Thursday, February 21, 2019

Mark Amery on Laura Solomon

The writer Laura Solomon died on Monday, aged 44, of brain cancer. Her first novel, Black Light, was published in 1996; her second, Nothing Lasting, in 1997. Since then she was incredibly prolific in fiction, poems and essays: the last book I have is the 2017 short-story collection Alternative Medicine but there is much more listed at, where the first two novels are available as free downloads.
She was on the March 1997 cover (photograph by Bruce Connew) for winning a Denis Edwards comedy writers-as-league players competition (the previous year’s winner was Vincent O’Sullivan). But in the September 1996 issue there was a proper interview. The intro read:
Mark Amery talks to Laura Solomon, the new Wellington writer who makes Emily Perkins look like a grande dame.
“I don’t want to be easily digestible,” says Laura Solomon. “I want to go down like a cup of cold sick, and I think I’m achieving my aim. Now, next question?”
No more questions. Solomon (whom the press is enjoying describing in bold type as “only 21”) is speaking about been seen and read about in the media since her first novel, Black Light, was published by Tandem last month. You couldn’t say, in this sort of situation, that she’s reserved.
“In interviews I just say anything. To be honest I don’t care. I don’t say anything important in an interview, I just hope that it will make people read the book, because that’s what I’ve put a lot of effort into saying. But then, for someone who declared three weeks ago, quote: ‘she had nothing to say for herself,’ I’ve certainly managed to blather on to every Tom, Dick and Harry!”
Solomon says she doesn’t see the point of paying too much attention to what’s written about her. Besides, she says, there are almost always mistakes. For instance, she notes, the stained threadbare carpet in the living room of her flat was described in one story as shagpile.
“As Joan Armatrading said, why use your army to fight a losing battle? Fighting the media and the way you come across is a losing battle. Just get it over and done with, and write another book.”
Someone called Barry from Timaru, she says, called Black Light “a little cracker”. “I’d love Tandem to put that on the reprints: ‘A little cracker. Barry from Timaru.’ That’s much better to me than the height of Quote Unquote or the Listener. It’s much better to me that Barry from Timaru liked it than the chief editor of the Listener.”
Black Light was written while Solomon was completing a degree in English Lit at Otago last year. She’s written two books since, one of which, Nothing Lasts, will be published by Tandem early next year.
The day we talk she’s all packed to move to Melbourne, where, she says, she’ll wash dishes if she has to in order to keep writing. “I’ve always written and I’ll continue to write. I wrote my name when I was three and never looked back. In fact, I’ll tell you my little story about my taste for the macabre,” she adds, starting to show her mastery of the interview game.
“People have always said I’m a little black. Apparently, when I’d been at school for about two days the dental nurse handed us out pictures of nice little bunny rabbits and said, ‘Now kids, colour in the bunny rabbit,’ and I grabbed a black crayon and went ‘eghhhh’ on its teeth. She said, ‘What have you done?’, and I said, ‘Bunny rabbit’s got fillings.’ I was just like that.”
Solomon, however, didn’t want to be a writer when she grew up. She wanted (“seriously”, she says) to be a fighter pilot. “Then I did sixth-form physics and that was the end of that. I was better at maths than English at school. But I think that comes into play, because when you write a novel you have to structure it.”
Solomon may have a black side to her (as the title of her book suggests), have the ability to write well and the motivation to do lots of it, but she doesn’t want to be seen as anything but ordinary. She got published, she says, quite simply by writing a book, sending it away and getting it accepted.
“If there’s some 14-year-old looking through a magazine, I just want to appear normal. If among the over-glossed anorexic Amazons there’s one decent-looking normal woman there, that’s a healthy way to appear. No make up, no silly poses. I’m just not doing it.
“No one’s making me up into some trumped-up dolly bird!” she dramatises. “Ideally I would be just sitting at my computer in my jammy top with my coffee cup. That’s what I’m like — crusty as! Why can’t you just be there looking grotesque?”
Grotesque, maybe. But like a cup of cold sick? The things people say in interviews.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Stephanie Johnson on Peter Wells

To mark the death of writer and film-maker Peter Wells on Monday, the 103rd in this occasional series of reprints from Quote Unquote the magazine is from the fourth issue, September 1993. The photograph and cover shot are by Simon Young: this was possibly the first time a mainstream New Zealand magazine sold in supermarkets had an out gay man on the cover. The intro read:
The Piano wasn’t the only New Zealand film to make a big splash at Cannes this year. Desperate Remedies, directed by Peter Wells and Stuart Main, was in the prestigious “un certain regard” section and sold spectacularly well around the world, including the all-important US market. But the Film Commission wasn’t so enthusiastic, at one point deciding that the film shouldn’t be made. Stephanie Johnson talks to Wells about his sensuous fairy-tale.
In the last decade Peter Wells and Stuart Main have made a number of remarkable short dramas and documentaries, including Jewel’s Darl (based on a short story by Anne Kennedy) and A Death in the Family, which won awards here and in the US and Canada. Their first feature is the startling, sensuous and liberating Desperate Remedies.
Wells is also a successful writer of fiction. His short-story collection Dangerous Desires picked up the Reed fiction award and rave reviews at home, and will soon be published in the US, with potentially lucrative sales to the large gay market there.
Main loathes being interviewed, so while his shadowy presence lurked about their lovely Ponsonby villa, I talked to Wells in his study, from which you can see the glinting harbour and the puffing chimneys of the Chelsea sugar works.

SJ: What are the logistics of co-directing?
PW: People always ask about the co-directing. It’s not as strictly demarcated as one of us directing the camera crew and one of us directing the actors. The film can break up in different ways — like in this film-I worked more with Lisa Chappell [who plays Anne Cooper] and Cliff Curtis [as Fraser].

What a find! He was wonderful. Such a decadent face. Had he done much work before?
A bit. He just appeared out of the blue. Watching him last night [at the premiere], I think he’s the first Maori actor we’ve seen on film who isn’t self-conscious.

The common wisdom is that co-directing can’t be done.
Because Stuart and I have been it for quite a long time it crept up on people before they could make a judgment. In some of the films we’ve made together I’ve directed, Stuart’s been first assistant director and editor. In other films I’ve been writer and set director and he’s been director.

I suppose you and Stuart had the odd disagreement?
Yes, we would’ve. I suppose with this film Stuart was much more remorseless than I was in terms of style.

But you were remorseless about the actors keeping to the text?
[He laughs] With the partnership, people are always fascinated by the technical processes of it. I think  it’s allowed both of us to investigate all sorts of areas which individually would have been very difficult to have brought off. Like creating a kind of queer cinema. Because we've been able to do it together there’s been support and a kind of push/pull relationship.
I think if we’d been doing it individually, almost inevitably we would’ve gone overseas. As it is we’ve created our own sort of island, and now there’s Garth Maxwell and all sorts of other people, and so it gets bigger and bigger. That’s been the most creative aspect of the partnership.

Who yells out “Action”?
Stuart does normally. But we talk a great deal before we begin the project. We do quite a lot of rehearsal, an unusual amount for film. With Desperate Remedies, as with Death in the Family, we did our rehearsals with a video camera there, so we were planning our shots at the same time. It’s: only in rehearsal that you start to discover what you’re doing.

Desperate Remedies is such a vision — it has such a look — that I wondered how you’d arrived at a vision like that together.
It was worked out really with Stuart, me, Michael Kane and Glenis Foster, who are the set and costume designers. We’d sit down in this room and we’d talk forever. The basic starting point was we didn’t have a big budget so we could be as extreme as possible.

How much did it cost?
$2.1 million. In terms of international budgets it’s tiny.

Do you think the costs of it were kept down because it was shot indoors? If you’d actually gone down to the wharfs, you would have had to dress them and park a sailing ship there.
We’d decided we didn’t want that kind of film.

There were jokes in that scene that I think only New Zealanders or possibly people from colonial countries would appreciate — from both sides of the fence. Like “Natives No Problem" on a placard.
New Zealanders will have different readings of the film to others. People have said to me it doesn’t have any point of view of history, and others say it’s revisionist. I see the film as an escape from history, although it has a point of view on history.
When I was doing research I read about a family who lived in New Plymouth at the time of the land wars. They were such desperate times then, when people had to withdraw into a stockade and their houses were burnt down and they lost absolutely everything. They had to stay in the stockade and try to eat whatever was in the cupboards, and then when that  disappeared and they were all sleeping in a room, it was all sort of desperate. And it really appealed to me as a philosophical territory. Desperate Remedies is not as desperate as that, but we wanted the feeling of a stockaded town where everyone’s pushed in and so people are going to do all sorts of things, even though it’s all sort of exaggerated and mad and wild.
I would call the film a queer take on Mills and Boon. Stuart and I as little poofters growing up loved all that sort of Mills and Boonie historical romance kind of thing. A lot of the pleasure came from the fact we were able to take Historical Romance — the great heterosexual genre — and change it around so that what is always meant to be the great ending is subverted.

The language in the film is striking, archaic in a way. Like “those who light the fuse may live to be blinded by it”.
I enjoyed writing that dialogue. I worked with Debra Daley on the second draft. She was the script editor. We had a great deal of fun with that duelling dialogue. You don’t really know what anyone is thinking, but they’re duelling back and forth all the time.

The high-flown nature of the film is so refreshing. In New Zealand we still seem to believe that you don't blow your own trumpet — you make films about what you know about, your own life’s experience. It’s a death of the imagination.
It was a very easy screenplay to write even though it took five years. But the five years were really spent in the politicking.

The Film Commission asked you not to talk to anyone at Cannes about how they’d first knocked you back. What was the story there?
If something like this comes along, which is out of the context of all the films that have been made up to that time, of course it’s high risk. I’m so pleased we’ve got a Film Commission, and it’s absolutely essential that we do, but the voting situation on it is a strange one whereby there are always producers and directors on it. In a way, whatever project comes, it has to be fitted within the profile of their own projects. If your project comes up at the same time as one of theirs . . .
We went through a terrible stage when they’d spent something like $70,000 developing the script. We were going for production money and they said no, we’ve decided this film can go no further, it’s not on, it won’t work. So we just had to say you’re wrong, it’s going to be made. I talked last night to the people who said this film won’t work and they said, oh, we didn’t understand the way you were going to make the film.

Was it the style of the film that confused them?
I think so. In a way we also had to educate a lot of the actors. Stuart and I grew up in a time when on television there were a lot of old films on a Sunday afternoon, so you grew up almost unconsciously learning a history of cinema. These days the films are on at such terrible times nobody watches them, so everybody loses that history. So we sat down with the core cast, the six main actors, and we watched those fast-talking films of the 30s and 40s. Something that’s been lost is the speed at which people talked, the way they cut in on each other. When they watched them they suddenly clicked into the type of performance we wanted from them. In a way it was quite liberating for them to actually be bravura and to be able to walk right up to a camera.

There are lot of close ups. They’re all such beautiful people.
That’s part of the language of the melodrama genre. All the main characters are incredible-looking and all the extras are character faces. Everyone who isn’t part of the main drama is a kind of character face that you can read at a glance.
I kept thinking it was like a fairy-tale too. The opium-smoking caterpillars reminded me of Alice In Wonderland. [He laughs] I think it’s a fairy tale in both senses of the word.

Because you’d rehearsed the actors such a lot, how many takes did you do, on average, for each scene?
It varied. Not many with Jennifer [Ward-Lealand, who plays Dorothea].She has an almost faultless technical ability. It was interesting working with Jennifer and, say, with Cliff, because they were so different in their approaches and they challenged each other. Cliff is such a method sort of actor. He would charge all over the sets working himself up into a complete lather before a take.

Had Anne and Dorothea escaped so they could be lovers here without the eye of England on them?
They had no relation to England, really. Calling her Dorothea Brooke was a totally conscious thing. She’s the heroine of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. In a way we wanted to take a certain kind of Victorian independent woman of sensibility and place her in a quagmirey colonial situation.

The house that she lived in was extraordinary, with all the reflected surfaces and the feeling that at any minute it was all going to shatter.
They were the first scenes we did, the drawing-room scenes. It was wonderful for the crew and cast, because the first rushes we got back looked so staggering. We were all on a complete high.

I’ve never seen a New Zealand film as sumptuous as this. I remember after seeing it feeling relieved, as if a barrier had been broken and we were at long last allowed to make films that don’t have all the way through them: “This is a community announcement.”
Making such a theatrical film is a good thing, because I think New Zealand actors on the whole have had to be very  throttled in their kind of emotional range, more throttled than New Zealanders actually are.

Is that possible? Now, the other thing I wanted to talk about is the music. It really stands out, it’s one of the aspects of the film you remember.
Peter Scholes composed the score. He did a wonderful job. Music is another part of the language of that genre. We used the Auckland Philharmonia — 70 pieces, right down to a wonderful Russian violinist.

Writers who want to write films have got to deal with the fact that film-makers have often got such literal minds. It’s such a struggle that in the end many good writers think, I can’t be bothered, I’ll go and write a book.
For me as a writer I really like the fact that I’m involved in the film world. I notice for some writers that they see it as some form of prostitution. I think it’s a good combination to have. Financially it makes your life so much more possible, because writing for film brings in a lot more money. There are also craft considerations with whatever you’re doing. When I go back to writing fiction I find it very pleasing because it seems so limitless.

Have you started another screenplay yet?
I’ve got two I'm slowly working on. The ideas are just forming. I had a lovely conversation with Shonagh [Koea] about the rituals of writing. You know, how it’s such an important thing to have a routine and a rhythm.
I really underestimated how easy it would be to go from doing a film back to fiction. I just thought, oh we’ve finished, I’ve had a holiday now, so I can sit down and work. I’ve got back into that way of thinking that it’s a lucky thing, even though at times it feels like hell.

Friday, January 11, 2019

Waikato Times letter of the week #89

From the edition of Thursday 10 January. As always, spelling, punctuation, grammar and logic are exactly as printed in the Waikato Times.

New measures for drones
The impending danger to society was evident from the moment that private drones became a marketable commodity, but politicians world-wide have done nothing to manage their use. How must they act to recover this situation? Could they make some unpopular decisions; like grounding all private drones until compulsory countermeasures such as onboard transponders (like aircraft IFF) enabled them to be identified instantly? Or insisting that drone manufacturers provided authorities with the means to countermand the instructions sent to drones by their operators. Unfortunately, we already need measures to curb the activities of fools who cause danger with fireworks, alcohol, drugs, motor vehicles, bikes, and scooters. While they are curbing these antics, they could have a serious campaign against the low-lifes that litter our streets with fast-food and drink containers. Political success would be more achievable if they concentrated on things that they can fix, rather than melodramatic panic over climate change; which has been cycling on for millions of years. Could it be that stone-age mankind would have averted this if they had built cycle tracks? Do not hold your breath, the polling agencies that politicians rely on, continue to provide services that do not reflect reality or societal needs.
Hugh Webb, Hamilton

Monday, December 31, 2018

Hamilton Press Club #2

Sadly I was unable to attend the mid-year meet of the Hamilton Press Club, when Land Wars historian Vincent O’Malley was speaker. Press Club meets are usually decorous and respectful but apparently that one got a bit raucous when perma-polite Don Brash asked a disobliging question. Herald journalist Kirsty Johnston was there and tweeted (since deleted but the Internet doesn’t work like that) the only account of that event I have seen:

So expectations were high for the end-of-year meet with Green MP Golriz Ghahraman as speaker. Disappointingly Don wasn’t there but there were a bunch of writer friends; a bunch of journalists, mostly harmless; political operatives such as Simon Bridges, Sean Plunket, Matthew Hooton and Richie Hardcore; and one I do know, Hamilton West MP Tim McIndoe, whom I sat next to at lunch. He was admirably frank about Certain Things, but, you know, Chatham House rules.

At a front table sat Kirsty Johnston, Lizzie Marvelly and Noelle McCarthy. At the table behind them sat Sean Plunket, star of 2017’s end-of-year meet. My report is here. I thought his best line then was, “After 32 years in journalism you could probably use my ego as tiles on a space shuttle.” He also asked that there be no live-tweeting during his talk “because it’s fucking rude”. Was he live-tweeting through Ghahraman’s talk? Yes, he was.

Steve Braunias, MC of the event, clad in a tropical shirt appropriate for the humidity — a thunderstorm was imminent —.kicked off by declaring, “We’re here to be nice.” Like hell we are, I thought — we’re journalists and politicians. Next, he threw to the floor the nametags of people who were invited but had not turned up : “some c—t called Jamie Strange.” Strange is a Labour list MP and avid writer of letters to the Waikato Times. “The Labour Party begged me to invite him but the fucker didn’t turn up.”

He acknowledged the presence of Marvelly, author of The F-Word, but was critical of Marama Davidson, “author of The C-Word”, for being another non-attendee. More positively: “Hamilton Press Club is a search for meaning — and what is Hamilton but a search for meaning?” Then, sternly, to Richie Hardcore: “Stop texting or we’ll tell Paula Bennett. Won’t we, Simon.”

More positively still, he announced the  Wintec Journalism School awards: Donna-Lee Biddle won the Alumni Award for her brilliant  Waikato Times series on life in Huntly East. Rising Star was Horiana Henderson (open to employment offers, editors!). Best writer in New Zealand journalism was Madeleine Chapman who, as Braunias said, broke the story on “those wretches from World”. She expressed appreciation for his tutoring, his praising certain pieces and how much it meant: “Steve won’t hold back if he doesn’t like something we wrote.” How Matthew Hooton laughed.

A prize of a rainbow trout was presented to Noelle McCarthy and her husband John Daniell (author of the excellent rugby novel The Fixer) on the occasion of their moving to the Wairarapa. Lucky them, on both counts.

Braunias then uttered the magic words, “I think this is probably an excellent time for me to shut up.”
Ghahraman spoke mostly about identity politics. There was an awful lot about Donald Trump. An edited version of her speech notes is here, mercifully Trump-free.

Some highlights:

“I have a degree in sex. We’ll have time for questions later.” (She doesn’t really, and we didn’t.)

“It’s time to load our shotguns.” (I think this was about Twitter.)

Metiria Turei was savaged by every Pakeha male in the media “including at RNZ”. (Astonished emphasis speaker’s own.)

At question time first up was: “That was fucking awesome. How do you not cry when you’re speaking like that from the heart?”

Next, Braunias to Hooton: “Matthew, it’s interesting having a man of your calibre here. Do you have a question?”

Next, Sean Plunket, the angry white man’s angry white man, banged on at length about Metiria Turei.  Lizzie Marvelly spoke for us all: “Was there a question here?”

Ghahraman, calmly: “He’s just demonstrating my point.”

An uproar ensued, led by Marvelly and Johnston, I think, with Plunket shouting “Oh, fuck you!”, at Marvelly, I think. As angry white men go, Plunket is a large specimen. Like Walt Whitman, he is large, he contains multitudes. The sight and sound of him swearing shoutily at a woman half his size was unpleasant.

Braunias calmed it down well from the stage and questions resumed. All those that touched on Turei started from the assumption that any criticism was based on her being a woman and a Maori, not on anything she had done. Ghahraman: “Even if it’s aimed at an individual we know where it’s coming from.”

At 3.05 Richie Hardcore, the back of whose T-shirt read “Call My Lawyer”, asked a question. As soon as Ghahraman ended her reply he was back on his phone.

The last question was from Marvelly: “How do you sustain your humanity?”

Ghahraman replied, “Thank you. That means a lot, especially from someone who maintains a standard of composure online. . .  Because you’re constantly fighting for humanity, how can you lose it?”  

Stuff’s non-eyewitness report on the event is here; Newshub’s is here.

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Waikato Times letter of the week #88

From the edition of Friday 13 December. As always, spelling, punctuation, paragraphing, grammar and logic are exactly as printed in the Waikato Times.
Whale stranding theory 101 
What a sad catastrophe, the beaching of so many whales around the coasts of NZ. No real reason for this periodic disaster appears to be officially found. I’d like to suggest a possible reason.
Whales send and receive sounds underwater that allow them to navigate their marine terrain and to keep in contact with their mammalian community. So one can understand their confusion/disorientation when their delicate hearing is assaulted with an enormous blast 
of sound from which there is no escape. Could this be from the navigational system of a nuclear submarine which has the capability of circumnavigating NZ under water? Our nuclear-free policy would stop any call into a port, and homeland security would stop any connection between whales beaching and a nuclear submarines presence. It’s just a suspicion not a conspiracy theory.
Peter H Wood, Thames

Saturday, December 8, 2018

Waikato Times letter of the week #87

From the edition of Saturday 8 December. As always, spelling, punctuation, grammar and logic are exactly as printed in the Waikato Times.

This one concerns the Waitaha people, who according to Barry Brailsford were here before the Maori. Michael King demolished Brailsford’s first book about this in Metro in 1995 (and later in his 2003 Penguin History of New Zealand). Soon after, Bob Harvey, then Waitakere mayor, made me spend two hours in Brailsford’s company being harangued about the Waitaha and the evils of Michael King. Until then I had considered Bob a friend.
History teaching backed
Pou brings wars to school yard. Guest speaker Sir Harawira Gardiner status – “a fundamental building block of any civilised society is an understanding of its history.” For 150 years, the New Zealand wars had “Danced in the Shadows” of mainstream learning”.
If we are to teach New Zealand history, be it war history, or general history, then it is our responsibility to start at the beginning, not halfway as mentioned. Go back to when man first set foot on New Zealand soils. The real tangata whenua of New Zealand, the Kahupungapunga/Patupaiarehe/Waitaha peoples.
What became of them, and why are these people and their history being deliberately suppressed even today. “Who are we to deny them their rights to be heard, and to be remembered”.
Many of their descendents are still living here today.
G B Burling, Wahi

Monday, November 5, 2018

The Warwick Roger-Stephen Stratford chronicles

My 14-year-old daughter wants to redecorate her room so I dug out some photos of Murray Grimsdale’s exhibition at the Denis Cohn Gallery in 1977.  Murray painted the walls with fruiting bananas, agapanthuses and portraits of his wife May, subject of most of the paintings on show, one of which is outside the daughter’s bedroom. Rooting these photos out, I discovered a correspondence between me and Metro’s founding editor Warwick Roger

I was a contributor to Metro from early on. Memory has it that I had a freelance piece in issue #3 in 1981 but that can’t be right (I have never kept clippings) as I was at the Listener then. At least, I think I was. I do have a clear memory of visiting Warwick in the magazine’s early days in his tiny office perched perilously above Grafton Road: his knees were almost up against his chin while I sat in a canvas chair opposite his desk. Later we would sometimes meet by chance in Airedale Street near the Metro office and gossip, as journalists do. Almost as much as lawyers. Eventually I received this letter:

11 November 1985
Dear Stephen
Sorry it has taken so long to come back to you – busy time of the year and all that. Sorry too that I have no need for brief book reviews. Kingi [Michael King, then the main book reviewer] seems to be in good heart and you well know that Metro never does anything briefly.
Yes, you were right about Laurel & Hardy (Mannion and Adams). What happened? [This is about the magazine New Outlook I edited when it was left-wing but had since become a cheerleader for Michael Fay.] Please tell. The Ferret (to say nothing of our lawyers) needs to know. I’ll call you in a day or so.
Warwick Roger

4 April 1986
Dear Stephen
How nice of you to offer me the chance of gracing my organ with the Vincent O’Sullivan short story. I would be happy to do so provided that Mr O’Sullivan doesn’t have a contract of any kind with the litigious Mr Mannion. Could you please confirm that in your capacity as literary agent to the stars?
Incidentally, do you have any information for The Ferret about what happened in the bitter internecine struggle between Mannion and Adams? Answers on a postcard to : The Editor, Metro, P.O. Box 6842, Wellesley Street or in a secret phone call. You will be rewarded in another life.
Thank you for your kind words about North and South.
When you’ve convinced me that there is no legal impediment to publishing your client’s story and when you furnish me with his personal address, I will write and formally accept the story and send him a tax form.
Warwick Roger

12 May 1986
Dear Stephen
Do you want a job?
Warwick Roger

22 May 1986
Dear Stephen
Thank you for your distracted letter of May 17.
I am pleased to learn of your desire to become involved with my organ and although your demands, especially for money, are absolutely outrageous, Mr Palmer and I have reluctantly decided to accede to them except in the matter of the BMW.
As Mr Palmer is unable to write coherently at present you will, I am afraid, have to do with a letter of appointment from me.
Yes, we’ll pay the amount you suggest. Four weeks’ holiday a year to be taken at times that are mutually convenient. I intend to take a week off in August and three weeks in January during which times you are welcome to be me, so it wouldn’t be convenient for you to take your holidays then. By the time you get this letter you may have learned of certain developments in the ownership of Metro department. These developments will ensure the continuation of your fortnightly paycheck.
If it’s convenient for you, why don’t you start on Monday 21 July?
I look forward to getting a call from you confirming the start date.
I think you’ll enjoy being associated with this organ.
Yours faithfully,
Warwick Roger
P.S. I don’t mind you doing the occasional Listener book review.

I stayed at Metro as deputy editor until early 1993 when I left to start the books/arts monthly magazine Quote Unquote and lose all my money. The Metro days were good times, mostly. Every morning I looked forward to going to work, and that was because of Warwick, mostly. He could be a total prick at times, but he was brilliant. I’ll take a brilliant prick over a competent dullard any day.

And here is one of the photos of that Murray Grimsdale exhibition:

Sadly it is in black and white so you miss the lovely delicate colours, but you do get to see a rear view of Peter Wells descending the stairs. Peter worked at the gallery then; neither of us can recall who the photographer was. Possibly Sally Tagg: the photo is identified only as “05997/34a”.

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Money for writers #7

A new foundation established by the Auckland Writers Festival offers up to 10 one-off grants of $2000-5000.

The Matatuhi Foundation will provide opportunities for writers to develop and promote their works, and will fund activities that contribute to literacy.

Festival chair Pip Muir says, “When the Festival began almost 20 years ago, meetings were held around a kitchen table.”

Yes, they were. The first few were at Tessa Duder’s kitchen table in Herne Bay. Subsequent subcommittee meetings – we had a lot of subcommittees – were held at, among other places, Sarah Sandley’s kitchen table in Parnell and Sarah Fraser’s kitchen table in Balmoral.

“Since then,” says Muir, “the appetite to engage with writers from New Zealand and around the world has grown exponentially and with it the opportunity to deepen our commitment to our literary landscape. It is absolutely fantastic that the Festival has reached a point where it can further contribute to the national reading and writing community.”

Yes it is, given how we struggled financially in the early years.

Inaugural chair Anne Blackburn says, “I very much look forward to receiving applications from groups that seek to engage more readers and also from our writers, whose words and ideas enrich our lives.”

The Foundation website says it will fund projects that:
Relate to New Zealand literature (fiction, non-fiction, poetry)
Demonstrate innovation
Deliver broad community benefit outcomes
Use innovative and cost-effective platforms including digital
Are new or business expansion projects rather than business as usual
Represent well considered, robust propositions with identified, achievable and measureable deliverables

It says it will generally not cover:
Business-as-usual activities
Ongoing operational or staff overheads
International travel
Projects that can access full funding elsewhere
Projects connected to the annual Auckland Writers Festival.

The deadline for applications is 31 October. 

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Money for writers #6

The Grimshaw Sargeson Fellowship invites applications for 2019. This offers the opportunity to write full-time, free from financial pressure with a stipend of $20,000 for the full year (less if the fellowship is shared, obviously), and stay in rent-free accommodation in the Sargeson flat in Albert Park, between Queen Street and the University of Auckland. Any published New Zealand writer is eligible.

When I was on the Sargeson Trust fellows had access to the university library as well as the nearby Auckland Central library: I am not sure if this still applies.

It is a great fellowship and I can strongly recommend the accommodation, having lived in the flat one August. Back then it was the same bed that Janet Frame, the first Sargeson fellow, had slept in, but we replaced it years ago. This involved me and Graeme Lay test-bouncing on double beds in Farmers at St Lukes Mall. Eyebrows were raised.

Applications close on Friday 5 October, with the tenure due to start on 1 April 2019. You can download the application form here, and there is further information on the fellowship here. There is also a very good book about the whole thing available here.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Money for writers #5

The University of Waikato invites applications for the position of Writer in Residence for 2019. The salary is $52,000. Yes, $52,000. Hooray for the University of Waikato, and also for Creative New Zealand, which is joint funder of the residency. (Hooray for Lotto, too, because that’s where the CNZ money comes from.)

The position is open to writers of serious non-fiction, dramatists, novelists, short story writers and even poets. It helps to have a record of previous publications of high quality and, in my experience of assessing similar applications, it really helps to make a good case for why this particular residency would help with your project. Associate Professor Sarah Shieff, who runs the programme, tells me: “We’re especially interested in applications from mid-career writers with strong track records in creative writing and creative non-fiction.” 

As well as the $52K you get an office with computer in the School of Arts and access to the university library. There are no teaching or lecturing duties, but “it is expected that the Writer will participate in the cultural life and vibrancy of the university”.

Also, you can stay at the Michael King Writers’ Retreat in Opoutere for up to two weeks. A fortnight in Coromandel all paid for!

On the other hand, “The Writer is expected to live in Hamilton during the tenure of the award.” So, swings and roundabouts.

The link to the vacancy is here. Full information (including a profile of the current writer in residence, Therese Lloyd) is here.