Why I write

Inspiration, help along the way and staying true

I write to find myself, to untangle how I feel about a thing – that thing might be as big as the hell visited upon Gaza or small as the dream I had last night. When I write a poem, I most often don’t have a plan. The beginning of a poem is like an itch or a spangle or an image or an overheard snatch of conversation. This thing, this ‘inspiration’, (in whatever form it takes) will often hover near me, like a tiny spirit-bird, for a short time.

I have to be quick: reach out, take hold of it by the tail, swallow it and then let it make its way through me – along through the insides of my arms, hands, pen and onto the paper. Sometimes if I’m not quick enough, or not paying attention, the spirit-bird with fly away without me. If I’m lucky, the ‘inspiration’ will follow me about like a much bigger, more insistent animal – leaping up against me again and again until I pay it attention and lay it down on paper.

Sometimes, I write to survive. The inspiration creature doesn’t whisper to get my attention, it howls. This has often been the case lately. Poetry was my only platform when *David Seymour had me in his firing line. All I could do was take my rage and frustration and despair to the paper and empty it there. This was how my latest book, Big Fat Brown Bitch came about.

I’m grateful that poems are smallish things in size and can be captured and secured to a page or two or three.  I’ve often wondered what it would be like if a poem was as long as a many-carriaged train. Luckily, I can leave the trains to be trapped by novelists.

My poems are about everything. One poem is the celebration of James Cook ‘discovery’ of Aotearoa and the resulting massacre; the next, my father when his spirit escaped his body; the next, what jealousy feels like when it rises from my gut. I write about everything, but I also write about the same things again and again: colonisation, racism, being a woman of colour in a world seething with white privilege, being from two very different cultures, the weirdness, beauty and horror of the human condition.

I write how I experience the world (all writers do). The astonishing surprise is that time after time I discover that I have spoken for others. It’s not my intention, but I have been approached too many times over the last 23 years, after shows or poetry readings, by people who tell me I have told their story too. It is an honour that I do not take lightly.

I keep telling my stories. I am as uncompromising about telling those stories as I can be. I refuse to be censored - by anyone (*David Seymour and co) or by my own fear. When I start to worry what people will think, I know I can not falter. When it comes to writing, I have trained myself over these 23 years to refuse to give in to my own fear.

I love this quote by Tom Scott of Avantdale Bowling Club: “…if you’re worried about pissing people off, your career’s done. Go on a winery tour, motherfucker”.

I would add, not only is your career done, so is your moral compass.

One of the most satisfying aspects of poetry for me is the performance of it; leaving my writer’s garret and inhabiting the words on stage. I’ve also been extremely fortunate with Wild Dogs Under My Skirt; originally a one woman show that I began in 2001, performed for 8 years (and had to abandon when I became a single-mother and found that dragging my 2 year old around the world was too difficult). Thankfully, the show become a 6 woman show and has a whole new life.

Since 2016 (thanks to producer and cousin, Victor Rodger) Wild Dogs Under My Skirt has travelled, picked up a slew of awards and debuted off-Broadway in 2020. Next year it goes on tour in Australia.

The same team (Victor as producer, the extraordinary director, Anapela Polata’ivao and an amazingly talented cast) has also brought The Savage Coloniser Show to the stage (much to ACT’s chagrin).

I started this piece to explain why I write, but at this point I want to tell you - if you’re a writer to write uncompromisingly (whatever that is to you), if you’re any kind of creative - be it cook or dancer or ________________ (fill in the blank - remember living is a creative act) - stay true to your course.

I can’t tell you what that is - your course. I think we find that out with each step we take. But the question to ask is what is true to me? When (because it is when and not if) I worry about what other people will think of me - what is the truest thing to do next?

*P.S. I know I have mentioned David Seymour a number of times in my posts. I will soon (as soon as I can bear it) finish writing the David and Me saga.