Irish I were a little Will Wall-er

Irish I were Domhnall-er

Irish I had a cravat that looked good

I would Wilde-r

I know. My apologies to Skee-Lo ... and Krusty. See? Were I Oscar Wilde, or Skee-Lo for that matter, the above would have more rhythm, more soul, more bounce. Alas, as a snarky, pompous, old fiddler once asked me, at a grand craic in a twee, blue bungalow on the cliffs of Dana Point, "Can you write like James Joyce? If not, then give it up, girl." 

Go feck yourself, is what today's JennyPop would reply. She would do so with her trademark, Snow White smile and a polite offer to refresh his Tullamore Dew. Well, I try, was the regrettable, whiny reply of a fretful, eager-to-please Jenny lacking the confidence of five novels (four published) and hundreds of published essays, posts, articles, reviews, interviews and poems: not including the above-laziness.

March, a.k.a. Irish-American Heritage Month, and indeed St. Patrick's Day (March 17th), is the cheery, green time of year when so many Americans proudly proclaim their Irish heritage: 35million-plus Americans, second only to German heritage in European-Americans, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. With that deserved, Irish pride comes all the banner and flash heralded by the fire of Éire. Part of that fire is the long-burning flame of the written word.

A long time ago, yet somehow still in the future, atop a cold and craggy Ahch-To Island, an aging, weirdy-beardy Luke Skywalker stood in the ocean spray, surrounded by puffins and ravens as his tattered robes fluttered in the Irish win ... oh, wait ... wrong tale.

A long time ago, circa 450CE, Irish monks, largely the only Greek and Latin literates on the Emerald Isle, commenced penning Christian manuscripts, as Britons and Gauls brought the new religion to the Western Island. This medieval, monastic life would become one of servitude to a new, Christian God: their fanciful manuscripts meant to captivate those Irish folk once dedicated to their long-standing, oral, pagan tales of Celtic and Irish mythology. A pre-Christian civilisation of gods and goddesses would be replaced with the permanence of a new, singular god and His written word. These monks would not only serve to preserve this new deity, but also the intellectual, philiosophical, and artistic culture of the Irish people, by way of their dedicated, lifelong tasks of meticulous penmanship in isolated, inhospitable locales like Skelling Michael. 

Leap-frog some 1,600 years, and whether one bleeds green or no, March is the happy time of year to cheer, Kiss me I'm Irish! If you have even a modicum of untapped, writer urges, a few hours gabbing over a perfect pint of Guinness or a herbaceous Massey Cocktail might burble up your confidence and bring about thoughts like, Hey, I could write the great Irish novel, or at least, Hey, I could write TV reviews.

I do wish I were a better writer though; I do try, always. Doesn't one always strive to better oneself? If not, what's the point each day? Writing requires confidence, the confidence to choose a selection of words, string them together and hope what occurs isn't a mess of gobbeldy-gook. Writing requires the confidence to show a finished (or, very rarely, mistakenly, nearly-finished) piece to others and fight the overwhelming desire to run to a lavvy and hide as they read and then venture to proffer feedback. Yet, writing also takes a gift and that is from whence the truest confidence is begat. That gift can be honed, massaged and workshopped until the Derry cows come home. Yet, sans the innate ability to weave words into a relatable, engaging vision in a reader's mind, all the writing challenges and word exercises will remain just that. 

My point, fair reader? My point being, if you feel, deep in your soul, you are meant to write, write. Start today. Write in a journal, write an impromptu poem on a cocktail napkin, start a simple blog or build a dynamic site and let the wordsmithing fly! Post some film reviews on Amazon. (Keep those reviews insightful, helpful and intelligent. Snark and personal chiding tell prospective viewers more about the reviewer than the film.) Classes and degrees can certainly polish and promote your personal style; more education never hurt anybody. Apropos, You can never be overdressed or overeducated, quoth Oscar Wilde. (Admittedly, my overeducation has served me well, if not socially awkwardly.)

Likely, one doesn't even venture further afield in the language arts if the initial talent isn't already germinating. Yet, if you haven't approached writing or storytelling via academic or professional paths, fret not, timid one. If a pen is pressing on your heart, all you truly need is confidence, and an imagination ... and a good grasp on proper spelling and form. Of course, if you love language, you probably already have a better grasp on all that rot than the average bear.

Self-publish all the words you can bear to spew. The beauty of the Internet is no more gatekeepers. Conversely, there is an intimidating amount of competition for eyeballs. Still, you must have the tenacity to actually write something, and finish it. Sure, when the printing press, fountain pens, typewriters and word processors came about in the course of mankind, the tools were certainly available; but it didn't mean everybody could tell a tale.

If gold coins are what you seek, the gatekeepers of old are certainly helpful; if releasing your soul via the glory of language is what you seek, go to it presently. Whatever your language, or languages if ye be a polyglot, there are countless, beauteous gems within every language. Excavate those gems and fashion fabulous visions, Like a striking, velvet frock or a fanciful, cocktail skirt of feathers, strut it on the world's runway, or keep it all for your lonesome, to bring private cheer and smiles, or tears and heartbreak, whatever your soul needs. 

As an aside, reading as much as you can, from comic books and political sites to screenplays and the Classics, is of great benefit to the art of writing. Style, tone and vocabulary are merely a few gifts your fave writers, bloggers and playwrights will bestow upon your brain and heart.  

Content isn't king. Confidence is. Find your confidence. Be confident, loudly or quietly; but be so. Take a cue from your favourite writers, whomever they may be, from whichever era they may reign. Be they quiet, bombastic, ladylike, flamboyant,  meek, gentlemanly, unbearably obnoxious or deathly shy in their daily lives, one imagines, when questioned duly on their gift for the written word, their answer may very well be, in any given age, a variation on, Go feck yourself.