Robert Lord and me

Robert in the Shed- from my sketch diary. Riffing off the titles of his plays.

There is one last thing to do when leaving the Robert Lord Writers' Cottage in Dunedin. It's to write in 'the book'. This is something that you are presented with at the end, rather than at the beginning of your tenure and it's a glorious rabbit hole of remembrance from past writers to dive down. 

I recognised nearly all of them and was glad that the cottage is now equipped with double glazing and a heat pump, when reading about the battle to keep warm in an Otago winter- mostly from far north authors! This was my entry, typed printed and pasted because nobody wants to try and decipher my handwriting, least of all me!

The Cottage

I had all kinds of anxiety about coming to the cottage, leaving our house and ancient cat in Wellington (in the capable hands of friends of friends). We live in a big old 1910 villa, with my studio, a basement for messy work and a garage with off-street parking. The information provided was a spreadsheet of contents. How did a moustache cup relate to where we would live for 6 months? How big was the bedroom? Was there enough room in the kitchen for our sacred and necessary burr coffee grinder? Did the sofa bed in the writers’ room provide space for a friend’s bag when folded down and in use?

I searched in vain for photos on the internet and all I could find were smiling pictures of authors outside the front door, and one of the mantlepiece. I’m used to light and space, and knew I’d be cooped up in a historic tiny house with my husband. Would this be the end of a beautiful 40 year relationship?

I decided that I would take a full set of photos for the Trust to pass on to future residents.

We packed the car in Wellington with my pared down art materials, 2 computer screens, a sewing machine, clothing for multiple seasons and some odds and ends from the pantry. I threw in our good cotton sheets and steam iron; I was convinced there would be neither (there are). And off we went, waving farewell to the city of my heart and wondering what lay ahead in a city I’d only spent 2 days in (the Octagon) before.

When we arrived in Titan Street the party flat in George street was in full swing, and one boy in disposable overalls approached and asked if I would touch his bum as part of a challenge. This is the moment to laugh and rejoice the boldness of youth, so I raised my finger ceremoniously and prodded his offered derriere to the cheers of the onlookers across the road.

Then it was up to us, to greet the cottage and make it our own for the time being. I think everyone adds in some way to the place. Our contribution was to replace the lightbulbs with brighter ones and the Chinese hat lightshades with rice paper globes that let the light spread to the ceiling. 

Adrian, my husband fixed the front door hinges so that it didn’t stick, and we secreted a spare key outside after locking ourselves out one day and having to call the Cottage Trust rescue brigade. A couple of wooden blocks under the feet of one side of the bed sorted out the tipsy lean. We moved some furniture around just a little; Robert smiled from his place above the desk. Then putting away some travelling boxes, we found his, in the shed. I gather it is empty, his ashes now beneath the kowhai tree, but it seemed wrong to have him out in the laundry. We restored him to the coal range where we can say good morning and he can keep an eye on us, and I can thank him.

Each day I said goodbye to my husband and walked to the University through that stunning campus to the College of Education. I would stop for a coffee at the student Union or the Polytech Hub, and write in longhand, listening and watching students in the wild. Back in Titan Street, Adrian swept up glass and picked up rubbish, to keep it tidy and full of pride and I think his example has worked on the students. He eventually found contract work and the writers’ room has been busy with the sound of a keyboard in full thrash as he delivers marketing strategy for the Otago Polytechnic.

The writers’ room has also been where we sit and drink wine, watch Netflix, entertain friends and read books. We have watched students stroll past from Fatty Alley (Great King Street) laden with takeaways. On one cold day a girl walked past wearing nothing but a towel, and on another a boy in a towel knocked on our door to ask if he could use a phone, locked out as he was from his flat.

From our cosy cottage base, we have explored Dunedin, Central Otago and Stewart Island. I have written and illustrated 2 children’s picture books (due for publication with Pukeko Pictures later this year) the first draft of a junior fiction novel and more than half of a YA Graphic novel (still a WIP). 

I’ve visited schools, given lectures and been involved in the literary events of Dunedin. I buried a sketchbook in the cottage garden for 4 months to decay as part of my YA, unearthed it and it’s perfect for photographing. I dried it out on a plastic bag on the floor in front of the coal range.

Whilst it isn’t mandatory for a writer here, I got a tattoo, my first. It will feature in ‘the work.'

Sorry Mum.

We have been cultural; we went to the Larnach Castle Ball as Charles Dickens and Miss Havisham from Great Expectations. I made a faded and tatty wedding dress complete with bustle on a borrowed dressmaker’s mannequin in the lounge. At one stage, wedding petticoats and a veil hung in the shed, dripping tea stain. I think this may be the only time in Robert Lord’s history a wedding dress has been made in the cottage.

We have been amused by the cottage, warmed by the cottage and sheltered by the cottage. I have learned to be economical with dishes and cooking in the tiny kitchen. I think of Robert and wonder if he was more of a wine and nibbles sort of chef. And in our final few days here, will be saddened to leave our temporary home. It has become quite a part of us. Or we of it.

I thought about all the photos I took when we arrived and how useful they might be to a new writer prior to arrival and realised that entire charm of No.3, is the unexpected. The joy of discovery; it’s the not knowing that makes this so good, so utterly special. Not knowing what you are coming to, the friends you’ll make and the work you will achieve… the ink you will get. Robert knows. What a good man.

I think I'll keep the interior photos to myself :)

With so many thanks, forever

Fifi Colston (writer)

& Adrian Parkyn (sidekick)

Miss Havisham's Shed

Fresh Ink- Ampersand Tattoo

Hows that novel coming along?

On Saturday I will have been here a month.

The burning question is‘ So how’s that novel coming along?’

The truth is, I find myself thrown back into my Masters at the IIML, when having been accepted with a brilliant submission, I got there and found my ideas ran off like disobedient terriers. I went through an angst filled period of self loathing, resignation that I was totally useless, a complete fraud and was not worthy. 

Then I got down to writing.

It takes a while to settle into a place before the muse can be given free reign (my story and I’m sticking to it). Every day seems distracted by something that takes me away from my IMPORTANT work. Things I didn’t finish in Wellington before I left. Getting a Residents Parking permit, so further fines are avoided. Tell me, why does every student on George, Titan and Great King Street own a vehicle? When I was a poor student, I sensibly lived at home and used my parents car, and all their petrol whilst receiving a standard tertiary bursary. Kids these days…privileged much (joking here).

Then there is meeting up with other artists, writers and going to check out the museums and libraries. And St Clair Salt water pool until it closes with daylight saving. ID Fashion this week, French film Festival the next. So busy! So much to see and do. A thousand ways to avoid writing.

But still, walking everyday to my office across the North Ground green, through the University, along the Leith. Watching students, listening to conversations whilst pretending to look at my phone. Realising YA doesn’t always mean 15 year old at school. Can be an 18 year old school leaver. Back in my day we left school at 16 most often. What is a YA audience anyway except for a yarn intended to absorb anyone over the age of 12?

And drawing.

One of the things I decided when I was coming down was that my sketchbook was getting thin on drawings and I had lost the urge to doodle. Part of this is because I no longer feel the need to sketch something from life, because I’m a practised illustrator. So why fill up a diary with studies of fruit and suchlike? I know how to draw them and doing more bores me. The other reason to draw was to nut out designs for clients. I don’t have a client down here, I AM the client. So I bought a brown paper sketchbook (to challenge my tonality) and decided to fill it with whimsey and humour during my time here. If I draw something I have give it a different spin.

I thought I was just amusing myself, but the revelation to me today, was that this is an integral part of my project. Not these particular drawings as such, but the way I’m interpreting the world around me. My proposed project includes diary sketches and a fundamentally different view of life from my protagonist. 

Every new thing I am experiencing here is feeding my work. From losing my keys down the lift well at the College of Ed, visiting Bruce Mahalski and his Museum of Natural Mystery (and coming away with bones), to chortling at the blatantly naughty signage on scarfie student flats.

And sitting in the Student Hub today, I did what has always worked for me best when writing. I got out lined paper, a pen and started. And it’s filling me with that certain excitement that other writers will know…the one that has you wriggling about with delight. Because you are on your way.

So how’s that novel going Fifi? I can report today, that it’s going just fine.

PS- if you want to check out my sketches, follow me on instagram or facebook.

And here is Smaug of the lift shaft, waiting for my keys.

Writer in Residence- the inside oil!

Writer in Residence…it conjures up a Roald Dahlesque picture does it not? In an overstuffed threadbare armchair, crocheted rug over the knees (granny squares 101) with a leather bound desk (spotted with ink, and bearing the scratch marks of an author’s unpublished despair). Stabbing furiously at a typewriter (Olivetti Leterra 25). The residence is an orangerie circa 1922 with wooden framing, glassed panes: some slightly cracked from the insistent tapping of the peach trees outside, on a warm Francophilean day.

I am, for my sins- it pays to have some apparently, The Otago Children’s Writer in Residence for 2019.

Not France, but charming and endearing all the same. My Olivetti is a keyboard from Jaycar Electronics, hooked up to multiple screens and powered with a Microsoft Surface Pro- bought with my winnings from a World of WearableArt entry. My chair is College of Education standard issue, the desk too, with a set of draws which boasts a small selection of stationery (rumour has it there is a stationery cupboard from which one might help oneself, should a freelancer who has paid for this stuff all her career be so bold. Be still my beating and astounded heart!).

I have photocopier privileges. The residence is on the 4^th floor, a room with a view of the Forsyth Barr Stadium and the Leith. There is a sign on the door ‘Children’s Writer in Residence’ and one might expect to slide it open a crack and see a woman with a multi coloured wig throwing words in the air and catching them in teacups, for further wetting of the literary whistle.

If you peeked in at me, you would find instead, a small woman with ashy hair, a room taken over with drawing board, paints, brushes, paper and skeletal models of characters made from wire and clay. There’s an Otago Uni branded keep cup and a thick wad of manuscript that has yet to find a home. YA rejections, trending to the max. It’s looking at me askance whilst I work on a new project. Sorry Wild Cards, you were so the last 10 years of my life. Let’s take a break whilst I dally with a newer, more exciting diversion, one that takes me out to dinner and pays the bill.

Having this much sought after and prestigious position comes with the weight of expectation. Mostly, actually, entirely from myself. Am I worthy? Is my project up to it? Can I deliver anything? If I do, will it ever be published. Publish or Perish, is the academic’s motto is it not? Myself and many writing colleagues perish on a yearly basis on that premise alone, such is the fickle industry we have chosen to align ourselves with. We resurrect ourselves again and again.

The reality is, though, published or not, this 6 months is whatever I make of it. The point of writing is writing. 

So, to keep myself honest to my proposal (which gives me more than a frisson of excitement when I look at it), I’ve decided to blog weekly, about my experience here, What it is to be a Writer in Residence, and how it will impact my work. I've survived O Week, settled into my new surroundings and I’ll start by thanking Creative New Zealand, Otago University and the College of Education for the opportunity and the late Robert Lord for the cottage I'm living in. 

Chur!

To be continued… (and no, I didn’t wake up to find it was all a dream)

there's a Writer in Residence! (and it's me)

Well, blow me down...South!

Here's a bucket list thing I have been wanting for a very long time. Once again back to that old saying: 'Your persistence is your measure of your belief in yourself' . 

Still can't believe it, but have bought a puffer jacket for living in Dundin for 6 months of 2019!

https://www.otago.ac.nz/otagobulletin/news/otago695162.h

University of Otago College of Education/Creative New Zealand Children’s Writer in Residence: Fifi Colston

She is an award-winning junior fiction novelist, children’s book illustrator, and non-fiction author.

"I have been playing with an idea for some time that encompasses the main strands of my creative career; writing, illustration and wearable art."

Many will know her from her time as arts and crafts presenter on TVNZ’s What Now and The Good Morning Show. Her talent has also seen her work with Richard Taylor’s Weta Workshop, Peter Jackson’s Stone Street Studios, Pukeko Pictures and The Production Shed as a costumier, puppet maker, illustrator and crafts expert.

She feels “incredibly honoured” by her appointment and is ready to embrace the opportunity it presents.

The Fellowship will enable her to work on a young-adult book “with an illustrated difference”.

“I have been playing with an idea for some time that encompasses the main strands of my creative career; writing, illustration and wearable art. I find I cannot comfortably forsake one passion for another and neither can my protagonist,” she says.

Along with providing the “absolute luxury” of being able to create a major work without having to worry about how to pay the bills, she is looking forward to getting to know the Otago area, and accessing relevant research which is only available at the University.