Sinead Keegan

A few weeks ago I had the great fortune to encounter this little gem on Twitter: Future Library . It's a fascinating artwork-in-progress by Katie Paterson which involves a forest in Norway, books and 100 years. Oh, and Margaret Atwood. Ah, yes, now we see why Si néa d is so excited. I presume that she calls this an 'artwork' rather than 'work of art' or 'installation' because the Future Library is an ongoing, developing happening that seems to me to really touch the beauty of literature and our relationship with it and our world. A forest has been planted in Norway and every year a writer will be selected to write a piece to go into this future library. No one except the writer will know what this piece of writing is until the 100 years are up. At that point, the forest will be cut down and used to make the books on which all the writing will be printed. Future Library, Katie Paterson from Katie Paterson on Vimeo . The hippy in me is, of course,...

I have recently, in a fit of what can only be termed poor judgement, decided to take up golfing. Historically, golf has not been a great sport for me. 1997 brought an awful lot of tears as my poor dad valiantly dragged me around a course. He learned his lesson as we haven't been out since. Somewhere about 2002/2003 the taller half decided we should go for a quick 9 holes. We were lapped by 9-year-olds. All previous experience points to golf being similar to that year I ran track in high school: a total disaster. The only thing I mastered in track was the bit where we stretched. I've taken a slightly different tack on golf this time around. I'm getting lessons from a local golf pro and, to date, there have been no tears. In fact, he tells me I'm a natural. What? I suppose it's in his best interest to butter me up so I keep coming back for lessons. Except, the taller half agrees. What? I suppose it's in his best interest to butter me up so that I don't retur...

I have always had very bad luck with basil. Perhaps more honestly, I ought to say that basil plants have always had very bad luck with me, as they are the ones that end up withered and dead in my kitchen. Sometimes up to three plants in a summer. A short, British summer. Until this year. This year I bought a little basil plant at my local supermarket and I now have a great, big basil bush. So enormous is this horticultural triumph that it garners admiration from all who visit our flat and our neighbours are complaining that it's blocking their light. Unfortunately, after a good three months of delightful growth, it appears to have aphids. Boo. Hiss. Aphids are little bugs that love to feed on soft plants. They decimated my parsley this spring and although I got rid of them ages ago and they were outside then, they now appear to have migrated indoors to the most magnificent basil plant this side of the Thames. I caught them early, though, and I think I have them on their last ex...

I'm always droning on about writers supporting one another and saying that success for one of us is success for all of us . Today, I make good on all that high-minded talk. I am so thrilled to announce that a friend of mine has just had her first novel published to an excellent critical reception. Alarm Girl by Hannah Vincent is the story of a little girl struggling to find her place in the world after her mother's death when she and her brother move from England to South Africa to live with their father. I had the great pleasure of reading parts this book when it was still a work in progress and it was marvellous. I have been waiting for exactly two years to find out what happens to the breathtakingly compelling character of Indy. At ten-and-three-quarters, Indy is that perfect balance of innocent and all-knowing. I won't review the book because I'm obviously enormously biased (it's brilliant!), but I will say that I think it's wonderful that Hannah is...

In good news: This blog made Blog Awards Ireland's long list for the Best of the Diaspora category for 2014! It's listed amongst many great blogs from around the world that represent Ireland's long history of emigration. Whatever the economic or political situation of our little island, we have always managed to export excellent writing. It's great to see that this is being represented in the world of new and social media. Good luck to all the other nominees!

Last night, I went to Shark Tank , a play that is a part of the International Youth Arts Festival and currently playing at the Stanley Picker Gallery in Kingston-upon-Thames.  It's a farcical look at the world of contemporary art and was written by a former student of mine, Nik Way. This isn't so much a review of the production, because I'm obviously quite biased. It's more that it got me thinking about what it means for a teacher to see a student succeeding. I love teaching. I love seeing students learn and grow and become better writers. I like it even more when they suddenly realise they've gotten better and the leap in confidence that they have. You would think, then, that seeing a student write a play that is chosen to be performed at a festival. Watching that production which he has co-directed and in which he is acting would be the culmination of everything a teacher could want. In some ways it was. I'm very proud of Nik. It's a good play. But, ...

Just over two years ago, I decided that I needed to get my butt in gear and to tackle this beast called Twitter. It was a bit of a rough start but I seem to have rallied and am doing alright in the Twitter-sphere. I know words like "Twitter-sphere" and "tweeps"; I know to say "I tweet", not "I twitter"; and I know a RT from a #FF. I even started a hashtag project. Granted, it had minimal success, but I learned a lot. Generally, I would say that I am entirely proficient at Twitter. I've stopped keeping track of my followers, which has done wonders for my digital self-esteem. But I still worry about what to tweet. In fact, I worry more now than I ever have before. And for this, I blame Amy Tan. Yes, Amy Tan of The Joy Luck Club fame.

In January of 2013, poet Christian Ward made major news in the UK poetry world when his poem, 'The Deer at Exmoor' won the Hope Bourne poetry prize. It was rather quickly discovered that his poem bore an uncanny resemblance to Helen Mort's poem 'The Deer'. When pushed, he made the extraordinary claim that he realised he was wrong but only because he had not changed Mort's work enough. In a statement published in the Western Morning News , Ward wrote: "I was working on a poem about my childhood experiences in Exmoor and was careless. I used Helen Mort’s poem as a model for my own but rushed and ended up submitting a draft that wasn’t entirely my own work. I had no intention of deliberately plagiarising her work. That is the truth." This seems to me, an extraordinary claim: that there is, somewhere, a line that exists where, once crossed, one has changed the work of another sufficiently to claim that it is not one's own, original work.

My dad tells a story of one day, when I was about six or seven. He heard the television playing in the living room, despite the house rule forbidding television during the day. He came in to tell  me to turn it off, but paused when he saw me sitting on the floor crying my eyes out as I read the subtitles of an opera. He asked me what was wrong. I didn't look away from the television as I said through sobs, "It's so sad. He really loves her, but she didn't know it and now she's dead." Moral of the story? I was an early reader. No, kidding, that's not it. You see, there are twin passions in my family. The first is stories, spoken, read, told, written, in any form we can get. The second is music; My mom sings, my dad is a talented percussionist ( see him perform live in Dublin this weekend! ) and my brother can basically play any instrument he's ever picked up (irritating, I know). None of us is a musical prodigy, or anything, but we can pass ourselves...

I'm delighted to announce that I will be working with SouthWestFest this year for a series of FREE creative writing workshops and a creative writing competition as part of the Stories of SW1 Exhibition . The two-hour workshops will run on the evenings of 24 June, 01 and 08 July 2014 from 5:45-7:45pm at the Pimlico branch of Westminster Libraries . These are low-pressure, supportive, fun workshops designed for writers of all levels. You don't need any previous experience and there will be exercises to help you get started with putting pen to paper. Space is limited so book now by emailing: info@southwestfest.org.uk . Participants will have the opportunity to submit for the Stories of SW1 creative writing competition, which has a £50 prize. Work will be displayed as part of the Stories of SW1 Exhibition and we hope to do a live reading at the end of festival bash! Competition Rules: Deadline for creative writing submission is midnight Sunday 06 July 2014 Email t...

You all know I love to plug Irish literature and so today is a particularly exciting day. Eimear McBride has won the Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction for her novel, A Girl Is a Half-Formed Thing . McBride is a true product of Irish history and immigration. She was born in Liverpool to Northern Irish parents, but spent much of her childhood on the west coast of Ireland. She now lives in the UK. A note to the aspiring writers, to my students and to myself on my down days: It took Eimear years to get someone to publish this. Years. As in, a decade. Hang in there and keep racking up the rejections. So, chalk another award up for Ireland and Irish immigrants. Again, I say, for a little country we sure can churn out an impressive number of impressive artists. Must be something in the rain. Congratulations, Eimear!

A West End worthy production about immigrants? Minorities? With parts of song and dialogue in a language other than English? Sounds unlikely, but that's just what In the Heights is. It's a energetic explosion of dance, colour and young talent. And that talent is considerable. Sam MacKay, as Usnavi, guides us through the stories of this Washington Heights corner neighbourhood with his broadway style rapping - if there is such a thing. It's more a broadway-washed Eminem than Daddy Yankee reggaeton, but it's entirely enjoyable and pitched perfectly at the musicals audience. Damian Buhagiar as Sonny, however, stole the show for me. It's hard to believe that In the Heights is his professional debut because there isn't even a hint that he might be nervous. He is perfect in his portrayal of a young man finding his voice, finding his place in the world and finding out how to survive. Plus, he's has endless energy and dance moves that manage to stand out in a pro...

On this Mother's Day I thought I would devote a reading-y post to my mom. Mom and I are very different in some ways - she would hate to have to write creatively for a living and organisation is second nature to her - but we share one very important thing. One thing for which I owe her an eternal, capital lettered THANK YOU: We share a love, nay, a passion for reading and this is truly one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. I read in the neighbourhood of 40-60 novels, plays and collections of poetry and short stories every year. And that doesn't include the stories that I listen to on The New Yorker Fiction Podcast or the poems from the Poetry Foundation's Poem of the Day podcast or the work that I read in literary magazines, online and from my students and colleagues. That adds up to hundred s of new world, ideas, images, plays on and with language and hours of joy. Now I spend my days reading and writing and teaching writing. I cannot think of a bette...

On the first day of my MFA in creative writing, I entered my first workshop and looked at my colleagues, the people who would critique my work and make me a better writer. Our tutor had us go around the table and introduce ourselves.  Hello, I’m Sin é ad . My favorite book is Dracula , my favorite fiction author is Margaret Atwood and my favorite creative nonfiction writer is Bill Bryson.  I write memoir and I've been blogging for ten years. I’m interested in writing a humorous literary travel memoir. Hello, I’m M---- and I don’t read. I don’t really write either. WHAT? What the hell are you doing here? This guy is never going to be any help to me. Cue eye-rolling, not-so-suppressed sighing and general outrage from me. I could not fathom what this man was doing in a postgraduate writing course and I took it as a personal affront that he did not have the dedication that I did.

Last night, the taller half and I went to see the new musical, The Commitments , which is based on the novel of the same name by Irish author, Roddy Doyle , although perhaps better known from the 1991 film adaptation. After waiting at the bus stop for twenty minutes and watching the clock tick ever closer to show time, we gave up faith and hailed a cab. Our lovely Limerick driver laughed at us worrying about missing the show when we clearly had loads of time. An Irish driver for an Irish writer on the way to an Irish show the day before St. Patrick's Day. Surely, we'd be fine. Then we sat in traffic on the Mall for ten minutes and we didn't laugh so much. Turns out, Trafalgar Square was in total gridlock as St. Patrick's Day celebrations finished up. We bailed on the cab and ended up walking the last ten minutes to the Palace Theatre. And what a walk. I wish I could say it made me proud to be Irish.

From the moment the first notes left Dave Willetts' mouth, I knew I was in for an enjoyable evening. The new musical, The Man Inside , with music by Tony Rees and book and lyrics by Rees and Gary Young is a take on the classic novella The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Limited space, sets and costumes in no way dampen the energy of this production. Even a cheesy, child-friendly lab and under-developed characters can't take too much from the talent that is clearly on show and the catchy, musical numbers. It's easy to imagine that this is on it's way to being larger production with ensemble, but, before it gets there, the ideas need more time and space to breath in this densely packed show.

It's a pleasure to announce that Ushers: The Front of House Musical  that I reviewed back in December is now playing at the 265-seat Charing Cross Theatre until 19 April 2014. Many of the same actors are still in it, including the fabulous Liam Ross-Mills.  Tickets are just  £15 and can be purchased online.

The Landor Theatre in South London is a lovely little black box theatre with the rare distinction of comfortable seating. It's currently hosting the new American musical, The Mistress Cycle , with book and lyrics by Beth Blatt and music by Jenny Giering, until the 9th of March as part of the Page to Stage series. The set is lovely, the actors talented and the music enjoyable and it starts on a promising note with correlations drawn between the current situation of 30-year-old photographer, Tess (Caroline Deverill), and mistresses from throughout history. Unfortunately, after the opening laughs, things go downhill. Or rather, they fail to move anywhere at all. On entering, we were told the show was 117 minutes, which it, thankfully, was not. It was more like 90 minutes and it takes 30 of those before the audience even finds out what the story is. Fully one third of the musical is devoted to introducing the 'mistresses' of history all of whom are more interesting and have m...

I wanted to love Keepsake , a new offering by award-winning playwright Gregory Beam, and I almost did. Keepsake is almost a hard hitting, darkly funny look at the issues confronting modern, American families. Sisters Abra and Samara are back in their childhood home to bury their father and, through their conversations and a series of well-timed and well-presented flashbacks, we learn the secrets that plague this family and how they play out in the sisters' adult lives. Beam's script keeps us focused on the home and the nuances of family life while Katie Bellman's kitchen is a perfect left-over-from-the-80s, New England kitchen complete with light oak cabinetry and a giant, American style fridge. Unfortunately, the set is the strongest element of this production, even though Dilek Rose, as Abra, and Lou Broadbent, Samara, do their best to wade through the script which goes from dull and uninteresting in the first act to wildly dramatic and unbelievable in the second. ...