Sunday morning was spent wandering around town saying goodbye. Knowing that I would never experience PTown again as a first-timer falling in love with the energy that is Women’s Week, but hoping that I would make it back and enjoy it as much, even if in a different way.

I had planned to leave PTown by bus on Sunday morning to make the 4-hour journey back to Logan Airport for my 9 p.m. flight back to Dublin, but during the week I’d received the offer of a lift from a lovely woman who was dropping her friend off there for a Sunday night flight. On Saturday night, I didn’t really want to leave early Sunday morning and the thought of the long ride to Boston in traffic was not appealing. Lauren and Tina and her parents encouraged me to book a flight on the tiny puddle jumper on which they were flying the next afternoon at 3 p.m. What could be easier, they said. A fifteen minute scenic hop across the ocean, straight to Logan Airport. Repeated mentions of my terror of flying sounded hollow, after all the little challenges I had set myself for the week and mostly all accomplished. So I booked the flight early in the morning and resigned myself to another new experience.

Can a plane BE any smaller..?

My nerves were starting up again through the packing, the taxi ride with the others, seeing the tiny 10-seater plane for the first time, the security checks, and being separated from all my baggage as the plane was too small for us to take on carry-on luggage. As we walked the tarmac to the smallest plane I had ever been near, I was told I had to sit in the co-pilot seat. They seemed to be balancing the plane out in terms of weight. This, to a person who can’t even comfortably put her feet on the floor in a full-size commercial jet in case she ‘un-balances’ the plane, was just one step too far. My new-found courage melted and I’m not too ashamed to say I begged. Tina’s mum stepped up, all excited to co-pilot the plane. I crawled sheepishly into the seat behind her. Lauren sat at the back of the plane and Tina sat behind the pilot. I didn’t remember until the middle of the flight that Tina was afraid of flying too, and Lauren, the calm one who enjoyed flying, was way back at the end (or as way back as you can get in a 10-seater).

Tina taking photos, I’m the frozen one on her right

As we readied for takeoff, the pilot appeared to be reading the manual on how to fly the thing. Or that’s what it looked like to me, he seemed unsure and a little fidgety, and it seemed to take a lot of revving to get the plane to taxi down the runway and lift off the ground. I took comfort from the calmness of the other passengers. I’ve always been relatively fine during landings as I could see the ground and the flights were over, so this time, as we could see the ground(sea) the whole flight, and we could see the skyline of Boston for most of the 15-minute flight, I was actually fine. Apart from the one time an orange light flashed on the dashboard and an alarm sounded briefly seeming to startle the pilot. There is something to that saying, ‘feel your fear and do it anyway’, though there is a time and a place and I would not have been able for this flight a week earlier.

Biting my nails at the start

Managing a smile in the middle

So glad to be on solid ground at the end

Lauren and Tina and her parents hung out at the airport and we ate pizza and chatted. I was sorry to part ways with them, but we had to too soon as their flight was leaving a lot earlier than mine. I wandered to the right terminal and settled in to wait for my flight to Dublin, sad to leave, but anxious to get home. The time passed quicker as I ended up chatting at the gate to I. Beecham who was on the same flight to Dublin on her way back to the UK. I think I might actually have slept on the flight home, exhaustion and my experiences in PTown making me a slightly different person compared to the terrified one who flew out just the week before.

After it all, Home is where I get to cuddle Clio.

Home, and Clio would not let me out of her sight

As far as the reason I went to PTown in the first place – as an author and to network – I found it difficult to relax and just enjoy all the readings while I was also a part of the events and while I was fulfilling my promise to take part in every possible minute of PTown Women’s Week. I couldn’t slip comfortably back into the role of a reader as there was so much going on in me and around me. Therefore, I probably did not absorb or learn as much about the lesbian fiction scene as I should have. Despite being an author and reading on the panels, I was still in awe of the established authors and didn’t take the chance to talk properly with them and ask them the questions I wanted to. I spent more time with the performers, observing them and asking myself questions about their capacity to bare their souls on stage, their support for each other, their obligation to be known, yet remain private.

For many reasons, the experience changed me and was well worth the trip. I discovered that fear has kept me from being the person I can be, from reaching out and from experiencing a lot more that life has to offer. It was wonderful to rediscover the me that people enjoyed meeting.

I know that PTown is a bubble and that the ‘real’ world outside can be a bit of a shock back to reality. Being able to walk down a street where being gay or lesbian was the norm, feeling equal, normal, a part instead of apart, is an experience that I wish I could have every day, until it becomes my ‘normal’, inside me as well as outside. I don’t know how long that will take, but until it happens where I live, I hope to get away and feel it again in Provincetown in 2014, and 2015, and so on. I may not be able to experience that ‘normality’ again, but I can take the feeling with me and I have the memories.

Most importantly, I will have the new friends I made there. A gang of us are already planning our next trip somewhere, and I can’t wait.

On Saturday morning I traipsed Commercial Street, on one of the few occasions when I felt alone there, as though I was obvious in my solitude and that was something to feel ashamed about. I spent a while sitting on a bench looking out at the ocean and tried to write. I managed a few passages, but I knew I didn’t want to spend my little remaining time in a way that I could when I was back at home, though I was soothed by the beautiful view of the ocean.

I cheered up as I enjoyed the last show by Kristen Becker (supported by Jami Smith), another pair of comediennes that I had seen around many times over the week. When I walked back onto the main street, I was lucky enough to bump into Kate McLachlan, Tonie, and their two friends and have lunch with them. We ate outdoors and chatted and it was another unexpected gift from the week. To get to spend time with them, to talk about where they lived, Kate’s work, my work, and the world of lesbian fiction reading in general.

Authors Kate McLachlan, Tonie Chacon McLachlan, and friends, Brenda and Klaire

I left them to try to find Joan Timberlake who had promised on Facebook to serenade me with her jazz band if I got up the nerve to book my flight. Now it should have been easy to spot a 10-piece lesbian jazz band you’d think, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. Thankfully, as I was walking around later, Joan and another band member walked by and proceeded to play to me right there on the street. And I got to hear them all ten of them playing on Sunday morning.

Getting serenaded on the streets of PTown by Joan Timberlake (with the white hat) and jazz band member.

Joan Timberlake and the full band on the Sunday morning

Saturday evening was a bit of a daze, rushing around, getting to see a few of the different musical acts at the UU Meeting Hall, and then the Drag-In with Jennie McNulty and Mimi Gonzales at the P.O. Cabaret for the wild adventures of Dirty Steve and Juan A. Nother (with guest appearances by Vicky Shaw and Jessica Kirson).

Another great show, shared this time with Lauren, Tina and Tina’s parents. And after to the Crown and Anchor for the Grand Finale Party and a late-night session of duck-throwing at P’Town Essentials, an altogether weird and wonderful end to the PTown nights out.

Next, the end of a great week and flying through fear

I was now almost dreading the Friday reading. I knew there were going to be more people there as there were established authors on the 6-author panel. And Mimi Gonzalez had mentioned it in her show. I woke up at 6 a.m. and changed the reading. Then changed it again. Practised it, checked the timing. Finally I found a section of Falling Colours that fit into the five minutes I knew we would be kept to in this reading. I decided to use the minute of intro time I had to thank Mimi Gonzalez for what she had done for me, for my confidence, for her support of others. The morning passed in a flurry of preparation. I attended the reading that was held just before ours. Excellent readings, though erotica read aloud in public at 10 a.m. in the morning was a bit unsettling. The room emptied and then gradually filled up again as the time grew near. I saw Mimi arrive, slightly the worse for wear after the Idol show and after party, trying to hide at the back of the room.

Mimi Gonzalez, me, and Liz Bradbury just before the readings started

I sat on the high stools at the top of the room with Liz Bradbury, Joan Timberlake (who had promised earlier to serenade me with her saxophone playing), Melissa Brayden, Susan X. Meagher, and Barbara Sawyer.

Susan X. Meagher, Melissa Brayden, Joan Timberlake, Liz Bradbury, Barbara Sawyer, and me. Mercedes Lewis at the podium

I was reading first and I spent the first minute talking about the show the evening before and thanking Mimi (and hopefully embarrassing her just a little) and the last few minutes reading quickly through the section in Falling Colours. I’m not sure how it came across to the audience, but it did feel rushed and a little distracted to me. All the authors read in the five minutes allocated to them, but there was no time for the discussion afterwards that we had enjoyed in the reading panel the day before.

Fran and Lucy getting a signed copy after the reading

The audience was supportive and after the panel, I again experienced the wonder that comes with being asked to sign a book that readers had just bought, especially as they were now friends too.

Womenscraft

Liz Bradbury and I signed books at Womenscraft, and while Liz bemoans the fact that she didn’t think of the hug for booklet exchange idea, I now bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t thought of her idea to give away those tickets at the readings.

Book signing at Womenscraft with Liz Bradbury

There was a queue to exchange the tickets for her booklet and signing, and I twiddled my thumbs beside her at the table until some customers thankfully took pity on me and asked me who I was. I had run out of booklets so I signed business cards and chatted with them.

I was determined to pay it forward and after the signings, Liz and Trish and I decided to go to see Mimi’s show. We were joined by Lauren and Tina. This time, I was more relaxed and able to just enjoy the high-energy comic craziness. And after watching Karen Williams emceeing the Idol show, I had to go to her show, which was another excellent one. She was warm and funny and was about to use me as material, along with Gladys and Anne, but decided to be gentle on me and let me away with my dignity intact.

I got to hang out with Lauran and Tina and Michelle and Nancy at the party later that night. And with Tina’s parents, who didn’t officially know about them. I’m hoping this blog isn’t what informs them, but I think I’m safe to assume that a week at Women’s Week in Provincetown meeting a lot of lesbians, lesbian authors, and lesbian comediennes, might just have done the trick already.

I love stand-up comedy. I watch the UK comics, mostly male, on the comedy channels. I hadn’t heard of many female comics and only one or two of the lesbian comics By now, I had been to a lot of the comics’ shows in Provincetown, yet I still hadn’t seen Suzanne Westenhoeffer’s. I’d heard she was on crutches after an accident. In all the years in Ireland since listening to her tape, I’d never had a chance to actually see her live. For some reason, it became a big deal to me to get to see her show before the week was over. I finally managed it on Friday night. Rushed home to change after Karen Williams’ show and got to the venue a little late. I was let in through the back door and passed a blonde woman sitting on a stool who made a motion with her hand as I walked by. So I stopped and tried to hand her my ticket. Yes, it was Suzanne Westenhoeffer. She just looked at me in horror and said ‘Oh no!’. Now thoroughly embarrassed, I made my way through all the couples and sat by myself a few rows from the front. Suzanne was in a body cast of sorts and had to do the show while sitting on a chair on the stage. She was funny, yet I have to say I was left with a slight bitter taste in my mouth after her show, one I didn’t have with any of the other shows, even the one in which I was teased mercilessly by Mimi Gonzalez. Suzanne Westenhoeffer may have been one of my idols before PTown, but I’m glad I got introduced to some incredibly funny, generous, warm-hearted comediennes I had the luck to see, like Mimi Gonzalez, Jessica Kirson, Karen Williams, Kristen Becker, Jami Smith, who with others like Kate Clinton, Jenny McNulty, Vickie Shaw, Poppy Champlin, made the week so much more fun than I had ever expected.

Next, lovely lunches, being serenaded, and throwing ducks

Thursday dawned and I accepted the fact that I was reading in Provincetown, to readers and other authors. I was happy with the section of the Falling Colours I’d chosen, though vaguely worried about what to read on the second panel on Friday. On my way, I dropped in to the Breakfast readings at the Napi Restaurant where Lynn Ames, Laurie Selzer, Rachel Spangler, Melissa Brayden, and Marianne K. Martin were reading. I was disappointed at not getting to hear Lynn Ames or Laurie Selzer as they were on last and I had to rush to the Sage for my own reading, but suffice it to say I felt even more nervous and inadequate after hearing the others read.

I finally got to meet Liz Bradbury as she and her partner, Trish, had arrived late the night before. She is an indie like me, but her energy is that of a whole publishing company. Trish had handed out all their 250 business cards by some time that day and Liz was offering free books at our Womenscraft signing to those who collected little orange tickets at her reading.

Perched on the high stools with Kate McLachlan and Andrea Bramhall, and being inspected by timekeeper Nikki Busch.

What was supposed to be a five-minute reading on the Thursday morning panel with four other authors became a 7-minute reading and a chat afterwards, as one author didn’t turn up and another had moved panels. Mercedes remained calm as she marshalled Kate McLachlan, Andrea Bramhall, and me, and Nikki Busch went easy on us in the timing. Lucy and Fran had kindly agreed to use my phone to video the reading.

Reading on the Thursday, Lucy taping it on my phone

I enjoyed the experience of relaxing and just reading my words aloud to what seemed like a group of interested friends. While planning the trip, I’d printed out 10 booklets of a short story and had promised them to the first five women who came up to say hi to me after each reading. On the spur of the moment, looking out at the audience, especially at the friendly face of Tonie, Kate’s partner, I wanted some way to thank them for listening, for being supportive. I asked for a hug instead and the wonderful hugs I got were another highlight of my trip. And a surprise for me and for anyone who knows how shy and introverted I can be.

Hugs for Booklets 🙂

After my reading, I got to meet readers who were interested in getting signed copies of my book as well as those who had exchanged a hug for a booklet (which, in my opinion, had me coming out better in the deal).

There was another panel on straight after our panel reading on Thursday, but I was trying to stick to the activities I had promised myself I would attend. Of the three nights I’d been there, I still hadn’t gone to see Suzanne Westehoeffer, and I really wanted to take part in the Touch Football Classic hosted by Kate Clinton and featuring a lot of the women who were performing during Women’s Week.

The Kate Clinton Touch Football Classic featuring Kate Clinton, Vickie Shaw, Mimi Gonzalez, Jessica Kirson, Karen Williams, Jenny McNulty, Poppy Champlin

A team sport. The sun shining. A group of women who were playing for fun. Thanks to Mercedes for the offer of the facilities, I changed hastily into some vaguely sporty clothes, and raced across with Lucy and Fran to the grassy area where a sizeable crowd had already gathered.

The game had started and the performers were in full flow. I have to admit I chickened out here. At different stages, women were being called on to the field to participate, and I could have joined in, but I stopped myself each time the call went out.

Touch Football madness with the performers

Despite feeling a little let down at myself, I did have an excellent afternoon as, again, I witnessed the energy put into Women’s Week by the lesbian comediennes, Kate Clinton, Mimi Gonzalez, Jessica Kirson, Jenny McNulty, Karen Williams, Vicky Shaw, and the poor praying mantis, Poppy Champlin. I’d love to take part in a soccer game there, one in which the authors take on the comics.

I was starting on my more usual self-berating for my lack of courage as we wandered back to Commercial Street. Mercedes joined us, and we enjoyed the pizza giveaway in Twisted Sister, also hosted by Kate Clinton. I had my leaflets still in my rucksack and we stopped to watch and admire the interaction that Mimi Gonzalez was having with the people walking down the street. She was vibrant and funny and very persuasive. I wondered whether the people there knew there was a whole other subculture of lesbian fiction on the other side of town. The publishing companies had done a lot to promote their events, but many of the women I met did not know that this other world even existed. I got chatting to Mimi and she laughed with me at my timidity. Then she did something that changed me. She stuck my leaflet in her back pocket and proceeded to show me how it was done. I don’t know why seeing my face poking out of her jeans pocket as she proclaimed to everyone who could hear that I was an author who was reading the next day could have such an effect, but it did. As did the unselfish and supportive nature of her action. She epitomised what I had been thinking. We are not in competition and it can only help us all to bring attention to the different types of artists that are there, all baring their souls, just in different ways.

Lucy, Fran, and I went to Mimi’s show. She showed her generous nature again by giving the chance to a new comic to perform for the first ten minutes. I had the nagging feeling that I would be mentioned in Mimi’s act, and that made me nervous all over again. It was one thing to be brought to the attention of passers-by on the street, a whole other thing to be mentioned at a live show. I was hoping that if Mimi said anything about me, it would just be a polite reminder that there was a reading of fiction by an Irish-Indian author the next day. Now that was just stupid of me. You can’t just hand ammunition to a comic, especially one that is so quick off the mark, and expect to get away with a polite reminder.

Mimi spent the first half of her show that afternoon walking around the stage with my face still on her backside. I’m sure the audience were wondering what that was about and I grew more nervous by the minute. Finally, about half-way in, she took the leaflet out of her back pocket and looked at it. She then launched into a funny rendition of my ‘leafleting’ technique or lack of it. The only sticky point came when she used an Indian accent and the audience gasped and looked at me to see whether I minded. I couldn’t mind, after all, Mimi took off other accents and she was raising my author profile in a way I could never imagine. I was curious as to why the audience and I reacted the way we did, but I think now, with apologies to my Indian compatriots, that it is because the Indian accent can never be made sexy. No matter who speaks it. When she asked me to speak in an Irish accent, I found I couldn’t say a single word in an accent. Mine turned out to be a blend of nothing. Mimi finally got an Irish accent out of Fran and thankfully the show moved on. Not before, however, Mimi had read through the names of the other authors reading, had encouraged her audience to go to the reading, and had promised to be there herself.

I came out of the show in shock. And wandered in a daze after Fran and Lucy and Mercedes who wanted to attend the Bold Strokes Meet and Greet. I was uncomfortable about gatecrashing the party and tried to blend into the background, ending up on a couch chatting to readers about which author’s book to buy as a gift for Clio’s sitter. A very nice reader beside me turned out to be the partner of Kathy Knowles, a fellow VLR member and author, and we got to meet and compare notes. I can only blame my state of shell shock for forgetting that I was actually supposed to be at the Womenscraft Wine and Cheese party that was going on a few feet down the street. The less said about that the better, except a huge thank you to Kathryn and Womenscraft for their support of authors and I hope I made up for it the next day at the book signing.

I was now determined to see as many comics as possible. I still hadn’t got to Suzanne Westenhoeffer and the timing of her show was clashing with the other events I had planned to attend. I wanted to go to the Women’s Week Idol. Mercedes decided to perform in Idol and Jessica Kirson’s show was on just before it, so I went in, this time with Gladys and Anne. Jessica was incredibly funny, and I have to say that I haven’t laughed as hard in a long time as I did for the five minutes when she described her one-night stand from hell. We got out of the show to find that Idol was sold out. I ran around looking for spare tickets. Luckily, one was available and I got to attend the Idol show, an event that was the funniest, most entertaining of the whole week.

Women’s Week Idol madness – Kate Clinton, Mimi Gonzalez, Karen Williams, Vickie Shaw, Jessica Kirson, Jenny McNulty, and Suede

The judging panel consisted of comics, Jenny McNulty, Mimi Gonzalez, Vicki Shaw, Jessica Kirson, and the singer, Suede. The event was emceed by Karen Williams. I would go back to PTown again just to watch this show, but I wish they would do a tour with it. Mercedes came a close second in the actual Idol competition (which somehow managed to be held despite the antics of the judges, they’d only had two acts after an hour) and I felt like a rock star’s groupie when we went in to the after party.

Next, morning and the dreaded Friday reading

By the time late Wednesday arrived, starting off the lesbian fiction part of the week for me, I must admit to being a bit distracted. (A tactic that was obviously working to allay my fears about my upcoming readings.)

I spent Wednesday morning walking with Gladys and Anne and met a few Facebook friends and authors on the street. I got a hug from Laurie Selzer (she gives great hugs) who I had really wanted to meet as she seemed so wonderful with animals, but I kept missing her throughout the week. I can see why animals (and people) are drawn to her even in the few minutes I spent in her company.

Gladys and Anne accompanied me to a Bold Strokes panel where we were treated to the humour of Carsen Taite who was moderating the panel of authors which included Andrea Bramhall (a UK author who I was reading with the next day on the GCLS panel), I. Beacham (another UK author), and D. Jackson Leigh. I got to understand the attraction of an unfamiliar accent. Until then, I’d been a bit sceptical when I was told to just talk in an Irish accent and stop worrying about my readings. When I heard D. Jackson Leigh reading in a Southern accent, which was an unusual one for me, I found myself noticing and reacting to the sound of words flowing in honey, transporting me into her setting and meeting her characters.

I rushed over after that panel for the Wiffle Ball game organised by Rachel Spangler. I was nervous as I’d signed up on Facebook because I love any team sport, but had no clue of the structure of the game of baseball and I was going to meet Rachel Spangler and Lynn Ames at the game, authors who seemed to be confident and outgoing (and therefore, slightly intimidating) people from the little interaction I’d had with them on Facebook.

The Wiffle Ball Gang

I spent the first half of the game hanging out in outfield (that’s a term, right..?) and didn’t touch the ball once. When I got up to bat, I was encouraged by the patience of the others and I actually played well. Apart from almost taking the windscreen out of a passing car. I love the expression on Rachel’s son, Jackson, as he watches the ball hurtle towards the poor innocent car (the kid is already a great baseball player, he’s one to watch).

Jackson’s reaction to my batting

The two authors I’d been nervous about meeting turned out to be damn good at Wiffle ball, but what stuck with me was how grounded they were, how warm and friendly, and how generous with their knowledge and praise, both to Jackson and to the newbie.

I rushed from the Wiffle Ball game to the Sage Inn for the GCLS Meet and Greet. Seeing the room where I would be reading the next day, wandering between the other authors, who seemed so together and calm, I found myself feeling the nerves again. I met Mercedes Lewis who was coordinating the GCLS events. I didn’t find out until later that she had been rushed in at the last-minute and was trying to find her feet as well. She answered my newbie reading questions in between trying to host the Meet and Greet. I was so grateful to meet Kate McLachlan and her partner, also an author, Tonie Chacon McLachlan (who are from an area in Washington State, which by chance is one of the settings for my WIP). They were sweet and reassured me that my accent would be enough to entertain the audience the next day. Kate and I were to read on the same panel the next day along with Andrea Bramhall. I was reading on two panels, one on Thursday that was sponsored by Pam Sloss and the other on Friday, sponsored by Lesfic_Unbound.

Another run to the next venue, a Singles night where I’d promised to meet some of the women. That was a strange experience, but as I was late arriving, I just enjoyed the fact that there were other single women around who had also plucked up the courage to walk in there.

Wednesday night was a quieter night as I rested up for the next morning’s reading, but I think the guy outside the door at the Pied Bar must have been wondering what I was up to, or what I was on, that I was in there three nights in a row, so far. Somehow, it sounds awfully tame to say I was just on a high of the experience of Women’s Week. And I didn’t think he wanted to hear one of the real reasons I was determined to be busy and happy and live in every minute on the 16th October, the anniversary of the day I flew to New York four years before, to watch my mum’s life end when the machine was switched off. That week in October has been a tough time every year since, as her birthday was on 10th October, my 16-year-old dog, Jesse, died that week the year after, and a few days later, my 15-year-old cat, Sukie, died on the morning I was leaving to go to New York for my mum’s first anniversary. My mum would not have approved in the slightest of my activities in PTown, but I needed to find a different way to mark the week and I hope she will excuse the method I used this year as it proved to be one of the best weeks I’ve experienced.

Next, Thursday and my author debut in PTown and being in a comic show

I started this blog post on PTown with a description of how I ended up there and what happened to me while I was there. Halfway through I realised that’s not really what I want to write about. That’s not as important as the women I met while I was there. They are what made PTown special for me. If I’d gone there with a group, I probably wouldn’t have met so many wonderful people. If I’d gone there as socially anxious and closed off as I’ve been over the last few months, I’d never have opened up and gotten the opportunity to discover women again. Warm, friendly, genuine women who took me under their wings and in doing so, taught me to fly again.

I’ve been hiding out for months, physically as well as emotionally. I’ve taken the actions of a few people and distilled it into a distrust of humans and the outside world. Animals, especially my Clio, were pure unconditional love, safe. I read in a beautiful book on dog training that for those people who hide away from others out of fear of being hurt and who can unconditionally love dogs, they need to remember that if dogs can feel love for humans, then humans must be worth loving.

Ever since I opened up in a blog post and received kindness, I’ve been determined to be grateful for all the positives that are in my life. Which have multiplied since then. So this blog post about my trip to PTown is all about gratitude (apart from the bus and ferry-induced motion sickness which I have discovered I suffer from. I cannot find anything to be grateful for in that).

I’m so glad I decided to ignore the effects of the 17-hour journey on my first night in PTown and head into town after checking in at the hotel. I met six women that night who became friends.

That first night I met Michelle and Nancy, two women who have been friends for a long time, Lauren and Tina, a couple from Texas. They stayed all week so I got a chance to hang out with them and get up to mischief. Though with Tina’s parents also with them (and at the bar and at shows during the week), we were all pretty well behaved. Apart from one night, which involved extreme whistling and the 2 a.m. throwing of plastic ducks onto high window ledges in Essentials, a little store with a difference.

Unfortunately, the other couple, Jen and Lea, were leaving the next day (Tuesday), but we ended up talking and playing pool for the rest of Monday night and I spent part of Tuesday standing on a deck looking out at the ocean, eating and talking and laughing for hours with two kindred spirits who are as crazy about animals as I am. And because of them, I may return to being vegetarian. Not because they preached anything about being vegan, but because I watched them live their beliefs and it felt right, unlike that vaguely hypocritical feeling I’ve experienced being an animal-lover and eating them. (As I typed that last sentence, my Polish housemate handed me a bowl of soup with sausage in it.)

My novels on display in Womenscraft

I went to Womenscraft with Jen and Lea and had the thrill of seeing my books on display beside the books of much more established authors. I picked up the leaflets I’d prepared and shipped ahead, hoping I would have the guts to hand them out on the street.

The leaflets I was supposed to be distributing

That evening, I got in to a cab on its way to the Community Dinner. There were two other women already in it and I heard a familiar accent and called on my newly found social skills to pipe up and ask them where they were from. Lucy turned out to be from Northern Ireland and Fran from England. I didn’t get to spend much time with them that evening, but met up again for the week as they joined the motley crew we were becoming. I can blame Fran and Lucy for leading me astray and into the wrong Meet and Greet on Thursday, thus missing the scheduled one at Womenscraft. (That’s my excuse anyway, plus I had just been through an introvert’s nightmare and an author’s marketing dream, more about that later).

At the Community Dinner (where I got my first introduction to the performers that attend Women’s week), I was seated beside a lovely couple from Delaware, Gladys and Anne, who, on hearing I was moving to a little hotel/inn very near the centre of town the next day and I was there all alone, offered me the spare room in their condo. Not wanting my gallivanting to disturb them, I stayed at the hotel/inn place, but met up with them as well for the rest of the week. Later in the week, Gladys and Anne were kind enough to ask at the Provincetown Women’s Week Ticket Office whether it was not a crime that I was single and were there any suitable available singles. I’m looking forward to being in my 70s just so I can do the same for someone else.

Fran, Tina, Lucy, Lauren, Michelle, Nancy

By now, I had made 10 friends and it was only Tuesday. I was a bit shell-shocked at the connection I felt to all of them. And I hadn’t even met all the FB friends and authors yet. True to my promise to myself, I went out Tuesday night after the Community Dinner and ended up meeting some lovely local women and wandering with them from venue to venue as PTown hadn’t started to come alive yet and most places were quiet.

On Wednesday, I got my first glimpse of the performers ‘leafleting’ on the street outside the Crown and Anchor and the Post Office Cabaret. Their high-energy interaction with passers-by was fascinating to watch. There are regular comedy shows every day at a set hour for each performer, and with so many events going on for Women’s Week, the comediennes spend the hour or so before their show persuading people on the street to go to their show, or to the show of a fellow performer. I envied the confidence, the chutzpah, these performers had. Something I wanted to have, for a moment, to be someone other than the shy reserved author who works alone to bare her soul for the entertainment of others. I could never do what they did, I thought. To put themselves out there, to ask strangers for their attention. And most of them disguised it well, the vulnerability under the laughs. Only one couldn’t hide it from her eyes and it occurred to me that she wasn’t any different from me in not wanting to have to beg strangers to connect, she was just a hell of a lot braver than I could ever be. My leaflets still lay hidden in my rucksack.

By the Wednesday morning, I had been introduced to parts of three other subcultures of PTown, the women from all over who came to absorb PTown, the performers who gave so much energy to make the week special, and the locals who watched the shenanigans every year.

Next, Wednesday and the author part starts

I am terrified of flying. In all senses of the word. Of letting go, of being vulnerable, of crashing to the ground in a burning ball of flames. So when I had to go to the US this year, and I saw the GCLS (Golden Crown Literary Society) message that authors could sign up to read on panels in Provincetown for Women’s Week, I was petrified when I clicked on the sign-up button and registered on a panel. A simple click of the mouse, but one that held so much fear. And changed so much for me.

Golden Crown Literary Society

There are so many considerations when deciding to go on a trip like this. The cost, security, social aspects, business aspects. Finding someone I trust to take care of Clio, worrying about her, missing her. The trip was my first holiday since 2006, and I tried to placate my cautious side with assurances that it was a business trip; after all, I was going to read on panels with established authors, and interact with readers and authors. I promised myself that my only indulgence would be to see a show by Suzanne Westenhoeffer, a lesbian comedienne I’d listened to about 20 years previously, who I am sure has saved some people on the streets of Galway as I was too busy laughing at her stories to experience road rage.

I tried to find ways to reduce the cost, but I hadn’t planned far enough ahead and ended up cancelling the various hotel rooms I’d booked with the intention of finding others to share them with. I was reconsidering the trip when I got a message from another independent author, Liz Bradbury, who was reading on the same Friday panel and who gave me the benefit of her years of experience and the assurance that it would be worth it, and that she would be there to hang out with if I needed company. Liz got me on to Kathryn in Womenscraft who agreed to store the books and leaflets I needed to send ahead, would welcome us for a book signing session, and invited us to a wine and cheese party for authors and readers.

After weeks of researching planes, buses, trains, ferries, and cars, I chose the option of a bus from Galway to Dublin, a flight from Dublin to Boston, and the last sailing of the fast ferry from Boston to PTown. Seventeen hours after I left Galway on a 5 a.m. bus, on a journey that involved a lot of waiting and the discovery that buses and ferries make me extremely nauseated, I arrived in the dark and rain in Provincetown. I checked into the hotel outside of town that I’d booked for the first few days.

The fast ferry to PTown (just before the nausea hit)

I’d been travelling for what seemed like days, but I had promised myself before I went that I would not sit in my hotel room, that I would partake of everything that PTown had to offer, for every hour that I was there. So I got a cab and headed into town to the Women’s Week Kick-Off Party. The streets were deserted. The town looked like an off-season mountain resort. I was trying to hide my nervousness as I questioned the cab driver, was the whole week like this, had the recession done that much damage? I found out later that this was the Monday after Columbus Day and PTown didn’t really get going again until the Wednesday or Thursday, but that night I decided to make the best of it and went in to the Pied Bar. The Kick-Off Party was over, and the bar reminded me of a quiet night in Galway.

Of course, I didn’t realise that you have to tip bar staff and all I can say is Jill at the Pied Bar was very sweet and didn’t bat an eyelid when I thought I was being very helpful and placed the exact change on the counter. I may have over-compensated later when I discovered that you have to tip bar staff, restaurant staff, cab drivers. I think I may even have tried to tip someone who turned out to be Suzanne Westenhoeffer, but that’s another story.

Next, making friends

I had sent my third novel, Casting Shadows, to my beta readers and I was just about to celebrate when she whispered in my ear, “I was just thinking that you could have them do -”
So I smacked her.
Not hard. After all, she was responsible for setting me off on my novel and had helped me through the months of writing.
But now, I’m wondering whether imaginary jail would have pen and paper…
Because I already miss the characters. In some shape or form, good or evil, characters have been whispering words into my mind for what seems like forever. Well, a year and a half. And while I am grateful for the (relative) peace and quiet in my brain at the moment, I miss them. Their problems, fears, hopes, dreams, messes..
So I wrote a short story. And plan to add it to three more short stories to make a little collection. Thankfully, I only managed to write one. I’m realising my brain really does need a break.
But that dratted muse did actually plant the seed of a good idea for a fourth book. Maybe if I ignore it for a while, it will take root unseen and unnoticed and when I’m ready, the little sprouting will push its way back into the front of my mind.
I know it is probably considered kidnapping to bind and gag a muse and put it in a cupboard and I really don’t want to get into any (more) trouble with the mind police so I have restrained myself from doing that to her. But I can see her eyeing me warily as she sulks on the couch. She’s just got to learn that you can only push a writer so far before they write you into an unpleasant situation.
So, tread carefully my imaginary muse, I may not be writing just now but I can still plot…..

I have friends who look with envy at my solitary state at Christmas. They complain about having to face the holidays with family. And as everyone knows, you put Christmas decorations, Christmas cheer, add in a few Christmas relatives, heat with Christmas emotions, throw in a Christmas turkey and baste gently for a day and you have a recipe for a dish that could leave a stink for the rest of the year.

So my friends or workmates say goodbye as they pack up their bags or tidy up their desks, bemoaning their upcoming stress with envious asides to me about my luck at not having to face it all. And in a way, they are right. I don’t have to deal with Christmas if I don’t want to. I can stay in my house, shut off the TV, pull the curtains, and pretend that the week is just like any other week of the year. Which it is. And that is the problem.

In my adult years, I’ve always grumbled about Christmas because it is the time of the year when everyone leaves to go home. And as the non-religion-practicing child of a Christian priest, I experienced every Christmas Day in the same way that the ill child of the town doctor probably views an annual flu epidemic. So I have to admit to underlying mixed emotions about Christmas. But I still don’t understand why there is a specific period set aside when people make that extra effort to be nice to each other. And why they then stress about it.

When people complain to me about the stress of Christmas I have to wonder why they do everything on that one day of the year that they would avoid on other days of the year. If they don’t particularly like turkey on any ordinary day why make it at Christmas, douse it with gravy, stuff it to bursting to make it palatable and then invite relatives they wouldn’t want in their home at any other time to partake in this self-described misery. And then complain and envy the turkey-less zone on the other side of the fence.

I get invitations to go to the homes of my friends and I appreciate that immensely. More than I appreciate the laments of envy. But, if I face my truth, I have to admit that what I want is to stay home for Christmas and more importantly to ‘be’ home. If I had my perfect Christmas, love, laughter and the doggies (which would actually be my perfect day any day of the year), I probably wouldn’t remember to invite those who were on their own, but I’d appreciate what I had enough to never tell them that I envied what they had.

I admire and envy those who have the family, love, and laughter, as part of their everyday lives and for whom Christmas is the time to add the icing to the cake but with no stress about how the cake looks, just that it is sweeter, richer and the cake is held tighter together. I admire those who don’t complain about the layers of unnecessary icing they’re slapping onto their cake to someone who hasn’t yet got the right cake.

If you had the choice of recipe and unlimited access to the ingredients to make a truly happy day, why choose a recipe that called for unnecessary ingredients, gave you indigestion, and swore you off having that dish again for at least another 364 days?

Don’t envy me because I have the recipe but no access yet to all the necessary ingredients. When the missing ingredients arrive, I hope to make that dish every day and not just over the Christmas. Then, the only extra ingredient I’ll add over the holidays is more time just to savor the experience.

Hamish Seamus Samuel 1995 – 2012

In September 1995, we went to pick Hamish up for the first time. There was the largest most orange moon I’d ever seen, hanging low in the sky… I’ve always thought of it since as Hamish’s moon… We had been told there was an Alsatian pup found in a coal shed. Suzanne really wanted an Alsatian. Anyway, this little runt of a dog runs out, and onto the back of the couch and then proceeds to pee on her. She was not impressed but I couldn’t go and see a dog and then refuse it.. so I begged her to give it one night. We brought him home and he slept in a huge cardboard box filled with blankets at the foot of the bed. Jesse had already claimed the bed and Suzanne was of the opinion that two dogs on the bed was too much and we might not keep him anyway and hey, why not train him to sleep off the bed…

Well, poor Hamish whined and Suzanne ended up sleeping all night across the foot of the bed holding his paw. That was the last time he didn’t sleep wherever he wanted 🙂

Hamish lived a long happy life following me from room to room and from country to country for almost 18 years. He was with me from the time I was 28 through my 30s and halfway through my 40s. He was my constant companion and comrade and his true love was Jesse. He was a playful eejit with Jesse and they still rollicked like pups together at the ripe old age of 16. Jesse was the Queen of the house and poor Hamish was never allowed to be King, he was named the Royal Consort. 
He kept going after Jesse died in Oct 2010 but he couldn’t bring himself to rollick as much with Clio as he had with his queen. He was content to keep an eye on us and constantly patrol the house (I never thought I’d miss the incessant sound of dog nails on laminate floors) and the grounds (even in the pouring rain). He enjoyed his morning run and bark at Zeus next door even at 17.5 years (like 180 or something in human years). 
He stoically put up with being taken to Dublin 5 times over 2 months for injections to try and treat the oral melanoma that came out of nowhere and in the end beat even his enduring body. He then accompanied Clio and me when she went through 5 surgeries in a month in Dublin. He sat quietly through most things including when I forgot to put on the handbrake in the camper when I stopped at a service station for fuel and it rolled forward while I tried desperately to unlock the door. Hamish was still sitting on the bed facing the back, probably wondering why I was suddenly driving so slowly.
Hamish is one of the reasons I believe dogs are precious gifts to us. His physical presence at my side for 17 years and 2 months has been a gift of pure love and loyalty. When weakness in his legs made him unable to patrol as he had been doing until two days ago, I had to make the decision yesterday and the vet and nurse kindly came to the house last night to help him pass. For the first time, he showed yesterday that he was ready to go. And, as usual, he shared this with a calm and happy strength.
Hamish passed in my arms at 10.15pm last night at the time of the Samhain solar eclipse and the new moon. I don’t really know much about eclipses and dark moons but I believe Hamish’s moon was winking at us.