I consider myself a fairly well rared girl. I come from a good family. I had a good Catholic upbringing. I have few vices. I don’t smoke and have never taken any form of illicit substance.
I married my first love (well, technically second, but Matt Goss was never going to marry me anyway) and have never been in trouble with the law. I consider myself a fairly clean living person - and yet last week a letter I received from anonymous reader declared that I had “let myself and my city down” by the language I used in my latest novel ‘If Only You Knew’.
The reader asked what “decent minded” person wanted to read the word “fecking” and indeed who wanted to read scenes of (I’m cleaning this up for a family paper) an intimate nature.
She (and I may be wrong in assuming my reader was a female) finished with the line “I just hope no one will judge the people of Derry by your writing” after claiming my writing was particularly offensive as I came from the City of Culture 2013.
I thought to my book, sitting on the shelves of book stores just now (hint hint.. great Christmas present) and I asked myself had I really overstepped the boundaries of taste and decency? Yes, I cannot deny I used the word “feck” which, as my hero Marian Keyes would say is a perfectly acceptable word to use when you want to use the bad F word but find yourself in polite company. I will even admit the bad F word gets a mention a couple of times.
As for intimate scenes - there are not that many and those which are there are tasteful and not overly graphic. (I write every book aware that my granny will read it at some stage and aware that I don’t wish to offend her).
Sex and bad language (or even milder forms of swear words which, as I’ve said, are considered socially acceptable) are a part of modern life.
People have sex. Even people from the City of Culture have sex. People swear occasionally - and people from the City of Culture swear occasionally. In fact I would go so far as to say some people in this lovely City of Culture of ours have made swearing an art form, even if deep down we know it is not big and not clever.
I always have, and always will, continue to be proud of the fact that my books reflect the reality of modern life - even, at times, the grittier details.
We have moved past the days of women swooning when they discover their husbands have betrayed them, and past the days when young people shared nothing but a chaste kiss during a prolonged courtship before giving themselves to each other on their wedding nights.
For me not to reflect these realities in my books would be even more offensive I feel. It would not only let me down as a writer, but my gender down.
My books all centre on strong female characters - quite often thrown into difficult situations. One has a crisis of confidence while suffering from Post Natal Depression, one finds herself pregnant and afraid to tell the folks back home, one is trying to survive domestic violence, another is recovering from the loss of her husband.
In the latest book one of the characters describes the difficult choices she had to make in 1970s Derry.
I pride myself on telling these stories with warmth, compassion and humour and in trying the best I can to keep the reader engaged - but I refuse to paper over issues. I refuse to write them in an unrealistic fashion. I refuse to ignore the fact that people have sex, that we say bad words, that we occasionally drink and do things we regret at a later date.
I also refuse to believe that because something is contemporary - because it reflects the reality of the world we live in - that it has no cultural merit.
Writing does not have to be tiered with flowery writing, with overlong descriptive passages - with hidden meanings and pretentious subtexts to be considered a valid contribution to the cultural community of our city.
And yet there is a cultural snobbery around us - which looks down its nose at those writing with passion and dedication about what matters to them. There are those who think a book’s place in the popular fiction charts - it’s rise to bestselling status alone - is enough to deem it gauche and without merit.
Well, lovely people of Derry, I’m proud to be a part of a cultural vibrancy thriving in our city. I don’t think I’ve let myself down or you.
Fair enough if what I write just isn’t your cup of tea - I have learned to accept that one. But don’t lecture me on lax morals, or imply that I’m not making even a small contribution to the impressive arts scene in our city.
The people of Derry have prided themselves for years on our honesty, our wit and our no-nonsense approach to life - and sometimes that’s colourful in interpretation. Don’t take that away from us.
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