Gay Literary Heroes (2)

I was sixteen when I saw my first gay kiss on TV.

     1986 was my final year at school.  There were many things going on in my life at that time that caused me pain.  There was the on-going fallout from my parents divorce and an obstinate refusal to accept that their union was over.  I was reeling from my experience of sexual abuse.  I developed insomnia and for the first time ever at school I failed miserably with my end of year assessments.  I was writing mournful poems about going crazy, about wanting to die, about how unhappy I was.  But if there were any words within those poems that referred to my sexuality and the stress I suffered because of it, then they were shrouded, coded with a code only I or people like me would understand.  And my understanding was that there really weren’t very many people like me. 

     At the same time, The Homosexual Law Reform Bill had not long been passed amidst huge opposition and hateful protests, and the new ‘gay’ disease AIDS, had arrived in New Zealand bringing with it new fears, anxieties and prejudices.

     I remember the night it screened on TV – A Death in the Family - a film made for television about the final days of one of New Zealand’s first AIDS victims.  It was terrifying, it was poignant, it was confronting, it was raw.  In it, the dying character’s friends had gathered to stand vigil at his death bed.  The kissing scene was between two of the friends. 

     Nothing like this had ever screened in New Zealand.  I cringed during the scene.  I wanted to cry as I contemplated meeting the same horrid fate as the poor AIDS victim.  And without looking at my father who was also watching, I could feel his blood starting to boil, his indignation at having to bear witness to such a scene manifested with a sudden outburst.

     ‘That’s disgusting!' he said.  'There’s absolutely no need to put stuff like that on the TV!’

     I felt so sorry.  Sorry that my Dad found it so offensive.  Sorry for him.  Sorry for the dying man.  But I felt something more akin to hate for myself for being ‘one of them’. 

     The film heralded in a new era of fear and paranoia about gay men.  Homosexuals were still trying to rid themselves of the stereotypes – paedophiles, perverts and mentally corrupt deviants of the community.  But now society was recoiling again with the latest development – homosexuals were deadly. 

     I remember the jokes that circulated the school yard – ‘Hey, Ivan.  Do you know what gay stands for?’

     I shrugged mostly, always afraid that the mere sound of my voice would confirm people’s suspicions.

    ‘It means Got Aids Yet?  Hahahaha!!!’

     New Zealand had some major growing pains to endure before society would come to accept gay people.  As painful as it was to watch my first gay screen-kiss, and the sombre narrative that it sat amongst, this telefilm was brave bold and new and started a discussion amongst New Zealanders, and won awards as far afield as New York.

     I hadn't thought about that tele-film until last year when I began to research gay New Zealand writers.  I discovered Peter Wells, a writer of fiction and non-fiction, a scriptwriter and film maker, was the writer and director of A Death in the Family.

 

                                                 

     Peter Wells was ahead of his time, and now stands as one of New Zealands most successful gay writers.  It is people like him who have paved the way for other gay writers like myself, and I am grateful for his courage.

     Below is a link for more information on this hero.

http://www.nzonscreen.com/person/peter-wells

Gay Literary heroes (1)

 

‘…Ginsberg, Allen (1926-1997)

Probably the best-known U.S. poet to emerge in the post-World War II period, Allen Ginsberg entered public awareness with the controversy over his first book, Howl and Other Poems (1956). A sharp denunciation of America's cultural temper during the Cold War, the volume included extremely frank celebration of the libido in all its manifestations, including the homoerotic.

Throughout numerous later works, Ginsberg has embodied varied aspects of the counterculture: pacifism, drug experimentation, sexual liberation, hostility to bureaucracy (both capitalist and Communist), and openness to Eastern religions.

In his earliest writing, Ginsberg imitated the metaphysical poetry of Andrew Marvell and John Donne. Through romantic relationships with fellow Beat Generation figures Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs--and with the help of a therapist who encouraged Ginsberg to accept his sexuality--the poet began to draw on personal experience in his work.

He abandoned strict verse forms, instead producing rapidly written, uncensored compositions. These poems somewhat resemble the work of Walt Whitman, with their use of anaphora and their extensive catalogues; but their diction probably owes more to the "spontaneous bop prosody" of Kerouac's novels.

Ginsberg's exploration of open forms culminated in Howl and Other Poems. The long title piece is a jeremiad in which the poet recalls how "the best minds of my generation" refused, and were "destroyed" by, the norms of middle-class society.

Through the juxtaposition of images ("the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox") and an incantatory blend of Biblical cadences and jazz slang, "Howl" evoked extreme states of mind. But the volume also spoke of a feeling of solidarity and community among the dispossessed.

Howl's forthright treatment of gay life--sometimes with a dramatic coarseness of expression ("who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy")--contributed to the book's seizure by the San Francisco police and U.S. customs in 1956. Thanks to court testimony defending the book's literary merits by prominent writers and academics, Howl was declared not obscene. The book has sold more than 300,000 copies….’

 (http://www.glbtq.com/literature/ginsberg_a.html)

 

 

In my early drafts of my  life-story (the linear thread) sexuality issues never came into the story because I only wrote up to about the point where I was nine years old, and I hadn’t yet at that point come to understand sexuality, although I was aware I was different to the other kids, and felt a feeling of ‘apartness’ from them. 

     When I changed the structure to a completely multi-linear collection of threads, where the narrative ducks backwards and forwards suddenly I was confronted with new decisions of how to tell the story.  For the first few pages of the newer draft, suddenly I was 22 years old, a homosexual and drug addict.  As the words came out, I felt embarrassed and unsure whether or not I needed to disclose my sexuality to readers.  I was afraid of offending them.  But as I made my tentative first few steps,  I was encouraged by my colleagues, and further on again, I wondered how I could’ve even contemplated writing my story without disclosing my sexuality.  I was editing my own life, once again, just like I had been asked to do on Rotoroa Island.

     I was directed to read a little gay literature, study some iconic gay literary figures, and in the process I learnt a lot, about the context of gay literature.  Allen Ginsberg was the first gay literary figure I researched. 

Upon reading a little about him and listening to his poetry, my readers can soon begin to see why I was drawn to the words of this man, and why it is said he became a voice for a generation of ‘Beatniks’ a movement he is considered the founding father of.

 

Beneath is a link to a recording of Ginsberg reciting his most famous poem 'Howl"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2p_kKhRmRkM&feature=related

Some people may be sensitive to some of the content which contains adult themes and language.

 

More on Literary giants tomorrow...

Part Three 'The Book of Ruth'

The Book of Ruth starts with my arrival back to New Zealand.

In the first few months things seem to go well. I reconcile with my father after years of estrangement. Backpacker friends I met in Australia, come and live in a house that I rent and the exuberance of youth and fun still dominate my nights. But bit by bit the flashbacks return, and are growing in intensity. When one of my friends falls from a ladder picking cherries and breaks her back, the guilt I feel is overwhelming and triggers a new set of flashbacks.

     Before I know it my everyday thoughts are invaded by the ghosts of my past – the very ghosts I had managed to avoid confronting in rehab, years earlier. Finally, after almost twenty years, I disclose details of the sexual abuse I suffered as a teenager to my father. This book will paint a descriptive, vivid and unapologetically graphic picture of sexual abuse.

     I suffer a nervous breakdown in the days following my disclosure to my father. I have found myself in the deepest pit, with no idea how to climb back out. I am diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Bi Polar Disorder.

     I have entered a new and frightening world of illness. I can no longer work. I wallow in a state of depression, interspersed with dangerous, crazy periods of mania. So begins years of endless trials with psychiatric medications, horrendous side effects, and uneasy relationships with ACC (Accident Compensation Corporation) and mental health professionals. I become a hermit, dependant on alcohol and dulled down with mood stabilisers, tranquillisers, anti-depressant and anti-psychotics.

     I hold many people responsible for my breakdown and mental state. I feel anger at bitterness at many people for my life but at no one more than my mother Ruth. I consider her own mental health traumas over the years – her suicide attempts, her alcohol dependence and addiction to pills, and the inappropriate behaviour that went along with it. I have believed that if she hadn’t had her drug and alcohol issues then she would have been able to protect me from the sexual abuse that occurred.

     I realise with horror that I now replicate my mother. I am depressed, suicidal, alcohol dependant - stuck at home with nothing but the company of television and prescription pills.

     I strive to recover some of what I have lost. In order to move forward, first I have to go back and confront all the demons head-on, before I can let go of them. When Ruth is diagnosed with terminal cancer, the need to deal with unfinished business becomes more urgent.

     I need to take a wider look at her life – who she was as a little girl and how she got to be the person she became. During this process it is easier to see how I have arrived at this point in my life. I learn that for me to get beyond the blame, bitterness, and resentment I feel towards my mother I have to address it with her and let go.

     This book has some ugly passages. This book will hurt. But this is a story that has to take readers into the darkness in order to bring them back out into the light. This isn’t a book about blame or judgement. It is my personal account that addresses the importance of forgiveness, and the process of my recovery.

Finally, the truth sets me free.

Part Two 'The Boy who always Smiles' the ten years between Rehab and Mental Hospital

The Boy Who Always Smiles  picks up the story upon my graduation from rehab. I return to Australia, spending most of the next ten years backpacking. I find ‘home’ amongst the other backpackers, and feel liberated, young and free. It is an exciting and fun environment with lots of adventures. I feel I have dodged a bullet in rehab, and relieved that the censorship of my life allowed me to avoid the traumas of my adolescence.

     I have found my happiness not only in my friends, but my gypsy nature is as much about being distracted and a means to escape, as it is about being a ‘free spirit’. I am drinking excessively. I move over forty times in ten years. To a large extent my sexuality remains a secret, although there are desperate, dangerous moments of indiscriminate and promiscuous sex, and a one-off attempt at prostitution.

     As my drinking and other coping mechanisms become more deeply entrenched, this part of the book reaches its climax when a disgruntled backpacker sets fire to a hostel, killing fifteen of the hostellers in 2000, at Childers, Queensland. This traumatic event triggers flashbacks to my adolescence, when sexual abuse took place. I begin suffering anxiety, flashbacks and insomnia.

     I return to my family in New Zealand. This is to become the final destination after ten years of running away. I am home.

Extract from 'On an isle called Rotoroa'

‘….Mum came home a few days later.  She headed straight for the fridge and poured herself a carafe of wine.  When Dad had told us that everything was going to be okay, I took this to mean that Dad would be pulling out of Oklahoma! but he threw himself into it even more.  He was rehearsing for it that night.

     I tip-toed around my mother, trying not to say or do anything to upset her.  She remained fairly quiet herself, until the wine began to kick in.

     ‘Come here, Ivan.  Sit down with me.’ she said. 

     ‘Oh I-Jay…  What the hell are we going to do?’  Her eyes were glazing over.  Mum’s face folded up and her chin began wobbling, like an opera singer singing vibrato style.  Oh God, I don’t want to see my mother cry. 

     ‘You know why I was in hospital don’t you?’ she asked.  I shrugged and looked down.  Mum inhaled a puff of smoke and took another a mouthful of wine. ‘I tried to kill myself.  I took an overdose.’

     I started crying as well.  Mum passed me a hanky then she reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope and tossed it to me. 

     ‘Here, read them all.’

      For the next 30 minutes I read her suicide notes. Her letter to Dad.  Her letter to my older sister Mary and her fiancee.  Her letter to John.  Her letter to Uncle Mike.  And finally, her letter to me.  It was devastating.  By the time I got to my letter, her handwriting had become barely legible, such was the effect the drugs had taken by that stage.

     ‘I can’t live without him I-Jay, I won’t live without him,’ she said bitterly.  I didn’t know what to do or say. 

     ‘You can’t die!  If you died then I want to die as well.’ 

      Mum stopped crying and suddenly looked alert.    

      ‘What?’ I asked.

      ‘Maybe he won’t leave her for me…but both of us?’ 

    

So began ‘the most exciting years of my life’.  I’d graduated from shooting make-believe aliens.  Now it was my duty to fight my family’s battle on the frontline. I had been a teenager for less than three weeks. 

    

‘Your teenage years will be the most exciting years of your life,’ Dad had promised only days before.  ‘Make the most of them.’

     How was I supposed to make the most of this?....’

How I write Memoir

 

...automatic writing

(redirected from Free writing)

'...Writing performed without conscious thought or deliberation, typically by means of spontaneous free association or as a medium for spirits or psychic forces...'

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Free+writing


Writing is a place where my voice is freed.  It’s a place where I see things in a new light.  It is in this place that I can see things, sometimes for the very first time.  It’s a place that speaks my truth to me.     

     Words build the sentences of my life.  Inside the sentences are hidden secrets, messages, signs, gut feelings.  Many of these are benign, and though interesting, are of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. Others reveal the cancers, the cracks, the poison cup.

      My writing emerges from my memory.  I hold the memory in the crevices on my face, on the scars of my body and in the beating of my heart.  When I locate it, a picture illuminates in my mind, and plays before me like a 3D movie. My brain sends words down my arm, past my wrist and into my hand and fingers.  The dance begins.

      I am taking dictation it seems, following the voice until the music finishes, and I sit down and read what I have written.

It is here I discover who I was. It is here I discover who I am.


Since I began writing this memoir, the structure of the work has changed from a linear narrative structure, to a multi-linear project.  This has come about as a result of feedback from my peers, and also through intensified reading of other’s works.

     Free writing exercises penned  throughout my degree, have contributed a great deal to the writing of my work so far, and are easily adapted in a multi-linear structure such as the one I am using.  One-line 'starters' have resulted in fully detailed chapters. 

     Free writing takes me to surprising and unexpected destinations where I never intended to be. This in turn has brought up characters and events that I never intended to include.  For example there is one small scene at The Nest the children's home where my sister works when I am eleven, with a group of boys who stay there, that details a picture of sexual abuse.  This scene was pretty much borne from free-writing and remains largely unedited and unchanged.

     
      I have been lucky with the writing of this memoir to have alot of useful resources available to me, regarding research.  I have made research trips up to the North Island to interview relevant characters and I intend to travel further afield to Australia in the coming months to gather material for the second part of the trilogy, which will focus mainly on the ten years that I lived in Australia. 

     I have a collection of letters I sent from Australia, that were kept and held, including some from the period where I was using IV drugs daily, which I currently use.  I have pages of doctor's reports from a few years later in Australia, when I had an undiagnosed condition for two years and my weight plummeted to 45 kilograms.

     I have three large volumes of file notes by ACC, and psychiatric reports. These have helpful in recalling my life events and chronology, but are even more useful to me in the writing of the third part of the trilogy, which takes the reader deeply into the world of mental illness - Post Trauamatic Stress Disorder, Bi Ploar Disorder, depression, anxiety, and suicide.  It shows the swift transition from functional though flawed, to incapacitated and unstable.  The experience of being medicated with various different psychiatric medications is visited. 

     When I write I like to recrate mood and atmosphere by listening to old records and music that has been familiar and relevant to my life.  Everybody has a soundtrack. 

     These are all great stimuli, and a fantastic resource, but one of my greatest resources in this journey has been Facebook.  It is the world's ultimate time machine...


But that is a story on it's own.

A Healing Process - The Blenheim Sun

Here is a link to a full page article on page ten, written about me and the writing of my book. Published in The Blenheim Sun, March 2012:http://issuu.com/blenheimsun/docs/march_7lr

Extract - The drugs

    '....Brendon and Saul met me at the pub on the Saturday following my first experience with speed.  Saul asked if I wanted to go thirds with them in a bag again.

      ‘For sure,’ I said, instantly aroused.  ‘But this time I want to do it like you guys do.’

     Saul looked at Brendon, a slight frown on his face.  Brendon took a deep breath then sighed.

     ‘It’s your choice, man.  It’s the best way to do it, but only if you’re careful.  We’ve never told you to do it this way though, it’s your decision.’

     They took me to a house in the seedier part of Wallsend.  Two huge Rottweilers bounded up to the corrugated iron fence and barked ferociously, slobber drooling from their meaty lips, before a tall thin man emerged from the house and called the dogs off, letting us through the gate.  After looking me over suspiciously, he invited us inside. 

     There were half a dozen people in the lounge room, not counting the couple of toddlers.  There was a sickly musky smell in the air, a blend of pot and cigarette smoke and beer.  Each person wore a thin sheen of sweat on their faces in the warm October night air.  I stuck fast to Saul.  These people looked scary, dodgy, and I felt scrutinised.

     After a brief discussion with the man Brendon told me to go with him and Saul into one of the bedrooms, away from the kids.  Inside was a woman in her mid-thirties, with dirty peroxided hair, and dark circles that spread heavily below her sallow eyes.

     ‘It’s his first time,’ Brendon said to her.  ‘You’re up, Ivan.  Roll up your sleeves, man.’

     I was suddenly incredibly nervous.  I hadn’t expected to go first.  Saul made a makeshift tourniquet with his hand around my upper arm, holding it steady at the same time.  I looked away, fearing not only the sting of the needle, but terrified I would overdose.  This was new territory for me.  I felt the sensation like a small ant biting me before I heard her say ‘All done,’ and pressing a bit of tissue into the crook of my arm. Saul released his grip.

     Instantly I tasted the speed, again in the back of my throat, but in a much more palatable form  than when we I had snorted it.  Then my chest suddenly announced itself with an emphatic Boom! That reverberated around my body, my veins delivering the stimulant to all areas of my body in a milli-second.  The rush took my breath away and left me panting, like I had just had an orgasm.

    Five minutes later I re-emerged into the lounge, a new version of Ivan.  I was confident, I engaged with the strangers who no longer seemed so unattractive or unapproachable.  Brendon and Saul and I stayed and talked, listening to music until daylight crept over the east-edge of Wallsend.  I even made friends with the dogs. 

     I had never felt so accepted.  I had never felt so alive....'

Inspiring Voices (3)

Lorenzo Garcaterra –

Sleepers, A Safe Place

Sleepers is a story about four boys growing up in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, where a juvenile prank goes horribly wrong, and they are sent to reform school. It is here that they are subject to cruel sexual and physical abuse by some of the Warders.

What attracted me to Sleepers in particular was how his fictionalisation of his characters through name changes absolves him of any legal responsibility. For all intents and purposes it appears that the book, although believably a true story, suddenly becomes a work of fiction and can be argued as such. As a result I have altered some of the names in my work also, not only to protect others, but in order to protect myself also.

A Safe Place is the prequel to Sleepers and tells the story of his childhood, growing up with a violent father who he discovers murdered his first wife.

Behind every powerful story is usually an equally powerful back-story. On An Isle Called Rotoroa  is my backstory.  Lorenzo Garcaterra is an accomplished writer, one I would very much like to emulate, in terms of the power of his story-telling.

Carcaterra, L. (1995) Sleepers New York, Ballantine Books

Inspiring voices (2)

A Child Called ‘It’, The Lost Boy, A Man Named Dave Autobiographical trilogy by Dave Pelzer

This trilogy tells the story of a boy who was, at the time, considered one of the top ten of the worst child abuse cases in U.S.A.., the second book detailing his rescue from his abusive mother into foster care, and the third detailing his transition into adulthood.

This is a chilling story. The first time I read it I was blown away by the incredible events of cruelty and abuse that took place in this boy’s life. But as I took a critical overview of the book and the writing itself, it helped me to focus deeper on my own writing, and what I want it to say.

I am not using Pelzer’s trilogy as a model for mine. My research into his writing left me with a feeling more of ‘how not to write mine’. Pelzer tends to overemphasise and can be at times melodramatic (in a story that undoubtedly is incredibly dramatic without the emphasis), can be overly sentimental in the telling of the story at times.

I have discovered over the years, the power of understatement, and the ‘showing’ of the story without having to always ‘tell’ so much, or without commentating too heavily about it. This is how I want to write my books.


Pelzer, D.  (2009)  My Story (trilogy)  London, Orion Publishers

Inspiring voices (1)

My trilogy was inspired by the responses I received to my portfolio in a non-fiction studio four years ago, and is an extension of that work, although far more in depth. In my collection of non-fiction stories I covered issues such as addiction, my sexuality, and the impact mental illness had on me, and my best friend.

I gave a copy to my then-psychiatrist, who was so impressed that he ordered fifteen copies, followed by more orders, for him to distribute to his patients as well as his entire team of mental health workers. Very quickly I began to receive requests from other corners. This was when I realised that my private sales were being spurred on by something more than the sympathetic charity of friends or family, because almost all had been to strangers.

I had a story. A story of trauma, addiction and mental collapse.  A story of all the indicators that he brought me there.  A story, of stories which I had struggled with in my head for many many years. But ultimately a story of recovery.  Confessional memoir writing is an enlightening experience - suddenly I was seeing answers to the many questions in my life, being answered by me on the page.

I began reading more, looking for inspiration from other writers. One writer in particular that made an impact to my approach is Mary Karr, author of The Liar’s Club – A Memoir by Mary Karr

The blurb on the back cover reads:

‘…Mary Karr grew up in a swampy East Texas refinery town at the epicentre of a family full of fierce, volatile attachments. To sort through dark household secrets she looks back through a child’s eyes - and shows us ‘a terrific family of liars and drunks…redeemed by a slow unearthing of truths’ in language reinvented with raw authenticity and brilliant energy…’

This book does not demand sympathy, and slides episodes of sexual abuse into the mix as though it is not the dominant story, just a piece of the puzzle.  It is an honest and inspiring read.




... The Liars’ Club, Karr’s 1995 memoir of her Gothic childhood in a swampy East Texas oil-refining town, won the PEN/Martha Albrand Award for First Nonfiction, sold half a million copies, and made its forty-year-old author, who was then an obscure poet, a literary celebrity. (The book takes its title from the motley collection of men with whom her father, an oilman, used to drink and tell tales.) Karr has been credited with, and often blamed for, the onslaught of confessional memoirs published during the late nineties. Though many of them matched The Liars’ Club for grotesque subject matter—the young Karr is raped, molested, and made to witness her mother’s monstrous nervous breakdown—few were as unsentimental, as lyrical, or as mordantly funny....
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/5992/the-art-of-memoir-no-1-mary-karr


Karr, M. (1995) The Liars Club New York, Penguin Group

The truth will set you free...

In this first book from the trilogy I investigate and relay different versions of the truth – what I had always believed to be true as a child, what actually was the truth, and of course what the management at rehab expected me to portray as true, with regards to concealing the true nature of my sexuality from the other patients. 

As time passes on the island and I listen to the stories of others, I find myself drawing closer and closer to the core of my own traumas.  ‘The Major’ becomes concerned and refers me to one of the other staff for more intensive counseling.   This triggers an intense depression and a visiting doctor prescribes me with anti-depressants. 

My new counselor has credibility that stems from personal experience of addiction and he shows a non-judgemental approach to my homosexuality.  But the more he encourages me to face my demons, the more frightened of exposing them I become.  I find myself propelled back to a horrific night when I was fourteen but I am so ashamed, I find it impossible to relay the experience to the counselor.   Instead, I concoct an alternate scenario of sexual abuse.  I do so with the hope that any advice he gives me, can be applied to the real scenario, but without me having to confront the true story of what had actually happened to me.

My experience of rehab is rapidly becoming a cacophony of untruths.  Given that it is expected of me by management to lie about my sexuality, the burden of lies is not one I must carry on my own – the management are also guilty of hiding the truth.

I learn more about the chequered history of Rotoroa Island, from a patient who is also called Ivan.  He has been ‘held’ on the island for over twenty years under ‘The Act’.  He tells me  more about Rotoroa’s past – fires, escapes, a sinking of the ferry which resulted in the loss of lives, and relationships between staff and patients. 

But my biggest discovery is that Craig McCafferty, the former Super-intendant of the island (who interviewed me for referral to detox in the first place) was guilty of dipping his hands into the patient’s funds.  Though it had cost him his position, and he was stripped of his uniform, this issue was dealt with internally and swept under the carpet.

I consider my own experience of growing up as a child of Salvation Army officers, and sift through the many lies and deception that took place behind the scenes in our household.  What we presented from the front door as a family was in stark contrast to how the family truly presented behind the safety of closed doors.


Truth is like the town whore.  Everybody knows her, but nonetheless, it's embarrassing to meet her on the street.
Wolfgang Borchert - The Outsider

Creative Writing Practices – What kind of work is this book?

On an Isle Called Rotoroa, and indeed the complete trilogy of books that make up The Sound of Broken Voices is first and foremost a memoir.

Definition of memoir

noun     - a historical account or biography written from personal knowledge or special sources: in 1924 she published a short memoir of her husband

  - (memoirs) an autobiography or a written account of one’s memory of certain events or people...

http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/american_english/memoir

 

This work falls under the postmodern banner, as a piece of Gay Literature, although this is due mainly to the fact that the narrator of the story is gay, not because it is a gay story. 

Gay literature has become a powerful voice in very recent years and is making a mark as a distinctive form of cultural expression in the world.  Historically, writers of gay literature have traditionally been shunned, and  rebuked.  They have been arrested, charged and convicted in obscenity trials around the world.  They have been labelled and protested about, as deviants and perverts.  They have been  forced to write in coded fashions.   Gay literature for many years, in many corners of the world, has been censored, banned, burned or destroyed, and punishable by prison, or incarceration in mental hospitals.

     It is theoretically correct to look at gay literature under the wider umbrella of post-colonialism, in the context that homosexuals (and homosexual writers) have for centuries have been disenfranchised members of society, disadvantaged and discriminated against.  In my writing I show the differences in pre-law reform New Zealand and post-law reform.

 My work also falls under that category (Postcolonialism) as it offers a Pakeha (non-Maori) child’s perspective of growing up in Postcolonial New Zealand, in stories that illustrate a context and environment which is at times almost as colonial in its attitudes, as it is post-colonial.   To me perspective is a key feature of memoir writing, and this must always be taken into account by the reader.

The role The Salvation Army play in this work, is also reminiscent of the days of early missionaries in early post-European Aotearoa-New Zealand.

Funding hurdles

A disappointing blow to my project today.  The Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand has opened this year for applications for $16000.00 worth of media grants.  Unfortunately, unlike previous years, this year the grants are not available to creative writers like myself, but are set aside for journalist projects exclusively.

      Writing a book is bloody hard work.  I have spent the last four years of my life studying for my degree in creative writing (two years full-time, two years part-time), so I could learn the craft and deliver my story in the most effective way.  In that time I’ve funded myself by getting up at 3.30am five days a week to sort mail, and have taken on second jobs, which means I am taxed at the highest  rate and pay full repayment rates on my student loan, irrespective of the fact that my two jobs put together do not even come close to meeting the average income in this country.  But there is much more to writing a book than the physical funding of it. 

     There are endless hours of research, of gathering information, or interviewing others in order to make sure that you are accurate with dates, settings, etc.   There are sleepless nights, where it seems you can’t turn the words or ideas off, no matter how late it gets or how badly you need to sleep.  There are times when the subject matter and memories can reduce you to tears, and other times that leave you laughing or feeling warm with nostalgia.  There are the days we yearn to return to, and other days we had vowed never to revisit.  There are the difficult questions and the sometimes even more difficult answers. 

     But there are the rewards.  There are those moments when we see evidence of growth or learning staring back at us in words we have written.  There are the times when our words connect with a stranger and moves them, and has an impact in their own life.  There is the reward of knowing that the story has a happy ending and important messages to tell, to those that may still be stuck in the mires of depression, addiction, or abusive situations. 

    While there was never a guarantee that I would be awarded a grant, I had been preparing for this opportunity for several months, and more intensively in recent weeks, securing letters of recommendation etc and had identified areas where I could make use of the money if I had it.  First and foremost would have been the purchase of a laptop.  I have a (now very outdated) computer, on its last legs, which has never been connected to the internet.  Sometimes I wonder how I have managed to get this far through my degree, relying only on library computers.  Secondly I had hoped to make a series of research trips in coming months to interview people and visit locations that are more pertinent in the later books, but will have to come up with new ideas to generate the income to do this.

     To all the people who have helped and supported me with the writing of this trilogy so far, I give my commitment to seeing this project through regardless of any impediments that may come along.  I thank everyone for believing in me and this project, and rest assured – to the first one hundred people who have liked my page ‘The Sound of Broken Voices’ – you will not be the last one hundred people to like it.  I have an important story to tell, and I am going to tell it. 

Settings in the book

Rotoroa Island, New Zealand, is the dominant setting in this book, but there are several other settings that give background and context to the story.  Some of these include:

Hamilton, New Zealand

-          Te Kowhai – a small community west of Hamilton where I live from the ages of 9 – 17.

-          I am living at my brother John’s house in Hamilton City prior to my entry to rehab.

-          The Nest,  a Salvation Army run orphanage where my sister Mary works during the early 80’s, and where I spend an unforgettable weekend at age 11.

Newcastle, NSW, Australia

-          It is here I develop an IV habit to Speed.

-          It is here where I finally accept my sexuality (I leave NZ at 18 to hide from my family)

-          It is here where I meet my first boyfriend

-          I am living here when Newcastle experiences Australia’s only recorded earthquake that has casualties, 27/12/89

 

 

Other locations from my childhood (all in New Zealand) include:

-          Woodville 1971 -1974

-          Oxford 1975

-          Wellington 1976

-          Kerikeri 1976

-          Waipukurau 1976 – 77

-          Waipawa 1977 – 79

These are towns in which my family live during the first ten years of my life and will appear in flashbacks.  They are evidence of an unsettled childhood and reveal the reasons for the continual change of locations (escaping from my mother’s numerous extra-marital affairs as well as a shameful withdrawal from the Salvation Army).