Writing the Foot of the Sky: Miriam Mulcahy on the writing of her captivating memoir, Walking to the Foot of the Sky . . .
Nothing about this book turned out the way it should have done. It began as a book about Peig – of all people. I wanted to answer a question haunting me for years, why Ireland hates women so much, on so many levels – and why we are still struggling to attain equality. If I could rehabilitate Peig in people’s eyes, I thought I could use her life as a narrative framework for women in Ireland. The Arts Council thought this was a great idea, and gave me money for it. My publisher was on board. But every time I said it to people, they gagged, no way would they ever read a book about Peig. And when I started writing it, even I got depressed. Someone could do a job on Peig, but it wasn’t going to be me.
Domhnall O’Sullivan Beara
While reading and researching, I kept thinking about the Blaskets and the edge of everything. I wanted to write something historical and I wanted to tie that to landscape and nature. Researching a time in Irish history I love, Gaelic Ireland, I came across the story of Domhnall O’Sullivan Beara and his fourteen-day flight through Ireland in 1603, chased out of his kingdom in Beara by the English with 1000 followers. Here was my story. To write it, all I had to do was follow his trail, the Beara-Breifne Way, all 700km of it, from Dursey in West Cork to Blacklion in Cavan. No problem.
Except there were plenty. It takes six weeks to through-hike the Beara Breifne Way, something I really wanted to do, but could not carve the time out for. I’m a single mother and all I had were weekends. Information on it was hard to gather: the official website was down, the overall way was a series of individual ways through Cork, Tipperary, Galway, Roscommon, Sligo, Leitrim and Cavan. Some of these ways, especially the Cork trails were marked on OS maps – more often than not I had to patch together a route locally, and use Sports Ireland Maps, late in the day I discovered the entire route was marked on the Hiiker App, which was a huge help.
No Wild Camping
Accommodation was another issue – unfortunately, in my fifties, I’m not up for wild camping, I’m way too fond of my comfort and fine beds. Then there were logistics – I could drive to the start of the day’s walking, do it, then get a taxi back to the car. But surprise – no taxis were available. I begged lifts from friends, B&B owners, who were incredibly helpful, strangers.
Other issues were my ancient car and my abysmal fitness. How poor, I found out on the second stage, the Beara way, where one day saw me enduring four steep ascents, which my body was not ready or able for. But it’s quite incredible how quickly the body snaps into the demands made of it, and a few stages on, I was fine.
It began as a book about history and nature. It ended up as a book about history, landscape, ghosts, spirits, art, stained glass, saints, technology and time. I witnessed the collision between nature and technology constantly as I walked through farmlands, wind farms, mountains, bogs and around rivers and lakes.
Walking Alone
I walked alone for lots of reasons. I wanted to see what I would encounter, walking as a woman on my own. A fair bit of mansplaining, is the answer. I wanted to see what being on my own for hours would do, no music, no phone, no podcasts. The answer to that was it was the first draft of the book.
Being on my own allowed a fierce attention, a rigorous examining of everything around me. My average speed was 2kph, as I continually stopped to take things in, scoring mental notes into my brain. It also allowed me to catch an echo of the people, who centuries before, had walked this way. Sometimes it felt like walking through a crowd of ghosts.
Writing While Walking
But I did not just have to walk this walk, I had to write it as well. That proved difficult as in between all the walking, I was at home, working. I dashed down impressions and notes every evening into A4 notebooks, as the days darkened and the walk came to a close, I began to rise early, before 6 most mornings, and wrote at my kitchen table by candlelight. I needed to write this book through the dark to capture what they had endured, in the depths of darkest January. But these early morning sessions were still notes, drafts, thoughts.
My deadline was December 1st, to turn in the finished manuscript. We hoped to get a book of around 60k, but to get that I knew I had to overwrite – 90k was my goal. There was something about needing to finish the walk before I could start properly writing it – all my deadlines got pushed back as I failed to finish the walk when I wanted to, at the Autumn Equinox in September.
It was the end of October before I finished the walk, and I had a draft of 20,000 words by then, mostly the history. My publisher allowed me to push the deadline for the final MS submission to the 21st December. This cut timelines on the far side of the work to nothing – for developmental and copy editing, for proofreading, for production, for getting early proofs out. We had a publicity meeting in early December for a book that didn’t exist. Gill Hess were selling a book into bookshops and media outlets on a mere promise and an audacious prayer.
Looming Deadlines
November turned into a white-knuckle ride for me, as the pressure increased and the deadline loomed, terrifying and enormous. I moved my desk into my bedroom, the only place I could close the door on the rest of the house, and for my kids, disappeared all over again as I wrote in wild haste, 10-15,000 words a week. Oddly enough, this crazy speed suited the book, as I wanted to capture the intensity and pressure of the O’Sullivan walk and how difficult it was for them, and when I faltered in the writing, I just thought of their terrible fourteen days, of the fighting, the battles, the starvation and mishaps they endured and their endurance spurred me on.
I came out of the room for school runs, to feed the kids, to walk the dog, food shops, and after that, all I did was write. I saw no one for two months, ignored Christmas parties and nights out, by the 21st December, the shortest day of the year, I had written 105,000 words. I had a mess of a manuscript. I sent it to Deirdre, who read it and called me the day before Christmas Eve. She said the one word I wanted to hear: Stunning!
Editing
We edited the book in tandem all over Christmas, I took the 25th off and worked on it every other day. As the edits flew back and forth, as the necessary cuts were made, we heard, due to delays on our side, we had lost the intended copy-editor, and Deirdre had to find another one at short notice. She did, and Djinn Von Noorden of New Island came on board.
By this, I had written so much both arms physically ached, like they were crumbling on the inside. I raised my head from the desk and began to deal with my neglected, chaotic house. By a miracle, we met the deadline for the typesetting, then the PDFs were proofread, corrections and amendments made, and it went into production in early March, all overseen by the brilliant Lisa Gilmour at Eriu, who kept everything on track.
Walking to the Foot of the Sky – the launch
Walking to the Foot of the Sky is my miracle book. So many things were against it, mostly time. And it turned into, of all things, a book about time, so there is a sweet resonance in that for me. We pulled it off, despite the odds, and it is, with very little pre hype, landing in shops this month with the launch on the 14th May.
And I like that, because it is a book about what happens when you go so still and quiet that nature almost becomes a part of you. What happens when you push yourself harder than you ever thought possible. And the writing reflected and mirrored the walking – I went to places I never imagined, it is like I have been under a spell, cast on me by the landscape, a geasa droma draíochta, an unbreakable spell of obligation.
Walking to the Foot of the Sky is published with Eriu and launched at Dubray Grafton Street, 14th May, at 6.30pm.
(c) Miriam Mulcahy
Author photograph (c) Conor Horgan
About Walking to the Foot of the Sky by Miriam Mulcahy
When she first set foot on the Beara Breifne Way, Miriam Mulcahy expected a long-distance hike that would take her across some of the most beautiful scenery in Ireland. What she found instead was a living tapestry past and present: ancient landscapes where myth and memory linger; pilgrim routes and rebel roads; quiet villages, wild coastlines, hidden valleys, and the ghostly thread that ties them all together.
Following in the footsteps of Domhnall Cam O’Sullivan Beare’s fateful march in 1603, she begins her journey uncertain – of the path, of herself, of what she hopes to find. But as the miles unfurl, something shifts, and she begins to carve a line of connection in time.
This is an extraordinary story of landscape and legacy, of attention and endurance, of losing sight of yourself and finding something far better: renewal. Lyrical, reflective and quietly radical, it captures what happens when you give yourself over fully to a journey – and how, in doing so, you return changed.
Order your copy of Walking to the Foot of the Sky online here.
And read more Meet the Author articles on Writing.ie here.
