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Essay Help That Will Bring You Success! Reliable Essay Helper Here She had a special tray with folding legs that served as a desk. She would sit up against a stack of pillows, with a cashmere cardigan over her nightdress, and write longhand on loose sheets of foolscap. Pots of tea were ferried to her by my grandfather, who would have been fully dressed in a tweed jacket and tie and working from his study downstairs. It was the novel’s scandalous theme â€" sex â€" that made all the noise. Writing by women was more often dismissed as “quiet”, a label long attached to my Grandmother’s work. Curious to find out if this label was deserved, I recently set myself the task of reading through her entire body of work â€" more than 100 stories â€" and was amazed by what I found. I refused to sign until it had been amended to plain old “fiction”. No writer wants to be fenced off from a body of readers, because ultimately it’s the readers that matter. O’Brien was the Sally Rooney of her day, the first female Irish writer to become a star both critically and commercially. First published in 1960, The Country Girls is a novel whose success was richly deserved, but quality alone was never enough to guarantee a female writer a hearing. It is this particular writer’s sign of coming to be. The label “women’s writing”, with its implication of being of no interest to readers other than women, is an insult that has not gone away. When I received my first contract, I was shocked â€" then upset and angry â€" to find that my work was described as “women’s commercial fiction”. Like all the flora and fauna, we live in niches. Good writing starts with being an observant denizen of your niche. The writer’s self emerges with the truth, the form, of the flesh of her writing. Whatever else the writing does â€"- and it may accomplish any number of things â€"- it embodies the writer’s ownmost incarnation to be. Mary Lavin, or Grandmother , made her name as a world-class short story writer from the unlikely setting of the Abbey Farm, near Navan, County Meath. The mother of three small children, she was widowed as a young woman, becoming a single mother and lone farmer in one fell swoop. In the evenings, the men gathered in the pubs around Baggot Street, while Grandmother cooked spaghetti bolognese and held court at her mews in nearby Lad Lane. If she broke the mould, it was for the simple reason that there was no other way for her to write and meet her peers. Unfortunately we use the word aesthetic to put down our flesh as saturated with the appearances of the world. As we contemplate our lives as writers, we need to redeem some twisted vocabulary. The habits of observation that contribute to the basic skill set of the writer are those of reading in Bringhurst’s sense. Watching and listening to what is in front of you. The story of progress had no inkling that the earth might have other ideas but we now struggle to name that. We must get involved in reducing the confusion so that we can act on a scale proportionate to the challenge. We know ourselves as part of the larger open-ended wholes of the events of our lives. As we reflect on our lives as readers and writers we get down to the basics of being. What we call the aesthetic sense is our way of reading the multiform surfaces of our environment. As opposed to this model, tradition urges on us the myth of Adam. Adam faces the bountiful environment and imposes names on the flux. His will contrives to master the energies flowing from the Creation. The earth becomes disposable, degradable and degraded. I never remember, as a child, being told to shush because Grandmother was working. The only indication of her status as a writer was the piles of New Yorker magazines scattered around the house. She published 15 stories in the New Yorker between 1959 and 1976.