grub street
Steve Braunias updates his diary of a literary nobody
To Whanganui, that beautiful, fragile oasis of water and cherry blossom, for the city’s literary festival, where (italic) Sunday is out in force: another guest speaker is this magazine’s food writer, Ray McVinnie. Ray opens the weekend festival, on a Saturday morning, when he appears onstage with Alexa Johnston, the funny and charming author of a modern masterpiece, Ladies, A Plate: Traditional Home Baking (Penguin, $45).
Together, the sweet, powdery scent of their celebrity entices a big crowd. How big? My eyes fall on a sheet of paper listing pre-booked sales for each event. Nervously, with a black heart, I look to find the three most popular attractions. Third, on 57 tickets, Dame Fiona Kidman. Second, on 63, Ray and Alexa. I’m in front by a nose on 64. Good.
Door sales just about double the attendance at every show. Book sales, too, are brisk. A local bookstore sets up a table at the festival venue. “We’ve just about sold out our stock of your books,” says the nice woman from Poppies Books. Good. “So,” she adds, “I desperately phoned up Whitcoulls and Paper Plus to order more.” Good.
But then she says, “They didn’t have any. They’d never even heard of you. What they said was, ‘Steve who?’”
Steve Braunias updates his diary of a literary nobody
To Whanganui, that beautiful, fragile oasis of water and cherry blossom, for the city’s literary festival, where (italic) Sunday is out in force: another guest speaker is this magazine’s food writer, Ray McVinnie. Ray opens the weekend festival, on a Saturday morning, when he appears onstage with Alexa Johnston, the funny and charming author of a modern masterpiece, Ladies, A Plate: Traditional Home Baking (Penguin, $45).
Together, the sweet, powdery scent of their celebrity entices a big crowd. How big? My eyes fall on a sheet of paper listing pre-booked sales for each event. Nervously, with a black heart, I look to find the three most popular attractions. Third, on 57 tickets, Dame Fiona Kidman. Second, on 63, Ray and Alexa. I’m in front by a nose on 64. Good.
Door sales just about double the attendance at every show. Book sales, too, are brisk. A local bookstore sets up a table at the festival venue. “We’ve just about sold out our stock of your books,” says the nice woman from Poppies Books. Good. “So,” she adds, “I desperately phoned up Whitcoulls and Paper Plus to order more.” Good.
But then she says, “They didn’t have any. They’d never even heard of you. What they said was, ‘Steve who?’”
*
A chance encounter with one of New Zealand’s most distinguished novelists at a fish and chip shop. Anxious and fretful, he sits hunched over a manuscript, writing and crossing out in neat longhand. “I’m on deadline,” he says. I wish him luck. And then his order is announced: one scoop of chips, one sausage.
Strange to consider the role of the sausage in New Zealand literature. When my friend at the fish and chip shop has his book published, I will think back to that evening when he slaved away at his manuscript, fought hard for each word, kept pace with the marathon effort of completing a novel, and found sustenance, possibly even inspiration, in that single solitary sausage.
*
My application for the 2009 annual Copyright Licensing Limited writers’ award – there are two cash prizes of $35,000 available to authors of non-fiction - proves unsuccessful. Bother. I thought I had arrived at an excellent idea for a biography of a New Zealand historical figure. Perhaps the working title was too negative. I wanted to call it In The Name of the Wretch.
Haruki Murakami, the great Japanese writer, recently wrote a kind of inner monologue called What I Talk About When I talk Abut Running. He competes in marathons. It occupies a lot of his time, and thinking. I can relate to that. I mow lawns – my lawn, and the lawn of a frail neighbour. It’s a test of physical and mental endurance. I take it very seriously, keep focussed, maintain straight, elegant lines, attend to difficult edges; all the while - 45 minutes for my lawn, an hour for hers - my mind twirls like a twin-blade.
My application for the 2010 annual Copyright Licensing Limited writers award will detail the proposal for a book called Things I Think About When I’m Mowing.
*
Apparently a new TV series, inspired by one of my books, went to air last night. I worked on the show as a kind of consultant. The producers sent unfinished tapes of each episode. I suggested various script amendments. Later, they sent the finished tapes. I watched a couple. There was only one word I knew I’d written – the title, Birdland.
*
To damp Titirangi, for the Going West literary festival, where I conduct an onstage i
nterview with Keith Woodley, author of the superb new book Godwits: Long Haul Champions (Penguin, $39.95). I like playing support act. All I have to do is sit back, listen, and now and then prod Keith with a question. He does the rest, and dazzles a full house with his droll wit, easy manner, and enthusiastic knowledge.
Once again I give thought to my notion of leading a nationwide week-long stage tour of authors. No sleep till Timaru, etc. I approach a government agency. Its chief executive replies, “I really like the idea and definitely think it would work.” All it needs is sponsorship. And authors. I draw up a list of New Zealand writers who have stage presence. It’s a very long list. Then I think about who would still to talk to each other by the end of the tour. It’s a fairly long list. Then I think about who would still talk to me by the end of the tour.
Never mind.
*
My first book, published eight long years ago, continues to attract new readers, still does the business; strange to reflect on the endurance of Fool’s Paradise, its literary staying power, its unique and unshakeable place in the hearts of New Zealanders, as a royalty cheque arrives from Random House for $40.17.
That’s a lot of sausages.
A chance encounter with one of New Zealand’s most distinguished novelists at a fish and chip shop. Anxious and fretful, he sits hunched over a manuscript, writing and crossing out in neat longhand. “I’m on deadline,” he says. I wish him luck. And then his order is announced: one scoop of chips, one sausage.
Strange to consider the role of the sausage in New Zealand literature. When my friend at the fish and chip shop has his book published, I will think back to that evening when he slaved away at his manuscript, fought hard for each word, kept pace with the marathon effort of completing a novel, and found sustenance, possibly even inspiration, in that single solitary sausage.
*
My application for the 2009 annual Copyright Licensing Limited writers’ award – there are two cash prizes of $35,000 available to authors of non-fiction - proves unsuccessful. Bother. I thought I had arrived at an excellent idea for a biography of a New Zealand historical figure. Perhaps the working title was too negative. I wanted to call it In The Name of the Wretch.
Haruki Murakami, the great Japanese writer, recently wrote a kind of inner monologue called What I Talk About When I talk Abut Running. He competes in marathons. It occupies a lot of his time, and thinking. I can relate to that. I mow lawns – my lawn, and the lawn of a frail neighbour. It’s a test of physical and mental endurance. I take it very seriously, keep focussed, maintain straight, elegant lines, attend to difficult edges; all the while - 45 minutes for my lawn, an hour for hers - my mind twirls like a twin-blade.
My application for the 2010 annual Copyright Licensing Limited writers award will detail the proposal for a book called Things I Think About When I’m Mowing.
*
Apparently a new TV series, inspired by one of my books, went to air last night. I worked on the show as a kind of consultant. The producers sent unfinished tapes of each episode. I suggested various script amendments. Later, they sent the finished tapes. I watched a couple. There was only one word I knew I’d written – the title, Birdland.
*
To damp Titirangi, for the Going West literary festival, where I conduct an onstage i
nterview with Keith Woodley, author of the superb new book Godwits: Long Haul Champions (Penguin, $39.95). I like playing support act. All I have to do is sit back, listen, and now and then prod Keith with a question. He does the rest, and dazzles a full house with his droll wit, easy manner, and enthusiastic knowledge.Once again I give thought to my notion of leading a nationwide week-long stage tour of authors. No sleep till Timaru, etc. I approach a government agency. Its chief executive replies, “I really like the idea and definitely think it would work.” All it needs is sponsorship. And authors. I draw up a list of New Zealand writers who have stage presence. It’s a very long list. Then I think about who would still to talk to each other by the end of the tour. It’s a fairly long list. Then I think about who would still talk to me by the end of the tour.
Never mind.
*
My first book, published eight long years ago, continues to attract new readers, still does the business; strange to reflect on the endurance of Fool’s Paradise, its literary staying power, its unique and unshakeable place in the hearts of New Zealanders, as a royalty cheque arrives from Random House for $40.17.
That’s a lot of sausages.
Footnote:
Steve Braunias writes a weekly column for the Sunday Star Times excellent magazine, Sunday, where the above story first appeared yesterday, 4 October, and it is reprinted here with the author's kind permission.
The photo of the author and the book cover illustrations have been added by The Bookman.
Columnist, author and occasional journalist Braunias was named best satirist, best arts writer and best political writer at this year's Qantas Media Awards.
As the recipient of a 2009 Buddle Findlay Sargeson Fellowship, he is currently writing his first novel.
He writes a regular photo essay series with Jane Ussher for North & South magazine. He lives in Auckland with his fiance and their daughter.
His three most recent books are:
How to Watch a Bird Awa Press, May 2007
Roosters I Have Known Awa Press, May 2008
Fish of the Week: Selected Columns Awa Press, September 2008
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