We’re here on a rainy spring day at a waterhole next to Copenhagen’s glorious lakes, where just last month your play, Glass Ceiling, had a highly praised run at the ‘Deer and Rabbits Theatre’. What has the aftermath of that production been like?

Great. The play went well. It featured the brilliant Maja Muhlack and Claus Bue, and was directed by the mercurial Barry McKenna. The work delved into the absurd lengths a woman must go to in order to achieve parity in the workplace. The play was a development of a short story in my recent collection, Thank the DJs.

An investigation into gender imbalance in the workplace?

Yes. But ten years ago, I thought this disparity would be a distant memory by now. If anything, the issue is more prevalent and relevant today. I’m not some crusader trying to right the wrongs of the world—I regard myself more as someone who holds a torch, lifts a stone, and remarks on the ugliness crawling around in the dirt. The play very much shone a light on a situation that needs to be fixed. I don’t have the solution, but I have a voice that can illuminate.

This theme of the male–female dynamic, and the power dynamics therein—has living in Scandinavia influenced this view compared to, say, the UK or Ireland?

I used to work in the use of technology in recruitment and HR. I was fascinated by the biases we all have (whether we like to admit it or not). I was also deeply of the belief that technology could help ameliorate these preconceptions and create a more equitable interview process. I co-founded a company (Sonru.com) that developed a video interviewing platform that did its bit to level the gender playing field. It wasn’t a panacea, but it did go some way toward balancing opportunities, without gender and race being a deadweight.
The company was eventually sold for gazillions, which enabled me to go back to my first love—writing—without the spectre of poverty hanging over my head. The whole “cold and hungry writer in the garret” vibe just wasn’t for me.

I do believe that Scandinavia has led the way in terms of gender balance, but there’s still a long way to go—a recent study highlighted that in companies with 50 or more employees, only 18% of their Boards of Directors are women. That’s not cool.

Do you find it challenging to bridge cultural differences in your work? How do you approach this?

It’s not something I worry deeply about. I just write, and at the end someone else will edit my work and tell me if something is awry before it’s published or produced. I like to think there’s a deep sense of irony and humour in my work—bordering on the absurd—and if people take offence, it’s rarely intended, and they can simply ignore me and move on.

I do enjoy writing about the Danes from an Irish perspective, and my wife (Maiken, a Dane) thinks I have them down to a tee. In the same way, I love listening to Danes talking about the oddities of Irish culture (there are many). I think humour is a fantastic salve, and if the intent is not to insult, then the result should be clear.

I’m sure you never, ever, ever get writer’s block—but theoretically, if it were to happen to you, how would you deal with it? Push through, step back, drink, or run naked through the streets?

In fairness, I think the Danes would be very tolerant of a slightly overweight Irishman running naked through their streets. In fact, their tolerance borders on ennui, which means it’s no fun. So, I’ve reluctantly stopped using it as a decongestant for inevitable bouts of Writers’ Block Syndrome (WBS).
I think experience is brilliant—I used to get very frustrated and even depressed when WBS would strike, to the point of believing I’d never be able to write again.
Of course, wisdom and age teach us stuff—like to stop being a fucking idiot! I mentioned earlier, the creative juices flow when they see fit. Never panic about writer’s block. It’s real, but even reality passes.

I love the gist of something Samuel Beckett said when he was writing his best stuff in his 50s and 60s, which I summarise as: “Not with the fire in me now.” I’ve never been as creative or produced as much as I am doing now.
Remember, you can write until your dying breath—unlike nearly every other profession—so persistence and patience should be your watchwords.

On a practical level, I take long, long walks when I can’t work, and I always find that helps. Then I get drunk and run around Copenhagen shouting Irish war cries as the Danes just tut-tut.

What’s the hardest part of the writing process for you? And the most enjoyable?

Hardest? Editing! My colleagues call me the Typo King. I simply write too fast and have no appetite to stop, correct, and move on. I hate that side of the process. My daughter agreed to help, and the last time she read one of my scripts she discovered 122 typos. And I thought it was fine.

The most enjoyable part? That ephemeral, transient moment of absolute euphoria when you write a sentence and just know it’s spot on—a doozy, a zinger. Something you have to pause for and re-read again.
It’s a rare thing, and the trick is to try to stitch a few of these together into a holistic paragraph, then weave these into a larger tapestry and then… would you listen to me talking shite? Another curse of the Irish. I think your readers will get the point.

Have you discovered any unexpected inspirations or stories from your experiences in Denmark?

I do love the forthrightness of the Danes and how they can be very direct without meaning to cause offence. This is the exact opposite of Irish people, who rarely say exactly what they mean and will charm and Irish-dance around a topic until the listener gleans what it is they’re trying to say.

The glory and joy of the infamous Irish Blarney?

To charm, flatter, and persuade—even when truth isn’t always the foremost concern.

Exactly that.

I’m afraid so. And might I add—you’re looking especially, gloriously handsome today!

Why, thank you, Mr. O’Byrne! And on that note—what does Fergal O’Byrne do to relax? And you’re not allowed to say write!

I absolutely love to cook. I ensconce myself in the kitchen with some excellent music, a big fuck-off glass of red wine, and lose myself in the joy of making a meal… that I’ll later share with my twin daughters, Astrid and Deirdre-Kate, and my omni-patient, amazing wife, Maiken.

For more on Feral O’Byrne www.fergalobyrne.com