Resolutions, Resolutions.

So, it's another year (another decade in fact). This time ten years ago I was with my partner, Casey, and some friends to welcome in the new Millennium. We were confident that Y2K wasn't going to hit, that the world as we knew it would go on and we believed in the lasting power of friendship. That evening we used my trusty old Toyota, Helga, to get to one of the world's most beautiful west-facing beaches, Piha. As the sun went down we fired Roman candles into the sky, made sand-fairies and stayed up playing board games all night. Before dawn we drove to eastern-facing Long Bay to watch the sun rise. It felt raw and new then, the clouds searing apricot-pink on my retina, despite the fact it was just another day.

Fast forward and now Helga is gone and I'm on to my fourth car. The world's future is pretty uncertain. Casey is gone too, leaving me pushing words in his wake. I have found a new love, who is with me now. It feels so good to hold him and feel his solidity, his realness. My friendships remain, so at least I was right about one thing.

I promised that before the start of this next year, I would make a list of things I would prioritise. Not saying yes to every opportunity that comes my way has been one of the hardest skills for me to learn, and it's fair to say that I'm still learning. But this last year has been hectic, too hectic most likely, and I need to slow a little and take time for the important projects. So here they are:

1. My play, The Bone Feeder.
2. My novel, The Colour of Rice.
3. Working as a researcher and writing papers in Growing Up in NZ.
4. Working as a paediatrician.

I think that's enough, although there are a few small writing and organising projects I've already promised people. I hope they will be just that, small and time-limited. That I will have enough discipline to work on the big (and daunting) things, to do them justice. And that at some stage in the next 24 hours I will have a few moments to sit on a beach, listen to the sea, and ponder.

Deboning The Bone Feeder

So, after three years of being haunted by the story of the SS Ventnor, I am taking my project to the next stage. I'm currently working on a redraft of the play that was presented in October at the uni (it seems so long ago already!). Once again I've managed to open my big mouth and now it seems the play is going, in less than two months, to Hamilton, Masterton, Palmerston North, and Hokianga.

Of course, like most things I do, 'touring' is far simpler to arrange than to actually do. It sounded so cool at the time. Of course all the actors said yes. But now, with some actual funding in my bank account and bits of half-written media pitches already floating in my brain (yes I'm your typical multitasking producer), I'm back to the far more basic problem of restructuring the play so it will a) be a cracking yarn and b) hold up in all the venues. While there's afternoon blue sky and South Island green outside, I'm stuck at dawn in a howling gale in the Far North.

I promised myself at least an hour (hopefully more) of writing per day over the 'holiday' season. But so far instead of facing my fears and just opening up that document, I've been boning up on my dramatic writing theory with the help of an over 60 year old writing manual, The Art of Dramatic Writing, by Lajos Egri. It was recommended to me by my new director, Simon Zhou, and it has the advantage of looking like a hefty tome (so one looks intelligent with it on a desk)but being relatively easy to digest.

In fact, like many good textbooks, most of its advice is strikingly familiar. I'm sure I've heard a lot of its ideas come out of the mouths of theatre gurus (and I don't mean that sarcastically at all) who have advised me in the past. Things like a good scene should contain conflict and characters must be three-dimensional and always be growing. And then it goes on to show, in steps, how this should be easy, not difficult, to attain and so for now I am full of hope. But still I'm scared of opening up that bloody Word document. It's far easier to eat strawberries al fresco on my balcony and pretend I never said anything about a tour.

Wish me luck.....

Small town moments

Old granny in fishnets dismounting taxi in front of restaurant: check.
Two tiny Asian kids setting up a giant chessboard: check.
And 30 minutes later one putting the other into checkmate: check.
Kid in waiting room with cigarette filter up nostril: check.
Anxious looking guy in black singlet inspecting meringue cases at supermarket: check.

Writer in disguise: priceless.

Christmas Song

Ah, Christmas. My family have always observed the rituals patchily. The religious aspects tend to be lost on us (although one year I attended midnight mass in Hong Kong with my mum, a lapsed Catholic, and was pleased to be able to recognise the hymns). I almost snort as I pass the TV playing crass commercials. But it's insidious. Social pressure, no matter how subtle and invisible to everyone except myself, wins and once again I have wrapped presents. And tonight among other things I'll probably pick up some chocolate for doing the rounds when I see rellies on Boxing day.

I'm in Timaru at the moment, by the way. It's become a habit to land myself in small town oases during the festive season and work in their hospitals over Xmas, something I enjoy (and given the options - hopefully this won't offend any of my rellies reading this - it's a good way to occupy my time over the 'festive'season.)

Anyway - what a long introduction. Here's the poem.


Christmas song

Birds quibble and chitter outside my room
The breeze weaves ribbons through the sun
Trees on fire with red red blooms -
As one more year is finally done.

The breeze weaves ribbons through the sun
Inside, the telly shouts and storms
As one more year is finally done,
We're told to buy, it is the norm.

Inside, the telly shouts and storms
Strawberries this year are unusually huge
We're told to buy, it is the norm
This warmish weather's such a boon

Strawberries this year are unusually huge
But dams are dry, the rivers low
This warmish weather's such a boon
We'll get through this, we always do.

But dams are dry, the rivers low
The hottest summer in bloody years
We'll get through this, we always do,
We live in Godzone, don't you fear.

The hottest summer in bloody years
In Europe they're dying from the cold
We live in Godzone, don't you fear
And she'll be right, the saying goes.

In Europe they're dying from the cold
Samoa, homeless survivors still bleed
But she'll be right, the saying goes
There's time- and presents under the tree.

Samoa, homeless survivors still bleed
Australian bushfires year after year
There's time- and presents under the tree,
Just close your eyes and don't you fear.

Australian bushfires year after year
Trees on fire with red red blooms
Just close your eyes and don't you fear,
Birds quibble and chitter outside my room.