Yesterday I met Gemma.
A fellow writer, Irish, garrulous and full of life stories. Dublin born, once an Iranian air hostess, married to a wealthy Oklahoma cowboy who killed himself in his own plane; lived in New Orleans and worked in Paris for Disney; she speaks seven languages.
One of seven children she now writes for a living about 1920s Dublin, ‘Through Streets Broad and Narrow’ and ‘Ha’penny Chance’ her two novels. Her mother and father were both illegitimate and dirt poor. She sometime begged for a living to help feed the family and keep her Da’ in Guinness. Now the love of the written word drives her ambition.
She says, “My publisher doesn’t believe me when I tell them of life in 1950s Dublin.”
Writers listen. It’s part of our craft to catch the ear of people you encounter. Like Gemma. The dull cliche that real stories are stranger than fiction rings true.
I hear stories of Dales folk whenever I visit my local pub, most I would never dare put into my own books, even the most credulous readers wouldn’t believe me.
