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

Making connections, joining the dots

The Sleepout- from 'The Workbook' WIP

A residency requires two things from oneself:

stopping slapping yourself that you finally got it.

and

the ability to say no to all the usual requests for freelance work that you normally say yes to because 'god knows when you’ll get work again'. 

It’s been nearly 2 months since we set sail (literally, on the Interislander ferry) for Dunedin. In this time, our ancient cat has not apparently died, or even missed us. He’s going to be so annoyed when our doting house residents leave and we come home. We bought 6 months of Chef and Whiskers cat food for the duration and he is determinedly working his way through it all. All hail the cat of 9-12 lives.

Dunedin has been warm and sunny and welcoming, and we venture forth in the weekends to visit beautiful places like Nugget Point Lighthouse in the Catlins. St Clair remains our favoured spot for the moment, but we may change our minds as the cold weather sets in. Today I donned the puffer jacket, but the students are still sporting bare legs and jandals, so maybe I’m a Wellywuss. 

I’ve settled into a new normal as far as the work goes. I set out in the morning from the Robert Lord Cottage, leaving my husband with strict instructions to enjoy his free time and not spend too much on coffee or Lime scooters for the day. I walk across the park to the University and find one of 2 or 3 cafes to have what I’ve coined as my 'flat write'. The coffee restriction directive does not apply to me, as it’s very necessary to the process. My favorite spots are in the Polytech Hub or the Otago Student Union. Here I can eavesdrop on young people and watch them in their unnatural environment called Tertiary Education. The moult has finished and their full coats are on and pretty soon I think there will be some mating rituals to observe as they try and keep warm. My hide is a laptop and I keep very quiet so as not to disturb them.

By late morning I get to my office at the College of Education. By this time the sun has gone off my desk and it’s easier than squinting or drawing the curtains. The whole tower block is about to undergo a refurbishment and so the next writer in residence may have spivvy blinds and new carpet!

I field emails, requests for work and follow ups on things I said yes to before I knew I had the residency- the truism is, that when you are busy, people want you even more. This is a good thing for both the ego and the bank balance. Of course, being a freelancer, I never expect this to last. All self employed people will know this fear. The one that has you never plan for a holiday/new clothes/car repairs more than one month in the future, because you never know if you’ll have work to pay for it.

So, now with a salary (be still my unaccustomed heart) it’s possible for me to say no. But I have to exercise that muscle fiercely. Because now all I want to do is my project. I draw in the afternoons when the light is best in my office. I’ve set myself a herculean task that involves two different drawing styles to be combined into kind of graphic novel, but with all the prose as well. I am making contact with students who can both inform me and read over what I have written for authenticity and tone. I’m meeting people who are welcoming me into their arts and literary lives. I have my formal Fellows welcome next week at The Hocken Library with the other Arts Residents. I’m presenting at the Dunedin Readers & Writers Week.

I’m being resident. 

This is what it’s all about. Making connections, joining the dots, exploring new work, that one day, with the greatest of luck and fortitude, may become published. And if nobody wants it, I will put it all up on some platform so it can be shared and, hopefully, enjoyed. Because it’s no use to anyone in the bottom draw of my cloud storage waiting for someday. Never wait for someday, do it now, with the Residency Application for 20/20 open, if you are a kids lit author/illustrator, apply. 

Join those dots.

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.