2000 word Bio from my Fiction Course!

I’m almost certain my first clear memory is of my mother violently throwing me through the open front door of our old terraced house. It was a life saving measure that moved me away from the deadly fire fight that had engulfed Crocus Street, just off the Falls Road. The IRA had opened fire on the British Army barracks that was built in the middle of the street parallel to ours. They had both since taken up positions at either end of our street; it was carnage. I remember our neighbours diving under cars and in through doors to safety. Some people were not lucky enough and either perished or were maimed.

The memory that sticks out the most is my mother scampering up the hall with me in her grip. We made it to the kitchen at the back of the house where she sat on the floor, held me in her lap and cried uncontrollably. You can see why it’s a vivd memory, even for a three year old.

The houses on Violet Street had not seen sunshine since that barracks was built right in the middle of the road. The residents had endured over fifty years of darkness on Violet Street.

All the streets in our area were named after flowers or trees. We lived on Crocus Street, my mother was from Iris Drive and we had friends in Hawthorn Street. But it was far from a Rose Garden.

Growing up in West Belfast in the eighties was never going to be an easy thing to deal with. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be enjoyable. A fierce sense of community and a strong will to survive tough times are something that I will carry with me forever. Everyone was facing the same fight and all were willing to go down swinging.

I was raised around proud and strong people. My respect for women is born out of the strength shown by the women around me as a child. My unwillingness to be kept down is directly related to the men I saw struggle to find work while facing a never ending fight to protect their families. Many took up arms and perished. Others took to a more civilian approach, but perished non the less.

My childhood memories are of The Daisy nursery school. The Daisy was an old hut just off Cavendish Street. It was in an alley way behind some railings; I loved the place. They had one of those big rugs that have roads and roundabouts on them. I was besotted with it. I am 31 and now own one of those rugs.

From The Daisy I moved to St Finians Primary School on the lower Falls Road. Next door was Sinn Fein headquarters. The school was run by the Christian Brothers; the military wing of the Catholic Church. I never liked school but I always enjoyed the people I went there with.

My first real friend was Liam Morrison, son of Sinn Fein councillor and writer Danny Morrison. Liam was a wee bit wired, but we were great mates. Looking back I get the feeling that Liam was in some way different to anyone else at school. He was hyper and always in trouble. I am nearly sure his schooling would be different today.

I discovered reading when I was young. My mother is a big reader and at school we had book fairs. We could rarely afford for me to buy anything from the fair so I was thankful that the Falls Library was so close to my house. I am still a member of that library although I live over 100 miles away.

My mother would take me to Delaneys second hand book shop on the Springfield Road. Delaneys was pretty much a second everything shop. They sold everything from books to buttons and bows. It was in shops like this that I developed a love for Sherlock Holmes.

I became consumed by the description of the story on the back of Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. Here was a detective with incredible powers of perception and flaws that haunted him. Even though I was beyond my years with the language used in these books, I still managed to enjoy reading them cover to cover. I find it hard to pass any second hand book shop now. It’s the search and discovery of a good read that makes them so appealing. You can always win in a second hand book shop.

By the time I joined the Christian Brothers Secondary on the Glen Road we had been living in the Andersonstown area for two years. We’d bid farewell to our terraced house and we now had a semi detached in a tree lined estate. More importantly, we had a garden. Correction, we had two; front and back. I missed the old house and my friends but this area was a lot more peaceful. I was convinced nothing happened in this area only 2 miles from Crocus Street. This was a haven. That was until a series of grenades exploded behind our house and the surrounding area became even more dangerous than the Falls. The conflict escalated. There was no hiding from it; there never had been. It was easy to slip into a world of your own and that’s what I did.

In a time like the troubles things like art and entertainment took a back seat to survival. There was little music in my home growing up but I still developed a love of music, film and literature. The only way to block out a lot of the devastation that was so close at hand was to imagine you were somewhere else. Films made you aware of a life in places beyond West Belfast and the music would soundtrack your journey. I read books because I knew if I didn’t I’d be a boring person in my own company. I considered all the above a survival technique.

I left secondary school unscathed and entered in to a media course. The Springvale College media skills course was the first of it’s kind. An NVQ in media training that would lead to university. No one told us that the college would not be able to give us the accreditation. After two years of study they let us in on that secret and we left with something that was not worth your while putting on a CV. This disaster lead to the dole queue.

My mother always tried put a good work ethic in me. I had my first job at 11 years old delivering the Andersonstown News. At 16 I worked in Curleys Supermarket Warehouse while going to college. After college fell apart I spent 6 months on the dole before getting a job in Shorts Brothers Aerospace where my father worked. The job was good, paid well and had good hours. Although the factory was situated next to the biggest loyalist housing estate in Belfast, I had few problems.

Three years later and at the end of a relationship that had long run it’s course I set off for America aged 21. New York would be the place I did a large part of my growing up. My memories of a place I called home for over 3 years still keep me entertained at night. I’ll always love New York different from the other places I have lived.

On a 4 week holiday from work and with my 2 weeks notice left with my father to submit, should I find work in America, I moved to Jackson Street in the Williamsburgh area of Brooklyn. Living with a friend of a friend I found work labouring on a building site in Manhattan. That, coupled with a party lifestyle, was my American dream. After the work dried up I moved to Florida.

I joined my sister in Fort Lauderdale, lapped up the sun, learned how to bar-tend, met some truly great people and found the woman that was to be my wife.

After 8 weeks together myself and my future spouse were living in a bungalow in the North East Bronx. In between, we had partied in Florida, lost contact as we both moved separately to New York and I had been stabbed by the room mate of a friend who’d given me a couch to crash on. Quite an eventful 8 weeks. From the minute we moved in together we had a feeling we would stick together; we were instant friends; it was a just a solid bond we seemed to naturally have.

Every Tuesday we would go for a drink in Arthur Daly’s pub and chat for hours. It was there that I told her about the songs I’d been writing. Being New York there were hundreds of places for songwriters to feature their stuff and it was she that persuaded me to seek out an open mic night and give it a go. I did and within 4 months I had signed with a small production company that would record my material and later have me showcase for the biggest record labels in the world. It all came too soon. Still, it was proof that I had some sort of spark that caught the imagination of people.

After an unsuccessful tour of the record labels, things leveled out. The production company was having difficulty and this played a big part in the failure to secure a deal. Things turned sour and we parted company. Not long after 9/11 happened all the residents of New York felt the after shock, especially the immigrants. It was time to leave.

With a plan in place to travel Europe we sold everything and headed to Ireland. We discovered pretty quickly that we were expecting a baby and the plans for travel had to be scrapped. We moved in with my partner’s father and celebrated the birth of our first daughter. A joyous time that was soon followed by some tough tests.

I have always wanted to express myself artistically and have always put pen to paper when the mood grabbed me. Since I was 12 I dreamed of a life developing ideas. But, at 24 and with a small family these dreams had to be put on the back burner. Again survival was to be my main focus. I’ve always prided myself on never shirking my responsibilities and this would be the ultimate test.

Taking on shift pattern industrial work while trying to maintain an artistic outlet became too much and I developed depression. With an amazing and truly supportive woman behind me I conquered the illness and climbed out of a dark hole. But for her and our family I would have sunk unnoticed.

The weekend party that was our wedding was the greatest time we have shared with our families. It was a victory celebration more than a wedding. Through all that we had endured - some of which I have not mentioned - we had held on to each other and never changed from the people we were the night we met.

This life fits, challenges and amazes me. With her encouragement I took on a writing course, though I have never considered myself a writer. Sitting here at my desk I now realise that the stack of filled note pads next to me say otherwise. I’ve been adding to those note pads since I was 19. Maybe I have always been a writer, and only now do I understand and truly believe in it.

Writing used to be cathartic for me, but then I got bored of myself. Now I want to expand what I write about. I now notice that any songs I write have stories built in to them and go on forever.

The idea that I could create something people will read and enjoy drives me to keep trying.