ULWS 2019. Doolin, Ireland

I haven’t written about my second time at ULWS in Doolin. If you recall, I gushed about the first visit here. I was elated! Simply re-reading that post takes me back to the magic of that first visit. While it is true that no two visits can ever be the same, the reason I haven’t written about the second time is because it’s hard for me to distinguish the value of ULWS, from the village of Doolin, Hotel Doolin, and most importantly, my friendships in Ireland. They all become one universe and that, my friends, is not a blog post, but an entire book. 

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Therefore, without further ado…

…I have decided to break that gigantic blog post into three digestible posts:  where I discuss my friendships, the last decade (Happy New Year, by the way!), and the second ULWS experience. 

I would like to begin with the last one: this post is about my second time at University of Limerick’s Winter School which was held in Doolin in December 2019. I state this so you can stop reading now, if this doesn’t interest you. Also, I wrote this post as much for myself as for anyone else who might be interested.

I am about 60,000 words into the first draft of my novel. In fact, I have just spent the entire month of January revising and I am about to fill in plot holes and fix narrative structure issues, which will bring me to draft two at 90,000 to 120,000 words, give or take. Then I need to step away from it for a month. Then comes another draft. Then another, very likely.

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In October of 2018 I couldn’t have imagined uttering any of the aforementioned sentences, at least not as they apply to me. Everything changed for me because of ULWS. I think it’s essential to note that there were some things that were offered the first time that didn’t “click” for me until I attended the second time. You don’t have to return consecutively like I did, but if you have been once, I recommend returning another time. 

But before I continue, I would like to share an analogy that will put the rest of this post in context. 

My brother Z (this is one of my less imaginative terms of endearment for him), is better known as Yogi Zain. He is a gifted yoga teacher and practitioner, both in and out of the Iyengar community. He travels internationally and is truly remarkable.  In fact, he has removed the “Iyengar Certified” from his profile because often the very institutions that develop a person can also restrict growth. He is otherworldly. 

Zain and I both practice with his mentor teacher, the one and only, Carrie Owerko, when she comes to her home state, New Mexico, in December. Even if Zain can’t attend, I go, but Zain and I have practiced together with her twice now. And I go every December since we have moved here. 

This time when we attended the workshops, it was different. Well, for one, because Zain was in a different place professionally, and for me, due to a lack of a regular practice, there were poses that wore me out faster than previous years. It’s okay to rest. Carrie always reminds us of that. And so, in the moments I was resting, and Zain was expanding like a star on some other horizon, I took his photos, I filmed Carrie giving instructions, and I also relished the stillness, the pause, which comes between poses. 

By the third day of the weekend workshop, I concluded that this one woman hadn’t done any poses the entire workshop but had just hung out or sat on a bolster or rested her back against the wall. Finally, a moment allowed a short exchange, and as I had correctly assumed, she had had an injury, some back issue, which didn’t allow her to practice. Now, I found that interesting. Why come at all? Some injuries allow us to practice a little, some allow us minimal movement, and other injuries, the kind she was describing, one has to rest completely. She said she just wanted to be in the space of yoga, to be around Carrie, and say that she attended. 

I couldn’t relate but there she was all the same.

When I am in a yoga setting with my brother, I can get a little impatient. Many are star struck, everyone turns into his friend, everyone knows of him. So, I get to be the older sister who is waiting around for a chat to be over, so we can get going. People want a selfie with Carrie; people want a selfie with Yogi Z. Oh, there is someone who also wants his sister to be included—don’t we look alike?! During this process, I overheard some interesting exchanges.

I was surprised by how many people just wanted to be in the same space as Carrie compared to how many were there to learn from Carrie, who is so playful, wise, and generous. Some were there because Z was going to be there. At the end of the workshop, suffice it to say, that people got different things out of it because they had come for different reasons, and some literally did nothing. And believe it or not—because this is yoga in USA—there are always one to three people who have a complaint. Too hot. Why aren’t we chanting? Why not that pose?

There’s always that one person. 

When I attend a Carrie Owerko yoga workshop, I know exactly what I will get out of it, including the unexpected, because like any solid professional, she too is committed to her own growth. I also know that others’ expectations or disappointments will not interfere with my learning. They can come take a photo with Carrie and I can practice movement through my body. They can rest in the same space as Carrie and I get to experience how my “eyeballs are like my brain but hanging outside the skull”. 

There are other yoga workshops I have attended and it’s not the same, not because the instructor is bad or I didn’t get anything out of it, but because the person in charge is trying to appease all the different reasons people are there. It’s fractured energy and one doesn’t get enough out of such an experience. 

I share the aforementioned because a writing retreat / residency/ workshop/festival is no different. Some people are there to make new friends, some people are hoping to network, some people want to name-drop (they don’t even want to climb a literary ladder—they just want someone to know they know someone), and some are there to actually learn. And if in the process of this learning friendships are made, even better.

What makes ULWS unique?

The energy of everyone present at ULWS is…if I had to pick one word: committed. Committed to the craft. Committed to caring. Committed to growing. Committed to literature (regardless of the genre). Committed to learning. Committed to inclusion (despite differences in opinions). Committed to camaraderie. I have never experienced this in the U.S. (I can’t attest to other literary festivals and workshops in Ireland–I am sure there are good and better ones depending on who is there and why you are there). But my lens, for better or worse, is American.

In the U.S., sure, people want to create new drafts, they want feedback, they want to connect, they want to make friends or just be social (those two are different things, which I will be addressing in detail in the other post). But to bring so many dedicated people, not just from Ireland, but many different countries, in one place and have them all leave after a week together with a commitment to an unspoken fellowship is uncanny. This idea of winter school was spearheaded by a very gifted author who is an equally amazing professor, Sarah Moore Fitzgerald, and it would not have been possible without Professor Eoin Devereux, human extraordinaire. Most importantly, what makes ULWS so unique is how affordable it is despite some very prominent professionals from the industry who are there to facilitate sessions, lead workshops, provide feedback, answer questions and remind you that they are human. Donal Ryan, Martin Dyar, Kit de Waal, Jo Unwin, Helen Thomas, Paula McGrath just to name few of the generous beings who were there in 2019.

In December of 2018 after my first session at ULWS, I truly began the first draft, although I did have scenes and a rough outline prior to attending. But it was like I had been making spirals. Luckily, the spirals connected, or anything I had done in 2018 related to the novel would have been awash. 

When I returned in 2019, I couldn’t believe the progress I had made, and this happened much in part thanks to the community that has continued since then. Small examples: Olivia and Cat shared with us in 2018 that they talked every week to hold one another accountable. And to be there for one another in those moments when the writing is not happening because of living one’s life. Others shared their writing groups, some had more than one.

I didn’t have any such thing here in U.S. and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Firstly, when I lived in New York City, my life was consumed with teaching or law. Secondly, although I watched independent films and bought books from independent stores, it never occurred to me that I could ever have access to the literary culture there. Looking back on it, I wouldn’t have fit in anyway, but what I am trying to express is that participating as an artist myself wasn’t even a part of my reality despite supporting independent music and art when I lived there. The only similarity between then and now is that I was a reader then, I am a reader now. When we relocated to New Mexico, I attended two affordable workshops here with established poets and authors, but it just didn’t click.

I always, always, always, feel like I know more. This is not to say that I don’t have room to learn (clearly, ULWS presented a huge learning curve for me), but I read a lot. Online, off-line, digital, print, history, science, Reader’s Digest, small independent publishers, the big ones, poetry pamphlets, non-fiction, genre, literary, reviews, criticisms, religious texts–I read a lot. And it’s not for reviews, blog posts, or as part of my job. And because I teach, I come across all sorts of trends and students’ reactions to the trends. And because I teach, I re-read a lot. I will share something with students I taught five years ago or a student is reading something I read ten years ago. If I were to state the biggest difference between U.S. and Ireland experiences it would be that we are not a country of readers (anymore?). And if we are, reading is a performance. In our schools, it’s measured by standardized tests, and as adults, it’s for those who work in academia (and sometimes they are more ignorant than non-readers!).

So, whenever I have attended anything in the hopes of learning in U.S., I end up facilitating the learning. At ULWS, I was so overwhelmed by how others there read even more than me! They named books (old and new) that I had never even heard of. I felt I would need another lifetime to catch up to everyone present in 2018. I had to constantly remind myself that I had applied and I was selected and I too belonged there.

After leaving in 2018, almost all of us checked-in monthly via e-mail and Aisling and I started checking in via weekly phone calls. The phone calls were short (initially!) and mostly about our weekly setbacks and weekly goals. To date, Aisling and I have only not talked twice in a year. And she works, is a mom of three beautiful intelligent children and is married to a wonderful man. The whole family is very dear to me. And I am equally busy as her and we have that lovely time difference to contend with, and yet we talk every Sunday. And there are others with whom I communicate via e-mails and What’s App as well. Everyone checks in as and when they can, but it’s never too long before connecting.

In 2019 we all came together for a mini-reunion in Limerick, Ireland. I had to be in Oxford to finish Bread Loaf prior to that so it worked out seamlessly. Well, not without tremendous planning, but it worked out. This experience really solidified for all of us what we all had been feeling since 2018: our coming together was nothing short of extraordinary. We were not just a community, we were a collective.

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We felt it, but now we knew it. So, when we returned for the second time in 2019 (those of us who could), it was like coming together to see family.

What you get out of ULWS is:

• Substantial progress on a particular piece of work.

I had an almost completed draft from the first time to the second time. This happened very much thanks to the community created from the first visit. What I am able to accomplish now in 2020 is thanks to a document Kit de Waal‘s shared about her editing process. It’s GOLD! She shared this in 2018 but I just wasn’t ready for it. But she presented it in a manner then, that I felt I would one day be ready for it. So when she presented an updated version of editing and revising, so many things became clear for me that hadn’t the first time. Moreover, I didn’t talk to her the first time, other than being polite. When people are already being so generous, I don’t like to bother them with non-essential questions. I just didn’t even have the kind of questions I did this time. This time, I asked her the word count of her latest middle-grade novel, and when she replied, I knew what that meant for mine.

What you get out of ULWS is:

• Strengthening your network of peers and mentors.

The first time I brought one of my Spirals (that’s what I am calling that draft) I felt so overwhelmed that I didn’t read fiction on the night we were all to read our pieces, but an extract from a non-fiction piece I had been working on. The mentors there encouraged me to submit what I had read. They told me I had a unique voice but it wasn’t the praise alone. These people were established in their fields, they read a lot, and they weren’t offering me a leg up or their contacts, but congratulating me as their peer, as if I was already on their level. Submitting that essay, I did on my own. When two journals said, great writing, would love for you to submit something else to us soon but this is not for us, my ULWS writing family was there to share their stories and encourage. They were also there when it got accepted by The Fiddlehead for more money than I ever imagined an unsolicited essay could earn.

What you get out of ULWS is:

• Stronger sense of how you might pitch, develop and publish your work into the future.

There is much misinformation on Twitter and the Internet in general so I don’t even know where to begin dismantling the mess that is social media. And not all of it is misguided on purpose, but there is just too much out there; it’s hard to know what applies to you versus someone else. What are the rules? What are the exceptions?  I am indebted to agent Jo Unwin; in 2019 she helped me see that even if a novel was a coming of age story (which I didn’t know until I blabbered completely otherwise to her), it didn’t have to be for middle grade or for young adults. Knowing my 5 minute pitch guided what I did in 2019. And it all happened because we were playing a fun pitching game! 

End of 2019, I actually had the chance to meet one-on-one with her and her feedback was helpful, honest and encouraging. And it’s Jo Unwin. To say I wasn’t nervous, is lying. Also, she bears an astonishing resemblance to my non-biological auntie in California (despite being of Indian descent, she always had dyed blond hair ever since she became part of our family), who passed away in 2019. Untimely and complicated death. She was a gifted performer. The mannerisms, the smile, the humor, the style, the similarities are many. Of course, I didn’t tell Jo Unwin any of this, but what I mean to say is that, I was very happy just seeing her around regardless of my interactions with her.

Also, my session with Helen Thomas, deserves a separate post. She helped me understand myself in a way that I wasn’t expecting and it shifted everything for me in 2019. In short, she helped me see why I would return the second time. I knew I had to, but why? That essentially, I am the person in Carrie Owerko’s yoga class who wants to experience yoga and expand my understanding of myself in relation to my mind and body. That I loved being at ULWS because I felt I truly could be myself. I didn’t have to be some hyphenated-America; I didn’t have to explain my skin color, my last name, my academic degrees, or how hard teaching is, or why I wrote what I did. To be able to experience the most authentic version of yourself–that’s beyond empowering; it’s celestial.

What you get out of ULWS is:

• Greater self-awareness, self-care, self-confidence.

Now this part is a bit trickier to reflect on, because this is where that friendship component kicks in, the one I would like to share in an upcoming post. That November of 2018 visit was some cosmic magic. It’s like all of us there found our long lost tribe. Many of these friends have their writer’s groups already, are accomplished writers, some have agents, some have won prestigious awards, and all of us have families and other friends we cherish, but it was like we were all looking for one another. Seeing myself through their eyes, provided me a greater self-awareness. I also realized that I needed to make an effort for self-care that didn’t include writing—writing is work, hard work, it isn’t my “time off” when not teaching. I needed to have rested or done whatever I needed to do as part of self-care—so I could write too. I left having exorcised my imposter syndrome. I mean, if someone like Donal Ryan , longlisted for the Booker, has periods when he hasn’t written in a month or three because of other life obligations, I can be kinder to myself too. This is not to say that every piece I write I feel great about. In fact, it is the other way around: because of what I have learned at ULWS, I am even more critical of what I write, but I am still confident about being a writer. 

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What you get out of ULWS is:

• Time and head space for nourishing your creativity.

Now, this one, to be honest, was not the same for me as for others. What does nourishing your creativity look like? It will be different for everyone. For some people it is joining others during a meal, having a chat, and then locking themselves in a room to write. For others, it would be mingling and making new friends. Maybe for others, it would be reaching a certain word count in a week. The first time for me, in 2018, was hearing my voice clearly and hearing it reflected back through the people who would become my second family. I know many who got a ton of writing done. I didn’t the first time because I was just so in awe of everything that was happening. And I was learning so much so fast that it was just overload in many ways. The second time, I definitely did more ironing out of the plot points. I did write one short story. And this is despite being sick for a day and half. 

You should go to ULWS: 

“to remind yourself of the reasons you have written in the past and of the reasons you want to keep writing; to connect with your creative self, to support yourself and others in an endeavor that can feel lonely and tiring, to learn (or relearn) how to write with pleasure and success; to define success in a range of important ways.” 

On the opening night Sarah had the following on the slides, “You deserve to be here. You have done the most important thing: a year from now you’ll be so glad you made this commitment – who knows by then what you will have achieved.”

Do I wish I had found this program earlier in my life? Yes. Do I wish something like this was available in the U.S.? Of course. I know people who claim that that’s why they go to an MFA program—to network, to reach the gatekeepers, to find a community, to make friends—but many programs don’t deliver on that promise. Not to mention these programs, even the low-residency ones, come with a big price tag. Some do offer full scholarships. But here is what I know: post-MFA a person has a book, some have an agent, maybe they got a by-line in a known journal, maybe reviews, and they teach writing somewhere. And I think that is fantastic, IF that’s what you want out of a writing life. That’s not my relationship to writing. An MFA can be looked upon as a business investment in oneself, an investment in a passion, but that never felt right to or for me. Now, had I known about some programs available in Ireland, Scotland, or England, I would have gone to any one of the programs right after finishing college. But I didn’t. Knowledge is a privilege and I just didn’t come from a culture where people “did” such things. I grew up with parents who were readers and encouraged reading but becoming a professional writer was just never a consideration. No different than becoming an astronaut for NASA. Other people did that. How? No one I knew knew. 

Well, it’s February. I have 29 days for Draft 2. Aisling just texted asking if I m done writing this post already!

How does one go about creating a Draft 2? Aisling told me how she did it. If that doesn’t work out for me, I can reach out to any one from ULWS tribe, and they will share their experiences to help me. For a girl who dreamed of exploring space without knowing how others did that, having the ULWS collective is as good as being part of NASA.