My favourite event at the Franschhoek Literary Festival was the last one I attended – The Lyric ‘I’. It was a unique opportunity to hear three talented South African poets discuss and read poetry.
In the discussion Finuala Dowling (poet and novelist) traced the journey of a lyrical poet from childhood, through landscape to the socio-politcal context of poetry with poets Isobel Dixon (A Fold in the Map and The Tempest Prognosticator) and Ingrid de Kok (Seasonal Fires and Other Signs).
In response to Finuala’s opening question: what do you understand when people call you a lyrical poet? Ingrid said obviously lyric poetry is reminiscent of the lute and lyre, that lyric poetry contains a vocal element because it calls on the breath when it is read. It is an intimate expression of feelings, a technology for our memory. As Robert Frost says ‘it is the momentary stay against confusion.’
I re-read my fourth novel, The Beast In All Her Loveliness (it’s now been renamed as The Palace of Curiosities). It was the one I was happiest with – I’d enjoyed exploring the main characters of Eve (a young woman covered in hair) and Abel, the mysterious man she meets in the ‘freakshow’. In that slightly mad way of writers, I could hear the conversations they had with me and each other as they took on lives of their own. Then there were the voices of Lizzie the dancer, George the tattooed man, Eve’s husband Josiah… I wrapped it up and sent it.
Then I dug out my third novel (Animal Husbandry), set in present-day Manchester. Very different in many ways, it centres round Simon, an archivist living in a run-down tower-block flat and the ambiguous Dogboy, a homeless teenager with a passion for storytelling. I edited it with fresh eyes, wrote another cheque for £25 and sent that too. And got on with life.
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Future freelancers — so you think know you’re a good writer, and you’re ready to start earning some money. But where do you start? Before doing anything rash, I suggest that you brew a pot of tea, settle down with a packet of hobnobs, and start by reading …
Ariel Gore’s How to become a famous writer before you’re dead. This book is written for fiction writers but, as a nonfiction freelancer, it still works for me. Ms Gore has a punchy style so unlike my own that it’s energizing to peer into her head. She’s democratic about the writing business, assuring me that I can write anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Having been most prolific when she was a full-time student and single mother on welfare, she’s convinced me that not having time to write is not so much a barrier than a lame excuse.
Her book is stuffed with bite-sized chapters and tantalizing headers like: “Don’t say plethora,” “Make a fool of yourself,” “Write for strangers,” “Be nice to interns,” and “Revel in rejections.” Yet, despite her breezy tone, Ms Gore’s book is very practical. She tolerates our writerly self-doubt (“Don’t be embarrassed about the dorkiness of your draft”), she urges us to think like entrepreneurs (i.e. be competitive, self-confident and open to criticism), she advises that we publish everywhere and before we’re ready (“Nourish the world with your words, yo”), and insists that we always, always, ALWAYS meet deadlines.
I love going to the Franschhoek Literary festival (FLF) It gives me an opportunity to immerse myself in books and writers and interesting literary conversations and discussions.
Maybe I should start at the beginning: I love reading. I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t read. I am fascinated by writing, writers, books, writer’s stories, the process of writing. The FLF gives me the chance to live in a completely literary world for three days.
This is what I love about the FLF:
Suzi Feay
The pieces are rolling in, headlines and illustrations are being discussed and everything is looking good so far for my guest-edited issue of Mslexia magazine. Bidisha spent a fascinating few hours in the company of the novelist Sarah Hall, literary editor Katy Guest gives a glimpse of life on a busy books desk and author Scarlett Thomas reveals her biggest mistakes – and how you can avoid them.
Still, one aspect of editing required a little bit of readjustment. I’m no stranger to commissioning and editing features, but some of the ideas that instantly popped into my head had to be dismissed. Because some of my favourite writers are male, you see…
I wonder how often there’s an automatic bias in favour of male authors, even in people who have no conscious wish to discriminate? For a justification for the continuing existence of the women-only Orange prize, for example, you only have to look at the recent news story about the poor record of Australia’s Miles Franklin Award (named after a woman, for God’s sake!) in recognising women writers. And rather closer to home is the latest issue of Granta, entitled ‘Britain’. What does literary Britain look like? Overwhelmingly male, apparently. Of the contributors listed on the back, 17 are male, 4 female. Of four poets, not one is female. (The line up is Armitage, Paterson, Robertson, MacKendrick.)
When I asked a Grantanista about this, I was told that the previous Granta, ‘Exit Strategies’ was ‘dominated’ by women writers. (If anyone out there has a copy, it would be interesting to know to what extent.) When I tweeted about the discrepancy, someone pointed out the other obvious fact about Granta’s Britain – it’s overwhelmingly white, too.
Isn’t it funny how life can throw you a curveball sometimes? Last year, having grown disillusioned with my creative writing pursuits, I’d decided to instead focus my energies on building a copywriting business.
Now, my immediate instinct there was to write – for disillusioned, read ‘needed to pay the bills’, but that would have been very lazy of me as it wasn’t even that. I think I was, actually, just tired of leaving my heart on the floor and feeling the constant threat of it being stomped on.
Professionally, I guess I was in the strongest position I’d been in in a long time – perhaps ever. 2009 had seen me selected for a playwriting development scheme at the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester and 2010 had seen the subsequent production of two of my plays – one full length, one short. Which was all wonderful. Until I found myself back at square one.
Modjaji Books is an independent press for the work of southern African women writers. Work that is true to the spirit of Modjaji, The Rain Queen: a powerful female force for good, growth, new life, regeneration. The Modjadji or Rain Queen is believed to possess special powers: the ability to control clouds and rainfall
Colleen Higgs
I met with Colleen Higgs, owner of Modjaji Books, to talk about publishing and women’s writing in southern Africa.
My first question to Colleen was why Modjaji Books? What is it about women’s writing that you think needs a platform for itself?
‘I don’t think that it is only about women’s writing – there is such gate-keeping in the publishing and literary world. Just last week VIDA put out their statistics (www.vidaweb.org), on average 75% of the reviewers are men, 75% of the books that are reviewed are by men – this is in 2012 – I think that women need their own platform. There are many kinds of voices and stories and writing that otherwise won’t see the light of day’
Do you believe that these statistics are true for South Africa?
‘Yes I do. The truth is more women read novels, yet still most of the well-known literary writers, those who are taken seriously and those that win prizes, are men.
Establishing a platform for women writers is about saying – never mind about all of that, you carry on with that – we are going to do our own thing. Modjaji Books isn’t the only answer, but I am trying to create a space for what women are doing and what they are interested in.
Modjaji Books is publishing work that definitely wouldn’t be of interest to men or main stream publishing, not even women’s magazines. Women’s magazines are promoting their own agenda, they have to consider advertising and they have quite punitive ideas about beauty. I want to go deeper than comparing different types of washing machines.’
Where do I begin? To tell a story of how long it’s taken me?
I’d been with an agency for twelve years, and had given them four novels. But however hard I tried (and did I try), however hard I worked on editorial suggestions, nothing seemed good enough. Twelve years of can-you-make-it-more? Can-you-make-it-less? No-one could accuse me of not trying.
But, hang on a minute. Every writer needs to edit, right? Right. Especially an aspiring novelist. Or any novelist, come to think of it. I do not reject feedback or input. I seek it out. I’ve been mentored and relished every minute. Without it, I wouldn’t have grown and developed.
Yewande Omotoso
For my second interview I invited Yewande Omotoso to chat to me about her debut novel Bom Boy, about being Nigerian and South African, about being published by Modjaji Books, and about being a woman writer.
Yewande is an architect and a writer, her mother was West-Indian and her father Nigerian. She was born in Barbados and has lived in Nigeria and South Africa. It was always her dream to write a novel and Bom Boy was published last year to great acclaim. (* see the end of this blog for more information about Bom Boy)
My first question to Yewande was about a comment she had made in a previous interview – how she sees herself primarily as Nigerian. I wanted to know why not South African?
‘South Africans may think that I am not claiming that part of myself, but it is not a competition. When I visited Lagos recently and did a reading, I acknowledged that South Africa has played a major role in my education. I came to South Africa as a 12 year old. Living here has shaped me.
So yes, I do see myself as South African, I have a South African passport – my adult life is in South Africa. When I write, I set my stories mainly in South Africa. To set anything mainly in Nigeria feels precarious to me; my experience with Nigeria is not as lucid as my experiences here.
But having said that Nigeria is very real for me, it is part of who I am – and I am proud of that. I also use it as a cantankerous way of confronting some of the stereotypes that South African have of Nigerians. It is a way of challenging people and getting them to deal with their own prejudices.’
Do you face more challenges as a Nigerian living in South Africa than as a woman?
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As a flat-chested teen, the sound of my adolescence was the sound of my phone not ringing. Instead, would-be suitors were bewitched – I presume – by girls with tanned legs and curvy chests and a coquettish grasp of the male mind.
From my suitor-less perspective, all those creatures who were not me seemed to swim life’s ocean like gilded schools of fish. I, meanwhile, waited out my teenage years in envy.
I never did understand what makes the teenage boy tick, or how my blithe competitors so easily plumbed their souls. But, when I cast an eye back to my teens, I wonder what’s more dismal than the power I gave to those pimply vessels of manhood.
Sadly, some insecurities in life repeat themselves.
As a thirty-something writer, the sound of being a freelancer can sometimes be the sound of the phone not ringing. On those days, I imagine the world’s editors clinking champagne flutes with their coterie of writers, an elite band of professionals that doesn’t include me.
