During my travels around Australia and New Zealand, my friends and I decided we’d pursue careers that would allow us to travel the world in uniforms of sarongs and flip-flops. My preference was to be a travel writer. I thought wistfully of all the cities I would visit, oceans I would swim and mountains I would climb. Not to mention five star hotels, fancy restaurants and romantic getaways.
I came to France to write, which seems ironic as all I’ve done is read. Devouring words of authors, I have come to envy them for having created such profound characters and mystical worlds. I, on the other hand am struggling to string a sentence together. Although, I think I may have a plot for a short story. It’s loosely based on my dolphin story.
I came to La Muse on a whim. Following 9 months of writing, researching, travelling, festival madness and general hard work, when John emailed to say they had a spare room, I had my bags packed and flight booked within 24 hours. How happy I am to be back at my desk, overlooking the Black Mountains, the chestnut trees in full bloom and the scent of the chestnut flower lingering in the air. The sky is blue and sun shining.
This is just a snippet of what the Dublin Book Festival is about.