A wee story I had a flush of pleasure writing has been included in a collection called In On The Tide, and published by Appletree Writers.
The collection is inspired by the sea and all profits from the publication are donated to the RNLI. My wee narrative inspired by, well, when you read it you'll see, is called noctilucent clouds.
You can read the story here - noctilucent clouds and you can purchase a copy of the book and do your bit for the RNLI here - In On The Tide
The Appletree Writers website is a community of writers who want to tell stories. It's a fine place to be.
Author of 'The Birds That Never Flew', Thunderpoint. I work in the energising world of making television, telling stories creatively onscreen. I have an amazing son and daughter, both are beautiful, inspiring and engaging. My heart beats at its fastest when I'm at my home on Rathlin Island. Say hi on Twitter @MargotMcCuaig or at margotmccuaig.com
Friday, 23 August 2013
it's official then, soon there will be paper, ink & a flurry of page turning (should you be so kind..)
The Birds That Never Flew, by Margot McCuaig.
ThunderPoint Publishing has signed Margot McCuaig, Managing Director of mneTV, and will publish her first novel, The Birds That Never Flew, in the autumn of 2013.The Birds That Never Flew is a tale of loss, exploitation and revenge set in Glasgow. The novel is written with a strong Glasgow influence and tragically conveys the impact of poverty, drugs and abuse, with the surreal vision of a Glaswegian Virgin Mary acting as guardian angel to the lead character.
The Birds That Never Flew was shortlisted for the 2012 Dundee International Book Prize, under its working title of The Dandelion Clock. The Dundee International Book Prize is supported by the University of Dundee and Dundee: One City Many Discoveries campaign, sponsored by Apex Hotels. The 2012 competition was one of the most hotly contested years of the prize, with 500 entries from across the globe.
@MargotMcCuaig has produced and directed numerous programmes for the BBC and other organisations and has previously written newspaper columns and TV/documentary scripts on subjects relating to social history.
Margot is co-owner of digital TV company purpleTV, and has developed a suite of innovative interactive apps called purpleTrails. The first product to launch, the Edinburgh Book Trail, invites users to explore the rich literary heritage of the Scottish Capital city. purpleTrails is a Major Sponsor of the 2013 Edinburgh International Book Festival.
You can find out a wee bit more about the lovely folks at Thunderpoint here - http://www.thunderpoint.co.uk/
It's rather exciting! More excitement to come, a trip to Mullindress to catch up with Grand Designs Margot in the morning...blog and pictures to follow!
Thursday, 4 July 2013
home is where the soul is
It’s almost a year since I met my
beautiful grandson Tommy, my first grandchild, the little boy that pushes to
the forefront of my mind on a daily basis. The day of his arrival was
bittersweet. His skin was perfect, as soft as the first fall of snow of winter.
I left my inquisitive touch lingering on his cheeks, a statement of his
handsomeness chiselled high on his perfect face, his lips pursed in a kiss, confident
arches drawn with the precision of an artist’s brush. His beauty was
astounding, his silence overwhelming and yet he lives on in our hearts and our
minds, always a part of the family that love him with the intensity of lashing
rain that polishes pavements and seeps into the very roots of our existence.
Yesterday was the anniversary of
my grandmother’s death and symbolically I paid homage to them both, granny and
grandson, my loved ones that straddle the ladder of my life, stretching high
into an expansive sky that bends and folds and carries our memories in the
bright stars that burn brightly even when we can’t see them. Somewhere out
there, beyond the vast wings of the heron that sweeps majestically from the
misty clouds, they watch us and guide us and push and prod us and make sure we
know they are with us.
I’m on Rathlin, watching my home
at Mullindress take shape, its broad shoulders rising from the roots of that
lashing rain that is everything that I am and always will be. It’s coming on at
pace. The house is watertight, the roof fastened tightly like a rain-mate
tucked under the chin of an old lady pushing her way into the morning showers. The
windows are fixed, each frame a looking glass, a reflection of the beauty that
shapes every nook and cranny of the land and the sea that beams with pride,
shouting me, me, me as if poised in front of a camera. Its jaw-dropping beauty is
there at every turn, and it is within this nest of wonder that my house sits,
arms outstretched, pushing beyond the garden and hugging Tommy’s tree, it’s branches
in turn fondly embracing the memories of a grandmother whose warmth lingers in the
air with the intensity of the freshly baked bread she greeted the world with
each morning.
So, we’re getting there. I won’t
bore you with the detail but the kitchen is on its way (from Germany no-less),
as is the material for the bathrooms. The white oak floors and doors, wood with
a story to tell, will find its way to Mullindress soon, its message no doubt
strong and wise and protective. The first fit electrics are this week.
The dream is becoming a reality.
I just know that the stars will push closer tonight, a bright light penetrating
the darkness.
Saturday, 18 May 2013
beyond betwixt and between, grand designs update
When I have the opportunity I watch Grand Designs, relish the drama in Kevin McLeod's swagger as he unfolds the narrative surrounding yet another mishap in the over-arching story arc of a build project that has hit as many snags as the Turin Shroud.
And yet it was a journey I embarked upon, not so long ago now, heading into the fray with the understanding that deadlines were there for ignoring and plans were written in pencil primarily for the fact that their existence is purely in the imagination.
At the heart of all that was a story that had to be written, a journey of destiny. A decision of magnitude and overwhelming significance.
So far so good though.
The home, conjured up in my head when I was still young enough to have to push myself on to my tip toes to peer over the garden wall at Mount Grand, the Rathlin Island home of my father, is coming to life.
And it's there for everyone to see, both real and imagined. Even visitors to the island who, if they look carefully enough, will be able to see a bubble of magic bounce colourfully upon the hillside at Mullindress as the ferry boat pushes through the tempestuous tide and into the bay.
So, what stage are we at? I was over two weeks ago, a journey combining two things, the beautiful wedding of islanders Fergus and Tania, the very good friends of my children Daniel and Siobhan, and to check progress on the house.
When I had visited previously, the original dwelling was still in place. A subsequent visit, taken by my brother, his wife and son and my parents captured the founds in place, the cornerstone of my very existence vilifying my crazy creative urges. You'll remember those blue sky images from my last post.
At the visit a couple of weeks ago we tumbled around the corner at the top of the lane to discover the timber was on its way skyward, reaching high into the landscape, its strong back collecting the weight of the broad shoulders of the hillside with ease. A cursory glance of contentment winked back at me from the gaping eyes of the open roof as I bid farewell after a hectic two days visit. I waved farewell to this...
Remember this image, me standing in the living room door frame of the old dwelling...
I had a big enough dilemma in deciding to go for the grey window frames. But I've learned a lesson there. My heart was drawn to them immediately I saw them, but I was persuaded by other things to go for something I really didn't want....until someone on Twitter said if you don't stick with your instinct every single time you look at those frames you'll wish you'd chosen the colour your heart desired. Grey, like the landscape and sky, fits beautifully. It was the perfect choice. Why go against a heart that has been driving this project for a lifetime. It knows what fits better than anyone or anything...
So, I'm on the lookout for a couple of instinct shops ahead of the next site visit in a couple of weeks!
And yet it was a journey I embarked upon, not so long ago now, heading into the fray with the understanding that deadlines were there for ignoring and plans were written in pencil primarily for the fact that their existence is purely in the imagination.
At the heart of all that was a story that had to be written, a journey of destiny. A decision of magnitude and overwhelming significance.
So far so good though.
The home, conjured up in my head when I was still young enough to have to push myself on to my tip toes to peer over the garden wall at Mount Grand, the Rathlin Island home of my father, is coming to life.
And it's there for everyone to see, both real and imagined. Even visitors to the island who, if they look carefully enough, will be able to see a bubble of magic bounce colourfully upon the hillside at Mullindress as the ferry boat pushes through the tempestuous tide and into the bay.
So, what stage are we at? I was over two weeks ago, a journey combining two things, the beautiful wedding of islanders Fergus and Tania, the very good friends of my children Daniel and Siobhan, and to check progress on the house.
When I had visited previously, the original dwelling was still in place. A subsequent visit, taken by my brother, his wife and son and my parents captured the founds in place, the cornerstone of my very existence vilifying my crazy creative urges. You'll remember those blue sky images from my last post.
At the visit a couple of weeks ago we tumbled around the corner at the top of the lane to discover the timber was on its way skyward, reaching high into the landscape, its strong back collecting the weight of the broad shoulders of the hillside with ease. A cursory glance of contentment winked back at me from the gaping eyes of the open roof as I bid farewell after a hectic two days visit. I waved farewell to this...
Remember this image, me standing in the living room door frame of the old dwelling...
Well, before I left the island a couple of weeks ago, the lounge of Mullindress looked like this... Quite astonishing really to see such a big development since my brother took the previous pictures...
It was an incredible sight, and all the more precious because Daniel, Emma and Siobhan were there to share the moment with us. It's surreal really, seeing what has always been a figment of the imagination come to life in such an extraordinary way. While we were there, after consuming the drawings in a three dimensional context for the first time, we decided to make some changes to the layout of the house.
I gulped and panicked, listening to the first moment of high drama funnelling through the open roof of the homestead. No drama though, after a chat with the architect and a walk through the new ambitions for the upstairs floor of the house it was all sorted within a matter of hours. I have to say, Kevin MacLeod would be tearing his heart out looking for the moments of jeopardy required to keep an hour of television ticking over with enough interest to compel the viewer to watch on.
So, I shouldn't be too cocky, and indeed I'm not, I'm aye expecting an unexpected moment of drama. Don't get me wrong, 'things' keep adding themselves surreptitiously to an already creaking budget but, ah well, I'll worry about them another day. But it's going okay. Overwhelming really.
Well, I thought it was overwhelming. But that moment of magic was still to come, and did just a week or so later when my good friends on the island, Jessica and Stephen, sent me some update snaps they had taken when my uncle took them on a little tour of the burgeoning site.
The windows are in, the blocks are up, the chimney has climbed into the sky, and there is a front door. I REPEAT, THERE IS A FRONT DOOR. This is a house, galloping with some aplomb towards becoming a home. Wow.
I guess you'll be wanting to see what I'm talking about...the pictures star my uncle Loughie and my friend Jessica.
So, now comes the really tough bit. Selecting the content. There's an increasing urgency to sort out the kitchen and bathrooms and then there's wood and tiles and an endless list of other things. But, there's a lot of badness in the world so these are amazing problems to have. Yet, those who know me will understand that shopping is not my thing.... I had a big enough dilemma in deciding to go for the grey window frames. But I've learned a lesson there. My heart was drawn to them immediately I saw them, but I was persuaded by other things to go for something I really didn't want....until someone on Twitter said if you don't stick with your instinct every single time you look at those frames you'll wish you'd chosen the colour your heart desired. Grey, like the landscape and sky, fits beautifully. It was the perfect choice. Why go against a heart that has been driving this project for a lifetime. It knows what fits better than anyone or anything...
So, I'm on the lookout for a couple of instinct shops ahead of the next site visit in a couple of weeks!
Sunday, 7 April 2013
a wee update on grand designs betwixt and between...
The last time I rambled about my plans for a new home in Mullindress, I shared pictures of a life already lived, the old dwelling house on the farm where my father's godfather and his family toiled and yet still thrived, sharing their waking moments within the warm embrace of my own family until they moved on and their land was lovingly encompassed into that of my grandfather's busy farm.
As fearless children, my siblings and I played in the magical garden in front of that strong old house, marvelling with awe at the horseshoe that hung on the old homestead door, its heavy iron signalling that love and luck was cemented firmly within walls so thick they couldn't fail to protect.
Gliding on the makeshift swing on the garden tree that still teases the passing wind, my own children pushed their heels backwards and kicked their souls high into the sky. That gorgeous tree, tall and proud and defensive, is a manifestation of our past and future, and its roots held strong as their playful screams took flight and circled the land and sea, each note a tiny blessing that fell inquisitively on surrounding soil, planting my children's existence in earth that will one day become their home. The tree that is now, and always will be, Tommy's tree.
It is upon these very foundations that we are building another life, to be lived and shared as my family moves forward into new generations of firm footsteps that will build and thrive and merge with the roots already threading and stretching under a soil that smells of sea and a richness that can only be described as a love that centres and secures.
So, to the actual build. Progress is good, pacey and resilient and so far without hesitancy or hinder which is pretty remarkable given the remote location of the homestead. Phase One is now complete. COMPLETE! Hurrah!
The old dwelling has been deconstructed, its stones, packed with memory and the goodwill of those lives already lived, are set aside ready to serve their function as the protective wall that will form a bastion of strength between the foot of the mountain and the new house. The founds have been dug and created, a new road is born from the tracks that have held safe the passing of tractors and trailers and cattle for decades. The stage is set for Phase Two, the building of the timber frame.
This loving home is being created from the inside out, stepping stones built to last both physically and metaphorically.
And so to the pictures, images captured by my brother and his wife on a recent visit to the site.
A few weeks ago this was the road up to the house when the wonderful Art and I visited the site to bid our farewells....
Well, it now looks like this!
And that lovely old dwelling that caressed my shoulders....
Well, it has risen from the ground afresh and it now reaches into the sky like this...
All going to plan the timber frame will be erected at the end of this month. Stay tuned!
As fearless children, my siblings and I played in the magical garden in front of that strong old house, marvelling with awe at the horseshoe that hung on the old homestead door, its heavy iron signalling that love and luck was cemented firmly within walls so thick they couldn't fail to protect.
Gliding on the makeshift swing on the garden tree that still teases the passing wind, my own children pushed their heels backwards and kicked their souls high into the sky. That gorgeous tree, tall and proud and defensive, is a manifestation of our past and future, and its roots held strong as their playful screams took flight and circled the land and sea, each note a tiny blessing that fell inquisitively on surrounding soil, planting my children's existence in earth that will one day become their home. The tree that is now, and always will be, Tommy's tree.
It is upon these very foundations that we are building another life, to be lived and shared as my family moves forward into new generations of firm footsteps that will build and thrive and merge with the roots already threading and stretching under a soil that smells of sea and a richness that can only be described as a love that centres and secures.
So, to the actual build. Progress is good, pacey and resilient and so far without hesitancy or hinder which is pretty remarkable given the remote location of the homestead. Phase One is now complete. COMPLETE! Hurrah!
The old dwelling has been deconstructed, its stones, packed with memory and the goodwill of those lives already lived, are set aside ready to serve their function as the protective wall that will form a bastion of strength between the foot of the mountain and the new house. The founds have been dug and created, a new road is born from the tracks that have held safe the passing of tractors and trailers and cattle for decades. The stage is set for Phase Two, the building of the timber frame.
This loving home is being created from the inside out, stepping stones built to last both physically and metaphorically.
And so to the pictures, images captured by my brother and his wife on a recent visit to the site.
A few weeks ago this was the road up to the house when the wonderful Art and I visited the site to bid our farewells....
Well, it now looks like this!
And that lovely old dwelling that caressed my shoulders....
Well, it has risen from the ground afresh and it now reaches into the sky like this...
These foundations are the cornerstone of my family's very existence and that's a fabulous place to be. Apart from the constant worry about money....things have been swinging along at an enjoyable pace and long may that continue. I'm a dreamer and even I have to admit that reality can be quite stunning sometimes too!
All going to plan the timber frame will be erected at the end of this month. Stay tuned!
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
today is always another day
It has been a frustrating month writing wise, my morning tweets are all that I have managed to muster alongside the creative demands of work.
However, this weekend I'm back. I will post a new blog updating my betwixt and between build project on Rathlin on Sunday, and the new week will signal the beginning of a new 35k challenge....
Anyone fancy joining me?
So, I'm back! In the meantime, here's what's been happening early morning outside my bedroom window. A single moment, a solitary place in time can be just wonderful, you just have to be sure to see it as it is.
Monday: day breaks through like a hymn of hope, its vibrant notes sweeping the night to tomorrow, its colour rich only in the imagination.
Tuesday: the looking glass mists with the last breath of winter, the house leans to the east, searching for the hidden buds of spring.
Wednesday: soft blue kisses rooftops, tumbling gently like the virgin's protective cloak, robes encompassing, clouds gathering winter tears.
Thursday: a yellow hue teases a blue canvas, a playful promise. A curious night fox strides nonchalantly by, seizing the day as his own
Friday: a magpie dances on the edge of morning, lips glistening with promise of adventure, a dizzy gait stretching into a flurry of winter.
Saturday: below a moon less sky the many faces of yesterday peer out from under a blanket of winter, their songs stirring the dancing trees.
Sunday: a wagging robin sweeps the edge of life with richness, its bold red pushing apart the closing jaws of a grey sky & hidden earth.
Monday: a soft breeze strides the rooftops, its song mirrored by a passing crow, expansive waxy wings a looking glass beyond a vast blue sky
Tuesday: the chattering tree bends into bright light, arching roots stretching beyond the cold sky, greedily supping the hint of hidden sun.
Wednesday: wide awake, the orange glow of the darkest hour maps the night's footprints, snugly, morning sleeps under a blanket of winter.
Thursday: a white sky swallows earth, expansive edges merging, tumbling into the jaws of indifference. A passing seagull searches for today.
Friday: frothy waves caress the snowy shore with curiosity, under the shadow of morning the lighthouse closes its eyes to a union of soul
Saturday: morning nudges the house & it sways into life, its gentle stirring waking nesting sparrows, foggy eyes peering from sleepy wings
Easter Sunday: an amber sky hugs a flock of seagulls, chatting in retort their morning song lingers long after silent wings flee the scene.
Monday: a marble sky hangs low, its fractured morning mirrored on pavements, their emptiness mapping the shades of grey with indifference.
Tuesday: the moon peers from the night & watches the morning unfold, a silver hue pressed against clear blue, a soft pink giving chase.
Wednesday: the moon waltzes from the fading night & tiptoes east, the morning waves hello, stretching long arms into its welcoming face.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
mad march mornings
mad march morning workout....
Each bright new morning, when my eyes have focussed and my joints have eased into human form, I open my bedroom blind, pull my shoulders back against the wall, and write 140 characters on the narrative unfolding in front of me. Same view, different scene.
Why not try it. No thinking or editing allowed, just see beyond what is in front of you, write it down and then post....
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