In a guidebook for coordinators of this year’s National Heritage Week, the recommendation is made to “Investigate a deserted path”. By coincidence, during my address at an event held in Sligo for these coordinators, that’s exactly what I undertook. This might not have been in the spirit dreamed of by the manual, as it was accompanied by a twinge of conscience.
The path I investigated resides in the name of a book I pledged to compose more than a decade ago. This venture unfortunately never came to fruition due to various circumstances. A large UK-based publisher commissioned the work, and their cordial Irish editor convinced me over time, achieved over chats accompanied by coffee and rounds of Guinness when he made his occasional trips back to Ireland.
He stated that the book would be centred around Ireland – more specifically, the areas outside of Dublin, since he believed these were locations British audiences found unfamiliar. He thought I could relate to this subject with ease. He suggested it could mirror the style of An Irishman’s Diary, but with a unified theme rather than a series of unrelated articles, possibly a travelogue or something with less formality.
Upon agreeing in essence to the project, I deliberated it for a period and proposed a working title: “From Sky Road to Hell Street”. These are real locations I had composed pieces about in the past. Sky Road is known for the breath-taking coastal views it offers in the western region of Ireland. Hell Street, on the other hand, is the antique reference for a now-forgotten lane in my idyllic northeast homeland, notorious for a particularly grim event in its history.
The title suggests not just geographical distinctions if a travelogue were the aim, but also ethical opposites for a more emotive angle. Among the drawbacks was the impression of a journey from west to east, which contradicts tradition. At least in Ireland and the US, the course is typically westward in self-discovery.
The book would likely have been an assemblage of stand-alone musings, either comedic or sorrowful, on the topic of Irish countryside living, loosely tied together under the concept of roads or directional signs. Regardless, while still pondering the subtitle – a significant aspect – I end up contracting to write the book and received a substantial part of the advance upfront.
Regrettably, my Irish colleague departed the publication firm due to creative conflicts and subsequently joined another organisation. He revealed this situation expressing regret, speculating on two potential outcomes: either his previous employers would assign a new editor to handle my account or, if they decided against continuing with the book, he would transfer the contract to his new publisher.
While awaiting news about my new supervisor from London, I continued focusing on my day-to-day column writing and life’s myriad other preoccupations, child upbringing being one, which initially made me hesitant to finalise a contract.
However, the wait turned indefinite—so much so that years went by, and the company never instated a new editor. The corporate computer system was aware of my existence, seeing as I would receive an annual invitation to a garden party to mingle with other authors. The allure to attend was always there, but I never took the step. Meanwhile, the long-spent advance kept haunting me.
A couple of years back, I finally decided to draft a letter to the publishers, introducing myself as an unknown entity followed by a proposal to scrap the contract and reimburse the money. This was met with acceptance, and perhaps an element of surprise. The incident led their former editor, my friend, to joke that the refund cheque would probably be displayed in their office as the first-ever advance returned.
Despite this series of events, I haven’t completely abandoned the initiative. In a rather peaceful column week, I found myself curious about a peculiarly named town in Offaly while pondering over the theme of roads. To my surprise, I discovered that Rhode, in spite of its foreign appeal, is simply an anglicisation of the ancient Irish word ‘ród’, which translates to – ‘road’. As an extension of this curiosity, I made my inaugural visit to Rhode to explore its nearby roads and lanes, a term known in Hiberno-English as ‘rodeens’, also a moniker for several Irish districts.
Indeed, I’ve crafted a column from it all. In doing so, I’ve also sowed the seeds for a potential chapter of the long-stagnant book, should it somehow come to fruition. Not only does the title imply a start and a conclusion, but I now have a probable midpoint as well. Maybe, the outstanding 90 per cent of the voyage will gradually come together.
Now, where was I? Ah, correct, I was in Sligo, conducting a lecture for coordinators of the National Heritage Week. The concept for this year is “Connections, Routes, and Networks”, and the event is scheduled from the 17th to the 25th of August.