This post is also available in: polski (Polish)
There is a good time for everything
Blue wings sprout from my shoulders when I start to write. Then on Saturday morning, I fly for a coffee, even though a hailstorm rages on the streets of Galway. In the Portishead hoody and with the sketches of the texts under the cap, I feel like myself and I know that this time nothing will stop me. Because here I am at the dream reportage course led by Polish journalist Marcin Kącki.
I open a yellow file on my desktop where few years ago, I hidden interviews with Irish women who live with passion. Thanks to the reportage group, I look at them anew. I already mentioned on this blog that I am working on my own book. However, when I finally dare to introduce one of my characters to potential readers, I feel as if I am crossing the Ishtar Gate. The lions and the mušḫuššu – mythical dragons whisper to me that this time there is no turning back because there is a real road to new Babylon – the place of heaven and earth, the abode of life.
I have eight interviews with women. They are from Ireland after their 40s or even 60s, but still have the freshness as if they are being reborn every day. Although my fellow reporters found many gaps in the story of the first Irish woman I presented. They saw me right through. Because in the women with whom I talk, I am also looking for answers on how to keep my own spark for action and keep being natural.
– Take care of the topics that your heart tells you – advises Marcin during the workshop.
– Hear the person, and let her or him tell you the true story.
So, I am learning to work with the character because the person is the carrier of a unique story. And now I can see why I have to ask so much for my book to be convincing and absolutely no fiction. So I dare again to write a message on “the what’s up” to my interviewer whom I haven’t seen for several years.
Meanwhile, on Monday morning I get up at five as usual and drive to the factory, in the car in which everyone speaks Portuguese except me. And when I get out of the red Peugeot, I feel dizzy from the darkness. But it is worth it because I have breakfast at the same table with the Brazilians who tell me about the bright, long, colorful, stressful days in stuffy São Paulo, green Goiânia, and different Rio I could imagine. There are various paths that lead my characters to Ireland. I come back home and sprinkle tapioca on a hot frying pan, and it sticks together in a white wrap like a reportage.