So, after years of blogging wilderness, and sending articles off to magazines newspapers and radio stations, with no results, I have finally been published.
OK, well that's not strictly true, but it was good for a dramatic opening! I have only ever submitted one story, and never heard anything back.
Anyway...
20 years ago this year, Ireland voted to allow Divorce to be made law. Yes, we only have Divorce here for the last 20 years. To celebrate this momentous occasion, our national newspaper, The Irish Times, decided to take a look at Divorce in Ireland 20 years on, and asked for contributions from readers who have been through the process.
Well, I thought, I can do that.
They asked for articles of 500 words. Initially I thought that was a huge challenge, but when I started to write I quickly clocked up 500 words and then another 500 and another 500...
I decided not to write about the emotional end of Divorce as I thought there would be plenty of contributions on that subject. Instead I decided to write about my experiences (yes that's plural) dealing with the paperwork and the courts. I should add that I did my Divorce myself, without representation.
So, I wrote my piece, sent it off, and waited.
Surprisingly, the editor came back to me and informed me that they would be delighted to use my piece. Woo Hoo! Recognition at last. But wait. Firstly I had to confirm that I was happy with their edited version of my account. They edited my (edited) 500 words to 173! How on earth did they do that?
There was nothing of my article left.
They edited out the bit I wrote about the zombie like people who huddle together in the lobby of the court house. These people are all dressed in a uniform of black suits with starched white collars. They have one arm full of manila folders, containing top secret information about the peoples lives that they are representing, and the other hand holds a paper cup of coffee. They speak in a language that mere mortal people like me don't understand. They talk about 'call overs', 'no-fault judgments', 'silver-splitters' and use other legal terms that I can't spell. They are collectively know as Barristers! They only speak in hushed tones and don't make eye contact for fear of having to answer a question. They look with disdain at the likes of me who would dare to come into their domain without one of them to speak for me.
The paper also edited out the bit where I described how I cried all the way home after my second trip to court. It was bad enough having to go once, but to have to go a second time only to be thrown out of court was very frustrating. I was very upset when I got onto the tram to go home. The tram goes through a hospital grounds and a little old woman got on at the hospital stop and sat in front of me, and when she saw how upset I was she offered me words of comfort. I felt bad, she was armed with a bag full of bottles of pills and a booklet about some condition that she must have been diagnosed with. I should have been comforting her and there was I, crying because things didn't go my way. I could hear the Barristers laughing hysterically as I ran from the court. (That didn't happen, I just wrote that for dramatic effect!)
I didn't tell that little old woman that I was thrown out of court for daring to ask the Judge a question!
I asked her (yes her, Judge Judy Irish style) what she meant when she told me that I had the wrong paperwork! It was really annoying, because as far as I was concerned, I had the right paperwork, in triplicate. Or at least it would have been right, if the other party had turned up! It's all very complicated, but basically, because the other party didn't turn up, my paperwork was not valid. How could I have know that? Which was exactly my question. So the lesson of the day when going to court, is to have paper work for every scenario ready, in triplicate. Or another lesson would be not to question the Judge, especially when she was having a bad hair day. And she was having a REALLY bad hair day...
They also edited out the bit about the red tape. Yes, there really is red tape. It's tape (that's red) which is used on all the paperwork that you must lodge with the clerk of the court. In triplicate.
So now I know where the saying about getting through the 'red tape' comes from. Once that red tape is stuck to something, it really is hard to move it. It must be really exciting to be a Barrister and spend your day looking at paperwork like this. Or a clerk of the court, who has to balance hundreds of lots of paperwork like this on his desk, and then have them in the right order for the Judge when she calls for them. Or imagine being the Judge and having to read them all. That would explain her not having time to do her hair.
I suppose I should tell you that it was a case of third time lucky for me. On my third and last visit, the other party turned up and amazingly the Judge remembered me at the call over, and instructed the clerk that she would hear our case first. She mumbled something about remembering 'trouble' at the previous appearance in her court room. I don't think she was referring to me, she was probably referring to her hair...
Anyway, the paper edited my experience to 173 words. Basically my article now reads: "Been there, done that, have your paperwork in order!" And they didn't even call me by my real name. I've been re-christened Catherine, so my article has been published anonymously.
So it's back to the drawing board for me. I will have to try again to have an article published. Maybe I could use my new name, I might have more luck with that!