Posts Tagged "fiction"

The Focus and The Freak, Concentrate

Posted by The Author on 15 Apr, 2012 in He Writes | Comments Off

I’ve been working for some time with the eminent Vancouver-based writer and sibling of mine, Darren Groth on a series of short young adult novels. The first of these is now available on the Kindle platform.

I’m often asked how we go about collaborating on a work of fiction. While all books are collaborative to some extent, shared authorship duties are relatively rare in our game. To be honest, it took us quite a while to figure out a collaborative approach that worked for us. We tried a few approaches unsuccessfully. Although our styles of writing are not that different from each other, the trick is finding a way to make them flow together. What we realised is that every project needs a champion and, while sharing text is relatively easy, a story’s vision can’t be doled out in a 50/50 split. Concentrate, a young adult novel, marked the first time we worked as a writing team, each of us taking on roles as necessary to serve the story. Here’s how I described the process three years ago:

We have tried collaboration before a few times. We tried taking alternate chapters. We tried taking on different characters. Nothing really worked and I consigned the whole endeavour to the ‘revisit one of these days’ file. Little did I know Darren was hatching his own variation on the concept.

What we eventually hit on was taking alternate drafts. The result was similar to writer-editor only with the editor taking a far more active role adding character layers and additional narrative. Our model was less ’50 per cent text each’ and something more like what Joel and Ethan Cohen do: share the writing credits where one or the other might take the lead on any individual project. Seems to work well for them. Why not us? We are already brothers after all.

I See A Pattern Forming

Posted by The Author on 11 Jun, 2011 in He Writes | Comments Off

I’ve been working on and off on a collaboration with fine art photographer Bronwen Hyde that we have called I See A Pattern Forming.

The premise of the project is simple. Bronwen and I find individual works—visual and text—that work together. Sometimes we will use previously created pieces; sometimes they will be newly minted. Sometimes the link between the two will be obvious; sometimes it won’t. It’s going to be a lot of fun seeing how things progress.

Though it begins life as a blog, we have an eye on a options to take it into the real world later on.

Bronwen created the cover image for the first series of ‘mini-shots’, a single-short-story magazine from Vignette Press, which included the gorgeous shot for Coda you can see here.

Click through to I See A Pattern Forming.

Keep checking back with the site regularly for updates. We hope you like it.

Here Today Character Profile: Leith

Posted by The Author on 22 Apr, 2011 in He Writes, Here Today | Comments Off

This is a series of posts that profile each of the main characters from my first novel Here Today.

Big in heart, foul in mouth. Leith McAuley is Astrid’s confidant and friend throughout the story. She provides some critical perspective, offsetting Astrid’s hesitancy and doubt with spunk and a slew of profanities. Leith doesn’t like therapists or hospitals much, but that doesn’t stop her from meeting Astrid for lunch and guiding her progress in this most unusual of placements. But Leith has her own story to tell, most of which she keeps to herself until it’s too late.

Just when you think you’ve got her measure, Leith surprises you again.

From the novel

Her hair is a shock of communist-flag red hanging in stiff lengths of straw around her face. It’s a stark contrast to yesterday’s green though it maintains the dull flatness of hair that has been dyed within an inch of its life.

 

‘I was worried it would clash with the tutu, but it works fine.’

 

‘Who am I to argue?’ The tutu, a plate of pink meringue, may sit neatly over her legs, but it’s awkwardly wedged into the back and sides of her wheelchair. Her black t-shirt bears the slogan punk: the ultimate conformity in neat lettering. ‘I don’t mind the shoes either.’ They’re a pair of heavily scuffed white high heels, old wedding shoes, no doubt fresh from the Paddington op shops.

 

‘By the state of them, I doubt she was a virgin,’ she smiles, I assume in reference to the former owner of the shoes. Without the slightest effort, she tips her chair back and pirouettes on the spot before cruising to the end of the counter. Leith coasts around in a PhastChair, light and sleek, painted hot metallic red. Large cambered wheels and rollerblade castors set off a compact titanium frame. It’s the Ferrari of wheelchairs and Leith handles it with cool confidence, even though errant folds of the tutu are getting caught in the rims.

Here Today is now available in both print and digital.

Here Today Excerpt: Interview with Martin Finn

Posted by The Author on 20 Apr, 2011 in He Writes, Here Today | Comments Off

The following passage is an excerpt from my first novel, Here Today, an interview with Martin Finn as discovered by Astrid at Martin’s own suggestion. It is the first glimpse of the character before his current ‘locked-in’ condition.

It was with some trepidation that I accepted the offer of a window in Martin Finn’s schedule for an interview. The window may have been open for an hour, but twenty minutes was all I would get. It would be a classic of understatement to say that his reputation that precedes him: the writer who has famously used acceptance speech platforms to deride the Australia Council, universities, and a growing litany of real or perceived foes. His television interview with a popular female presenter where he reduced the latter to tears is now the stuff of legend.

 

It’s a reputation he does not shy away from. Martin Finn is an imposing presence in the room. He carries with him the baggage of his awards and the quiet arrogance of the truly gifted writer. He folds himself wearily into the lounge chair and orders a doppio. He has positioned himself in front of a large expanse of window, presumably to hide his facial expression in a wash of glare.

 

‘The marketing for this book is completely different to anything I’ve ever done before. Apparently I sell now.’

 

Finn of course is referring to the Black Ink Award for his last novel, the monumental Red Right. Readers of the novel many already consider a modern masterpiece will recognise the same hand behind his new novel The Sparrow’s Nest. While Finn has dropped the politics and radicalism of the work that attracted the richest prize in modern literature, underlying themes of love, sex, and death remain entrenched in his work. Finn himself is circumspect on the thematic protractions.

 

‘The Sparrow’s Nest is a very different novel. It comes from a completely different place. A lot has happened since Red Right.’

 

Finn doesn’t make this claim lightly. The day after the London-based Black Ink committee catapulted him into highest echelons of Australia’s and the world’s literary canon, Finn’s mother died in a Brisbane nursing home. From there a series of upheavals rocked the author’s professional and personal life.

 

‘Let’s see,’ Finn says, ‘there was the death of my mother, the switch to new publishers, the birth of my daughter, the unconscionable banning of Red Right from religious bigots in the Commonwealth Government.’ He pauses a moment to sip his coffee. ‘I’m sure there are more.’

 

What about the very public falling out between Finn and his long-time friend and agent, Miles Drewe? For six months the pair conducted a bitter argument through open letters, interviews and newspaper articles. Finn claimed his agent had been withholding royalty payments throughout his career. Drewe claimed his client was morally bankrupt, egotistical, and artistically exhausted after the cathartic experience of Red Right. While Finn may have been justified in shaming his former agent, it was Drewe’s claims that had the greater impact, damaging Finn’s reputation perhaps permanently in the process.

 

‘I think I’ve said enough over the last few years. In the short term he probably scored a few hits, but frankly all I have to do to prevail is be myself. The tragedy is that history will remember poor old Miles Drewe as nothing more than the former agent of Martin Finn.’

 

‘This of course assumes that you will continue to find success as a writer.’

 

‘I’ll keep writing. Whether success finds me now is part history, part luck.’

 

‘Part history?’

 

‘You know this. Big awards create an inbuilt audience, or so they tell me. I can trade on the success of Red Right for years now, even if I write complete shit. Not that it’s shit, but it’s all good news for the success of The Sparrow’s Nest.’

 

‘Are you saying the book would have trouble finding a market without prior success?’

 

‘It would find a market, just one that’s not so big. It helps to have a name on the cover. Sparrow’s is a bit of a return to my earlier stuff. It was almost like puberty again, that fucking awful teenage angst. There’s a moment in the book I took from my own experience. My mother died and I carried her body to the hearse. I was struck by a tremendous sense of dread, like a foreboding. I felt like I was going to suffocate. I watched the funeral director go through his solemn motions like he must have done several times a day for years. I wondered about people who surround themselves with death for their entire lives, about what kind of effect that might have on your psychology and how such an environment would impact somebody who is losing control of themselves.’

 

‘In steps Elgar.’

 

‘Right.’

 

‘Would you consider Elgar as something of an alter ego?’

 

Finn seems to consider this for some time before responding. ‘I identify a lot with him – I wouldn’t have made him a main character otherwise – but alter ego is too strong and too easy. It’s the kind of thing lazy journalists cook up then reheat over and over so they don’t have to think. Elgar is his own man with his own foibles and, let’s be honest, some fairly abhorrent traits that I’d never lay claim to.’

 

‘This brings me to the claim by the federal government, following on from their objections to Red Right, that this new book contains graphic descriptions of necrophilia.’

 

‘Fucking laughable, isn’t it? Apparently they were too busy doing economics to pick up the most basic English skills. A government that can’t recognise a simile is not a government capable of representing Australia. So they want to ban another of my books – one they clearly haven’t read – from public schools? I say vote them out before they drag everyone down to their level of stupidity.’

 

‘I want to come back to that image of Elgar acting as pallbearer and the vision of the sparrows. You open the book with a reference to John Skelton’s Phyllyp Sparowe. Why did you choose this bird as the symbol of death for this novel rather than, say, ravens? What do you see as the primary role the sparrows play in Elgar’s psyche?’

 

‘You make it sound like the sparrows aren’t real.’

 

‘They are real?’

 

‘Hard to say. No one else in the story talks about them, so perhaps you’re right. But the reason the birds are sparrows? I mentioned my mother’s funeral as one inspiration. The other was not so much Skelton’s poem, but the ones it was inspired by.’

 

‘Which would be Catullus.’

 

‘Right. I think you’re the first person to pick up on the Catullus reference. We should do away with journalists altogether and just talk between novelists. Anyway, I came across a dodgy translation of Catullus in an old bookshop and I was struck by how he was able to swing wildly from precision and emotional maturity to childish point scoring and what I can only assume was the filthiest of Latin that never made it anywhere near churches or schools when I was growing up. You’ve got to love a poem with a first line like: I’m going to fuck you up the arse and make you suck my dick. He was like a Roman gangster rapper, a master of subtlety.’

 

‘So why not quote from Catullus directly, rather than Skelton?’

 

‘Skelton seemed to have a richer tone to his poem than the translated Catullus. I suspect Catullus works better in his native Latin, but I wasn’t going to open my novel with a quote in a dead language. At least you can still understand Skelton, at least if you read it out loud.’

 

At this point I glance down at my notes. I half suspect the kind of reaction I will get, so the next question fills me with dread. A few seconds in and I realise my anxiety is entirely justified. I watch Martin’s eyes cool and his body stiffen as I plough on.

 

‘A few reviewers have pointed to some of the more explicit scenes in The Sparrow’s Nest to make rather salacious claims of a secret extramarital affair you have supposedly been entangled in for the past several years.’

 

Martin stands, quite calmly, and drops his espresso cup onto the coffee table with a tremendous crack.

 

‘Fucking hell, at least have the balls to make the claim yourself instead of hiding behind some faceless group of reviewers. I’m sorry we couldn’t continue this conversation. I was having fun,’ he says simply.

 

I try to salvage the rest of the interview with a quick mea culpa, but the damage was done. Martin turned at the door to his assistant.

 

‘Find out who this fucker writes for. I want them blackballed. They don’t publish another fucking word from me, get it?’

Here Today is available now in both print and digital.

Here Today Character Profile: Martin

Posted by The Author on 18 Apr, 2011 in He Writes, Here Today | Comments Off

This is a series of posts that profile each of the main characters from my first novel Here Today.

Martin Finn is a successful and highly respected novelist. His credits include the monumental Red Right, which won the Black Ink prize a few years back. His most recent novel is The Sparrow’s Nest, a dark, controversial work for its suggestions of incest and necrophilia.

Many would now assume The Sparrow’s Nest to be Finn’s final work. Following a rare form of stroke, Martin now has the condition called ‘locked-in syndrome’. The resulting paralysis has robbed Martin of all voluntary movement save for vertical movement in his eyes. He cannot speak with his wife and he cannot play with his young children. He is reduced to binary communication: up for yes, down for no.

But Martin isn’t finished telling stories.

From the novel

So this is it. This is what happened to Martin Finn.

 

It wasn’t that long ago the weekend arts sections trotted out their tired journalistic clichés around disability: Local writer struck down by a handicap. But past the inches of newsprint, this is the reality. Gone are the fierce intelligent poses on paperback novels, the mainstay of the festival circuit, the creative writing lecturer.

 

For the first time I notice a communication board: mixed up alphabet, numbers and words and phrases. I assume at this early stage the phrases have been chosen for him: STOP, WINDOW, NURSE, DOCTOR, GO, STAY. I notice there are also names: LENA, CONRAD, SHELLEY. And right at the bottom of the board: NEXT PAGE.

 

He watches me smile a little. Blinks.

Here Today is now available in both print and digital.