyone who submits to Flash Fiction Armagh - you are what drives us and we wish you every writing success...and soon! It's a tough old business.

To every Flash Fiction attendee: Readers - we can't do this without you, Audience - there'd be no point without you.

Wishing everyone a multitude of blessing for 2019 and beyond.

Byddi Lee