Monthly Archives: February 2019

On… miscarriages

Well, I wrote something about the three miscarriages I had in 2017. It’s here if you would like to read it. 

It was a hard year. I’m so grateful and fortunate that a year later, I had Arthur.

And I wasn’t sure whether to ever talk about it. I’m hardly the confessional self-analyzing type. There are so many more interesting and important things in the world to talk and think about than me. But after I had Arthur, I remembered how when I was going through that hard year, I searched high and low for uplifting and understanding articles about multiple miscarriages. And I couldn’t find any (apart from this lovely one). Just horror story after horror story. And awful statistics. I was paralyzed with sadness, and I wanted someone to say to me: I know you are sad, my darling, but I’ve been there, and I survived, and so will you.

So, since I couldn’t find the essay I wanted at the time, I wrote my own.


Here is a very flattering photo that they took of me for the piece.

Incidentally, I used to look for similar uplifting empathy in literature when I was heartbroken, in my 20s – oh so many heartbreaks! – and when I couldn’t find any modern, genuinely funny stories about real girls who fucked and drank and partied and loved their jobs and made mistakes with men, I wrote my own, and that was how I became an author, despite never really wanting to be an author. Now I write screenplays, and I tend to write things that I want to read or watch, and can’t find. But enough about me! How are you?

On… footwear

I wear a lot of sneakers. (Trainers, if you will. Treads. Runners. Every time I move countries, I have to learn new names for a bunch of different shit. Luckily I am a nimble little wordsmith. Although just there, I couldn’t think of a term that felt better than ‘bunch of different shit’. Hmm.)

I used to wear flat Converses with elastic backs for easy slip-on-slip-off. SO chic and cute. Especially when they get all beaten up, and you have (faux) tan legs in summer. But then my back and hips went kaput (woe is me). Flat shoes are BAD for backs, my loves.

So now, I wear high-top Converses with a one-inch insert to give me a little lift and save my aching back. And! Elastic laces so I don’t need to worry about the 90 seconds it takes to tie them up, particularly because if I crouch down for any reason, I’m liable to have at least one small boy throw himself at me for a piggyback. With elastic laces, I can instead spend that 90 seconds 1. applying some extra make-up because it always helps  2. begging aforementioned small boys to eat something (no for real, how are these my children? My mother once said I was the kind of child who ate everything ‘that wasn’t nailed to the ground’) 3. downloading a podcast and actually we should talk about podcasts soon 4. remembering the baby’s diaper bag (which is, literally, just a diaper and a couple of wipes in a sandwich bag, shoved in my pocket, because I like living on the edge, and if the baby has a serious poo-splosion I’m going home anyway).


Tiny little lift for your flat shoes.


Elastic laces for easy slip-on-slip-off.

I own high-top Converses in silver sequins, gold sequins, and leopard print, and wow, I… did not realize that I do not have even one normal plain pair of Converses. Hmm. How telling. However, sequined Converses are TOTALLY a neutral and go with everything. Jeans and a hoodie? Yes. Cocktail dress and red lipstick? Also, yes. Smart pants for work? Of COURSE yes. Whatever ices your cupcake, toots. I wore sequined Converses for my wedding reception, and that was quite possibly one of the best decisions I ever made.

Plus: the crappier and more used the sequined Converses get, the cooler they are. I don’t know why it works that way. It just does.


I like these. I wonder if I should get them.


Maybe a pink pair. Pink is also a neutral.

While we’re on the subject of footwear, when I’m at home writing, which is most of the time, I wear these Heat Holders socks.61wiNaBfEOL._SY679_Oh, how I love Heat Holders. No other sock compares. They are like wearing warm fireplace puppy cuddles on your feet. They make me SO happy. (Unless I’m trying to write but feeling sleepy. My husband and his brother had a theory when they were at college: cold feet wake you up and make you study harder. They would take off their shoes and socks in the depths of the Irish winter, and cram. And it kind of works. So in deadline situations, my feet are bare-ass naked.)