Love is not something you would immediately associate with an academic conference. For all their vigour they can also be lonely and brutal places, which is why I have been careful in deciding where, when, and with whom I want to congregate. Below is a ‘non-report’ from a different kind of conference experience, and takes the form of a piece of ‘flash fiction‘ written during an 8 minute window in a workshop run by Shauna Gilligan (who you can find here and here – depending on which identification suits you).
This was at the 2nd Irish Narrative Inquiry Conference, held at Maynooth University. I might write something on my experience of the conference but for now I just want to preface the flash fiction with a short observation: rather than a series of monological deliverences, the kind of ‘look at me’ style so redolent of the academic conference, this event (for me) was more akin to community building, of nurturing existing connections, found connections, renewed connections. Sure, there was a certain absence of intellectual interrogation, but that’s fine as such conversations can occur after the event, in more negotiated spaces. It was a sharing that, in conversations in the conference ‘between spaces’, allowed folks to reflect there (and then and then and later again) without posture. It was a moment outside the managed CV or the managerial strategic alignment to institutional objectives. And neither was it about boundary setting and gateways. There was a sense of free roaming – free range academia?
So, it seems fitting that my first response to this event is to share the flash fiction, the 8 minute novel (thanks Shauna for the opportunity):
I think I hadn’t quite noticed it, Spring. The blossom on the cherry tree caught my eye as I made my early morning coffee. How you worried over that tree, the westerly winds blowing in from the sea. You would rush to the kitchen window and just smile quietly when you saw the pink and white bear up. And me? The tree was just there; a feature; but easily ignored as I busied myself on whatever project I had in mind – and it usually was IN MY MIND. How I neglected the delicate blossom; how I failed to catch the coming storm; how I failed to run to the kitchen and check on this beautiful thing. I sip my coffee and think on all I have neglected and how I am left OUT OF MY MIND.