Sitting In…Indigenous Places with Tony Birch

Last Wednesday night I sat in the front row of the 176 Little Lonsdale St performance space. Evaluation sheets had been placed on each seat, and I realised that I didn't have any expectations.

Truth: I only heard of Tony Birch a few months ago. Nicole Hayes, my writing tutor, brought 'Ghost River' to our group to study, and that set off a series that seems to happen organically once you've noticed something. 'Blood' is in a collection I was reading to research Paddy O'Reilly, who is judging a competition I'd like to enter. A friend in London tweeted about the Frank O'Connor shortlist and I landed on the longlist, and there's Tony. He's the writer in residence on The Wheeler Centre's Weather Stations project, which is enjoying enormous publicity. And there he is on the Writers Victoria program - Author talk. Indigenous Places.

I had no expectations, I just wanted to see and hear him speak.

Because there was a sort of lectern, a Dr. on a stage and we were seated in straight rows, I felt like I was at the start of a lecture, and subsequently that I should take notes. But quickly that compulsion moved from obligation, because I was fascinated, and (importantly) prompted to think. Several times I wandered off from what was being presented because it sparked so much for me to look into later.

At one point I wrote in my notebook, "Awkward eye contact with TB. I think he thinks I'm a stalker starer. Should have sat further back."

But I was in the front row, and I was writing ideas about how to explore issues in my writing; how to explore my place through not just my own, but others' experience of it. I caught myself eye-locked, mouth pursed and nodding thoughtfully, and thought I must look like a complete wanker, but really I felt awake in the way only intelligent, provocative, considered and interesting conversation creates. I felt as though I'd been taken as a plus one to a dinner party and fortuitously sat beside a compelling and sociable guest, and I didn't want to be interrupted.

The overwhelming message I left with was the value of telling stories. That everyone and everywhere (even Glen Waverley) has a story, and we have a responsibility to pass these stories on. Many of the things that connect us to place, and each other, may be small but they are significant. So my notebooks and collages of observations - a man reading a Feng Shui detective novel on the tube to Arsenal; the French girls playing Trivial Pursuit at my local, certain that the English word 'seal' was the correct answer to the question, "What kind of animals are the main characters in Watership Down?" - I felt a validation for continually noting these sorts of things, and my efforts to construct stories around them.

My notes from the session appear as a random set of unrelated topics - from Hiroshima to ACMI and digital storytelling - but they all have hours of meaning for me to rummage in.

At 6.30pm Tony had spoken of Tanderrum, a Wurundjeri practice where the host has to give their guest something of great value. In a sense, participants at Wednesday night's session should leave feeling they had got more than their ticket price's worth. At 9.00pm I sat on my tram, writing, and drew a box around: Tony Birch is an extremely generous host. I knew I'd wake up feeling as though I had more than "got my money's worth". And I missed my stop.

* * *
Sitting In is a series I've started of my experiences at writing, and potentially other, related events. Like my Time Out tracks and Book Comments, these are not meant to be reviews, but reflections.

I'm always interested in feedback or suggestions.

Hiatus is over - new releases on their way

A couple of weeks ago I got excited at the news of Favel Parrett's new book, 'When The Night Comes', hitting the shelves soon. I'm remaining calm as it's not due to happen until 26th August.
But it's not easy.

If you haven't read 'Past The Shallows', well I've given it to some very different people and all have loved it. My dad loved it. My EastEnders-Coronation Street watching English friend loved it. My dearest Melbourne best friend loved it. Okay that one didn't surprise me so much, but it was good to know.

augiemarch.com.au

And then on Monday morning Augie March tweeted, and rrr breakfasters told me, 'Yes, hiatus is over. Music made.'

It's been five years since they released 'Watch Me Disappear' and the new album is due to arrive "later this year".

I remember giving 'Moo, You Bloody Choir' to one of my nieces, opening up a dialogue about music that is still going. She's currently into Violent Soho, so we've diverged a little, but at least we still talk, and share, music.

Will I ever grow out of waiting for new release dates like waiting for Christmas Day?
There Is No Such…There Is No Way.

Time Out Track: "What The Heck Was That"

A Finger, Two Dots Then Me

Lately I've been listening to podcasts more than music. I'm in the final editing stages of a few stories, and need silence for that. But the new pieces I'm writing, which I'm trying to build from one line or an old woman I saw in the street…wherever they're from they're very very early, and need careful coaxing. So I've been writing while writers read to me. Sometimes it's their work in their voice, and sometimes they're reading stories of other writers.

My track history is dominated by:
- James Salter reading 'Break It Down' (Lorrie Moore) from The Guardian, and
- Colm Tóibín reading 'The Children's Grandmother' (Sylvia Townsend Warner) thanks to The New Yorker Fiction

And my latest addition, thanks to Going Down Swinging, is this clip from Derrick Brown, scored by Mogwai.

It might help you if you're flagging on a Friday afternoon, or give you words to reflect on, or prompt you to book a ticket to one of his upcoming (Australian) shows.

Or just fill the next 7 minutes and 40 seconds.

Time Out Track: What I'm Doing Here

This morning I read a 4.5* review of Lake Street Dive's recent release, Bad Self Portraits. It's their 3rd album but [confession] I hadn't heard of them before.

They've been compared to an impressive line up - ABBA, Mamas and Papas, Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin - and then there's the breakthrough video of LSD funking up "I Want You Back" (Jackson 5) that has been watched more than 1.8m times. As well as crafting a cool rendition on a Boston sidewalk, they even make double denim work.

Looking at video clips available I saw "What Am I Doing Here?" and thought of Radiohead's "Creep" and it all seemed to fit with the piles of ideas I have strewn around my room at the moment.

It may not be the latest or best track from LSD, but this studio recording is a pretty sweet introduction to a band cracking big success after 10 years touring in vans. If you live in Europe or USA, you can catch them on their extensive 2014 tour. Us Antipodeans might have to canvas lead singer Rachel Price to drop in to the country where she was born, but in the meantime, the album's a pearler.

We need to talk about Sticky

My brother and his wife and 4 children are enjoying a week in Bussleton, WA, so as (the wonderful) Auntie Jen, I’m in charge of the house. And that includes my niece’s pet: a stick insect.

I wasn’t that interested when she was showing Sticky off and talking about what great pets they are. In fact I can’t even remember any of Sticky’s virtues, but now I have a problem.

Last night I switched on the lights in the study. There was a shot crack, the bulb blew, and then the whole house was in darkness. Fortunately my niece likes to read in bed when she should be sleeping, and I know where she keeps her torch.

After some fuse flicking and a call to their neighbour – I couldn’t even sort out the safety switch light fuse issue – I was back in light. And thought I’d just drop in and say hi to the insect.

This is the email I just sent to my brother and his wife:

So, you know how I said he was all good on Sunday night? Last night, after the lighting incident, I went in to Scout's room to borrow her lamp as the lighting's a bit dim in the study now.

I said hi to Sticky and noticed that he looked, well, he was hanging in a rather precarious and surely uncomfortable position. I flicked his branch (gently of course) and got a couple of very limp reflexes from a couple of his bits. Thought (hoped) he was just sleeping. 

But he's still the same today and I'm very worried. (About a f*@!ing stick thing, I can't believe it.)

I've done some research, and these guys do have a lifespan of 6 - 12 months apparently. But HE CAN'T DIE on my watch. I'm terrified. Is there anything in terms of maintenance that you can recommend? Help! Can we bring him back to life? 

There's still a slight reflex, but he's wrapped around a leaf with his head tilted back like that fliptop kid that used to be on the Colgate ad and I'm wandering in there every hour hoping to see he's climbed up the side of the cage and is eating through a eucalyptus leaf.

What do you do when you’ve killed your niece’s pet?

I’ve only been back in the country for 2 months, and have so far basked in praise and daily, ‘I’m so glad your homes.’ I’ve even been thinking about writing something for a Families magazine, maybe even a Parents one, about ‘Don’t underestimate aunties…we’re almost as special as grandparents.’

But that, along with possible house-sitting opportunities, seems entirely unsuitable now.

I thought about saying that I hadn’t visited him the whole time they were away. He’d been given enough fresh leaves to get through the week, and I’d been told he’d be no trouble. Imagine my surprise!

But now I really think he’s really dead.

I suggested to a friend today that he’s suffering, missing his attentive and sweet animal-loving owner. My friend, and her 3 daughters, didn’t grace this with a reply.

I’ve tried blowing gentle resuscitation breaths at him – he seems to have become a ‘he’ in the last 24 hours – and talking to him, telling him that his beloved will be home soon and all will return to normal. But he still seems to be dead.

It’s another 6 days until the family returns. Waiting for a reply to my email is more tortuous than any will-he-won’t-he date call, and though I tell myself not to go in there and check for some miraculous recovery I keep going back.

My niece and I look very alike and I’ve always thought we have a very special bond. Now I fear whenever I ask her to try something new with me, or get in the car with me, even when I cook dinner for the family, she’ll look at me with my own blue eyes, and if she gets to the point where she doesn’t say it, she’ll always be thinking, ‘You killed Sticky. Just 5 days in your care, and you killed him.’

It’s possible I’ll spend hours trawling through the neighbourhood hunting another Sticky to do a switch. But I reckon, even though it’s only a f*@!ing insect, I reckon she’d know.

I could always get on a plane back to London…

Time Out Track - Dialogue

I've taken a long online time out, but having settled back in Melbourne I'm now settling back into a desk. Well, many desks at the moment, floating around houses and using libraries as an office.

Yesterday I joined a writing group, and during the discussion we were steered to studying Elmore Leonard for great dialogue. I've always struggled with dialogue, and therefore tend to avoid it, so will certainly take the heads up.

And then driving home this track came on the radio, and seemed a perfect way back into my Time Out Tracks - here's some NZ dialogue in song.

MELBOURNENOW - the crystal ball is broken

Earlier at NGV, as part of the Melbourne Now exhibition, Lisa Dempster chaired a panel consisting of Fiona Wood, Warren Bonnett and Connor O'Brien. We had festivals, writing, bookselling, publishing, designing, technology…basically experience and expertise on the chain of words. And our focus was the supply and demand of words from Melbourne.

There are many reasons why types (I don't want to start the genre, sub-genre classification debate) of writing are growing in popularity: science can thank the science journalists'  job losses for the improving quality of books tackling complicated and extraordinary events in the world; YA appeals to adults because it touches a time in our lives that typically was in flux as we developed our identities, and for some that is nostalgic, for others it contains regrets, but regardless it tends to be a time we love looking back at; digital developments are linking people in discussions and debates (with faces!) and showing how it really doesn't matter where you live, you can always participate in a literary event.

I've just returned to Melbourne and so enjoyed hearing two words over and over again during today's discussion: infrastructure and support.

The Wheeler Centre was at least part of the answer to most questions:
- What does it mean for Melbourne to be a City of Literature: engagement between readers and writers.
- And how dow we achieve that here? The Wheeler Centre, our range of festivals and our pool of passionate booksellers. Oh, and a talented writing community.

So what does the future look like?

As Warren reminded us, a year before the internet was 'launched', no-one predicted it's take-off. Initially IBM refrained from entering the PC market, forecasting a demand of approx. 10 per nation.

So what's the next thing in publishing? And how can you/I/we make sure we're a part of it?

The crystal ball might be broken, but right now Melbourne is a great place for readers, and writers, to be.

Our independent booksellers each have unique personalities and a place in their community, and just last week were consulted by the Melbourne City Council to talk about what council policies can do for them. So good infrastructure can get better.

The diverse calendar of literary events are all well-attended, and we're in a place that supports getting new ideas off the ground. Just look at the line-up in Connor's Digital Writers' Festival (and you'll notice The Wheeler Centre behind the scenes).

As is a trend globally, we have seen an explosion in book clubs and reading groups, but here we're also now seeing growth in volunteer programmes to help teach people to read. There's a lot of goodwill amongst readers and writers, and it's hard to imagine anything will slow that down.

Speaking for the YA market, but perhaps relevant across all Australian writing, Fiona has been asked 'what's in the water down there?' by people in the US. Our words are fresh and filled with an energy that makes them stand out.

We have some amazing publishers with international reputations that take chances locally but think globally. Innovation has deep roots here - Fiona worked on the 'Poems on Post-Its' project 25 years ago!

Who knows if we'll follow Krakow and have reserved seats on trams for readers, or if, like Paris, the literary supply chain will receive government subsidies. Who would have known there'd be a job as a bibliotherapist? A year ago the death knell for 'long form content' (ie. a book) started to ring, and then there's the success of 'The Luminaries' and 'Goldfinch'.

I don't know what's next or how it will look or who'll be leading it, but I am pretty confident that I'm in a good place to write, read, listen, learn, and have a lot of fun with the passionate people around me.

And finally, is there an iconic Melbourne text?

• Fiona has The Getting of Wisdom (Henry Handel Richardson) for her childhood, Helen Garner in her 20s, and now the many contemporary YA writers using Melbourne as their setting.
• Connor read Barracuda (Christos Tsiolkais) the day he moved to Melbourne, so it shed some light on society and places here.
• Warren recommends Melbourne (Sophie Cunningham) as well as Christos and Helen.

Perhaps you've got one to share?