On the road

On Friday morning, I got up early, squashed the last few items into my suitcase, drove to the hospital, handed in my loan car keys, did the morning ward round, handed out some boxes of thank-you chocolates and left for Timaru airport. Seven hours and three planes later, I was in Kerikeri in the Far North, being the “walker” on stage for Nimby Opera’s lighting plot.

Being “on tour” with an opera company (for one leg of their North island tour) has been both serene and fun. As was the case initially with the People in Your Neighbourhood tour last year, I feel I’m here on false pretences, as I’m not actually performing. ( I did actually perform at WOMAD in the end.) Some of my “Banana” poems have been turned into a song cycle by a Wellington composer (and friend), Robbie Ellis. The world premiere took place today, at a 140 year old Anglican Church, the Anglican Mission Church in Waimate North.

Robbie and I deliberately didn't communicate over the score and the first time I heard it was today. I admit to being a bit nervous, but I shouldn't have been. Robbie did a very sensitive job of interpretation and I even found myself in tears at the first song, which was about my grandmother's slow slide into dementia. The audience (mainly well heeled retirees) were quite responsive too, although the music wasn't always the "classical" fare they were used to (Robbies sudden appearance in a spiderman costume at the end of the last song bing a case in point).

Yet another type of collaboration I have experienced, now. It's exciting and rewarding.. though I can't help feeling like I did no work, seeing as most of the poems were written 2-3 years ago.

Cooking in Space

I'm currently working about halfway down the East coast of the South Island. Timaru is one of those places which rates its attractiveness by how close it is to cool places(Hamilton and Palmerston North are others - sorry if any patriots are reading.) But truly, it is quite charming to be in a small town miles from anywhere else. There are certain advantages - but more about that in a future post!

One of the 'nearby' attractions is Mt Cook, NZ's tallest mountain, only 2 1/2 hours away and therefore irresistable... and there's a salmon farm on the way there, too. So that was where I went on Jan 4 which in the warped world of the salaried worker is a stat day off. It's picture-postcard landscape, especially the McKenzie Country (named for a famous cattle rustler/honest drover, depending on which history you read). At this time of year, the road verges are awash in iridescent blue lupins, fluffy sheep and alpacas (yes, alpacas) roam the pastures and the tussock waves golden from the clifftops. Get the picture? That's no match for the blueness of the lakes though - too cold to swim in but that doesn't matter. I swam with my eyes instead.

Despite the utter beauty of the mountains, it turned out to be a day spent thinking about even bigger things - space. There's a planetarium at Mt Cook, useful because the Big Boy is famed for its grumpy weather and there has to be something else for all those camera-toting tourists to do. We arrived while it was blowsy and raining, so we sheltered under the big dome which shows movies about outer space.

Space is amazing. Space is immense. Space is disturbingly wonderful because at a certain stage my brain is turned inside-out from thinking about all the big numbers and apparent contradictions in astrophysics. I mean, when someone is explaining it with plenty of metaphors, I get it, but there's only so much meningeal trampolining that can take place before my mind spits it back out. But I really like the exercise.

Anyway. To the point of this apparently random post. As I was watching these movies, and later that night when we were standing on top of a hill beside Lake Tekapo peering at the universe through telescopes, I started to think about my place in all of this. And what my characters would do if they were confronted by the enormity of space and the smallness of their own existence.

To a certain extent, I work by splitting off parts of myself and animating my own characters (sounds like sci-fi horror I know), so really this was about what I do when confronted by how small my place in the world is. The reaction differs depending on my mood, but it's also driven by my underlying character, which is turn is shaped by my experiences (which I can sometimes influence) and my genetics (which I can't).

Looking at Mt Cook reminded me of a past experience which has influenced me a lot, although I often forget it. My close childhood friend, Lizzy, died while climbing Mt Cook. I was 23 when I heard she'd fallen on the descent from the summit. A few days later I received the postcard she'd sent from Mt Cook village before setting out. And at the funeral her parents passed onto me two things: a gold plated brooch of an ice axe Lizzy had owned and a photograph processed from the camera found with her body. In the photo Liz, sitting on the summit, is watching the sun blush on the white slopes below her. Her face is turned towards the camera and she has an expression of fulfilment.

Liz was an adventurer in the fullest sense of the word. Throughout our childhood and early adulthood she'd astounded me by how she ran at things (sometimes carrying me literally on her back). We must have looked an odd pair, seeing as she was strongly built, good at sport and about a head taller than me. She seemed to have an effortless energy when it came to doing things she wanted to do, not merely dreaming about them. And so, staring at that last picture of hers, I decided to take her as an example and do the same.

I'm proud to say that lot of the big things I've done since then bear her mark. Most of the big backpacker trips, across Europe, Asia and South America, were influenced by the thought of what she would have dared to do. And, even if I didn't literally think "what would Lizzy have done?", probably most of my life changes (such as taking up writing) were probably born out of what by now had become my own habit. So thank you Lizzy, and thanks for showing me how.

The Milky way, from the top of Mt John, Lake Tekapo

Hamilton Gardens - first working shots

After spending New Year's day travelling down South, I'm now back in Timaru enjoying a (so far) benign on-call. Since I have to be within 15 mins of the hospital, the easiest thing to do is stay in the motel, taking advantage of free broadband and my still-smooth and shiny albeit not so new Macbook pro. And update my blogs a little.

So here are some photos I prepared earlier... about two weeks ago in fact. Don't worry, marination of the ingredients for this long is intended. I made a "field trip" to the Chinese Scholar's Garden in Hamilton and took these working shots so that I know what environments I'm writing The Bone Feeder (promenade version) for. It's pretty exciting to have access to a garden, especially one as obviously wandering as this one... fun!

Incidentally I paid a visit to the new Dunedin Chinese Gardens yesterday. They too are very impressive - it's easy to see why they cost $9 million - given they were constructed in their entirety on a site near Shanghai before being broken up, shipped over and reassembled by the original Chinese artisans. Not so these gardens in Hamilton, but the same sentiments, ideals and design concepts nonetheless went into their making. These Chinese gardens on the other side of the world have a special significance to the world of my play, being made by people with a deep longing for the culture and refinements of the place they come from but nonetheless determined to make a place for themselves in their new home.

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.

Bone Feeder - show announcement!!

The Bone Feeder

How far would you go to find your family?

In 1902, the SS Ventnor sank in the Hokianga Harbour with the bones of 499 Chinese miners bound for ancestral graves in Canton. A century later Ben, a young man, arrives in the Far North to try to find some link with his past. He finds more than just restless spirits….


Place: University of Auckland Drama Studio, level 3, Arts 1
14A Symonds St
Time and dates: 7.30 pm 30 Sep, 1 + 3 Oct, 4 pm 3 + 4 Oct
Cost: $15/$10
Book: 09 373 7599 x 84226

Writer/Director Renee Liang
Musical director Andrew Corrêa
Music by New Nature