spinofflive
(Image: Archi Banal)
(Image: Archi Banal)

BooksNovember 9, 2023

Ten things creating our first book taught us about independent publishing

(Image: Archi Banal)
(Image: Archi Banal)

Damien Levi and Amber Esau are the co-editors of Spoiled Fruit, a new anthology of queer poetry from Aotearoa, published by Levi’s tiny Tāmaki Makaurau-based micro-press Āporo Press. 

Amber Esau

While this has been a pretty wild year for life lessons, most of what I learned over this process has also helped me approach my writing differently… which is to say, I am now an even better procrastinator. 

1. Persistence is key

What’s the collective noun for a group of poets? A patience? Trying to round up writers – let alone poets – to send through work is only as slow as the third or fourth follow up email. To be honest, all the poets were actually pretty onto it with this one but I can imagine it could drag out for ages without gentle nudges and efficient problem-solving. 

There is just way too much admin, eh. Like art, life, most things really, the fun flouncy stuff is great but it’s only sustainable when there’s someone/something to maintain a bit of structure and keep everything on schedule. The work that goes into publishing a book can pile up without some massively cute organisational skills on hand. 

2. Shit happens, my g

If you don’t get a little sick of reading through a manuscript, have you really looked at it enough? Typesetting is solid but lowkey annoying af: last-minutes changes can throw the typesetting out, and it’s hard to do fast and easy if you’re working with freelancers and not in-house. Realising mistakes a little too late is mates with accidentally lighting a cigarette backwards. 

This links to the aforementioned efficient problem-solving. Whether the issue is that you don’t agree about an edit, or you can’t get in touch with someone, or you’re trying to get more dollars for the publication, you’ve got to be a little suave with it and solutions oriented. As someone who’s just a bit too neurotic, this was a really big learning curve for me. 

3. Platforming diverse voices will always be important af

There can never be enough places that share a range of voices. Not only does it help shape what our literary landscape can be but it offers up more possibilities to those of us that don’t quite fit the ‘norm’. It’s up to us to keep making new norms that better reflect the actual norms. This is in the stories we tell as much as in the way we tell them. 

At our soft launch in Tāmaki Makaurau, a few of the poets mentioned they were gassed up to be included, to have found a place where their work could exist unapologetically. This was heart-opening and satisfying. 

Spending this year with each poet’s words has reinvigorated my jaded ass. The rawness and emotional honesty and humour and hope and audacity is an elixir for anyone that’s felt misunderstood and out of bounds.

4 (3a). Nah, always

No doubt we connect to a shared emotional truth in a poem that resonates. That’s incredibly important, but I think this only accounts for some part of it. What about the collection of metaphors and images each poet holds out for us? We’re narrative creatures and we only know what we know, but there’s so much to listen for. There’s so much to miss. How do we keep exploring traditions if we keep having to define them over and over? Not gunna lie, it’s damn cute being able to exist fully in your work and to read the poems in Spoiled Fruit – all their frequencies hit different. 

5. It takes a village!

Without trust and faith in your team to do what they do, the work won’t move. Without an incredible community around you, you’re just floating apples. Be humble enough to know it’s not just yours, bots enough to offer up suggestions, and staunch enough to keep vibing. 

Damien Levi

1. Independently publishing a book is not easy

It seems fairly obvious, otherwise we’d see a lot more of independently published books, right? Well, there’s a lot of moving parts to a book that aren’t always obvious. Having completed the brilliant Graduate Diploma in Publishing at Whitireia, I was pretty well-equipped going into the making of Spoiled Fruit, but having to do it all in the real world without tutors as a safety net was tough. 

Although I managed to secure $7,000 from Copyright Licensing New Zealand, once I had paid contributors, our cover illustrator, my co-editor, the typesetter and tidied any other bits and pieces there wasn’t much left for printing. 

2. Representation in books can be life changing

Honestly, a bit corny but in my case very true! In 2021 I moved home to New Zealand after a three-year stint abroad. At that time I was really searching to reconnect with my homeland and te ao Māori, and to find reflections of myself in writing that I didn’t have access to overseas. I was fortunate to secure a copy of Rebecca K Reilly’s Greta & Valdin at the start of the infamous 2021 Tāmaki Makaurau lockdown and have never looked back. 

This novel resonated with me as a twenty-something queer-identifying urban Māori so much I decided to study publishing to help make more books like it. Two years on I have a chunk more student debt, a micro press and have published my first anthology, Spoiled Fruit: Queer Poetry from Aotearoa.

3. There are so many brilliant stories out there that aren’t being told

Although it feels like we’re seeing more books from minority voices in New Zealand than we ever have before, I think the colonial and capitalistic structures that built our publishing industry maintain a hold on who and what gets published. 

Poet and novelist Janis Freegard has done lots of fantastic work breaking down “Who gets published in Aotearoa?” and the data unfortunately shows that across poetry, fiction and non-fiction titles, Pākehā writers authored more than 75% of the books in the year 2019. 

I’m optimistic that this percentage has shifted in the last four years, but being optimistic alone doesn’t make change.

The homepage of Bad Apple Gay, the lit review website that Levi started as his first foray into publishing.

4. Sometimes you have to be the change you want to see

To platform and invest in minority writers I helped establish the online journal bad apple and then founded Āporo Press to publish them. 

We’re a drop in the bucket but I look to my tuakana in the independent space, Tender Press, Saufo’i Press, Dead Bird Books and Anahera Press to name a few, and all of them are championing work by authors that our major publishing houses overlook or can’t make work financially. 

Funding is sparse, returns aren’t fab and there’s a lot of unseen work that goes into publishing, but we all do it because we know someone out there will feel the way that I did about Greta & Valdin.

5. Building a community is key to success

When you have a book ready to publish and the money runs out, what do you do? Fortunately for me, the community that had built up around bad apple as well as the wider literary community came out in support. With their help, we funded the printing of the book through a Boosted campaign. 

Having a community that is engaged and interested in the work you’re creating is not only incredibly fulfilling, but a great indicator that your book will find its home with an audience. 

Hopefully Spoiled Fruit does just that, opening up the door for me to publish more writers from the margins and reach those readers who need to feel seen. Maybe we get funding, maybe our community bands together again to bring something to life ourselves. We’ll keep going regardless, in the face of an uncertain future, because what else is there to do?

Spoiled Fruit: Queer Poetry from Aotearoa, edited by Amber Esau and Damien Levi ($30, Āporo Press) can be purchased from Unity Books Wellington and Auckland, and from Āporo Press. Spoiled Fruit is having a launch event on Thursday November 9 at Verb Readers & Writers Festival in Wellington – tickets and info here.

Keep going!
All the books in the Whatumanawa Collection. Image by Archi Banal.
All the books in the Whatumanawa Collection. Image by Archi Banal.

BooksNovember 8, 2023

Kakapa ana te Manawa: A review of Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s Whatumanawa Collection

All the books in the Whatumanawa Collection. Image by Archi Banal.
All the books in the Whatumanawa Collection. Image by Archi Banal.

Rangimarie Sophie Jolley reviews the Whatumanawa Collection by Professor Linda Tuhiwai Smith (Ngāti Awa, Ngāti Porou), professor at Te Whare Wānanga o Awanuiārangi.

How honest can we be with kids?

Really – how do we give them an age-appropriate understanding of the complexities of life? In a time where mental health is an ever evolving conversation, we need more tools than ever to help ourselves and our kids to make sense of the world we live in. We seek guidance at every turn – trying to find the best / right ways to communicate with this new generation of emotionally intelligent beings. 

When it comes to our own whānau, we tend to look at the culture of our immediate, extended and wider family units for some guidance. These units can take on a variety of shapes and dynamics – some of us are parents, guardians, grandparents and caregivers. Regardless of the roles we take, it’s often impossible to know what’s appropriate unless all the adults involved are on the same page. 

Perhaps, therein lies the issue. Most of us operate in large whānau / community groups with multiple adults, children and dynamics wherein opposing views are normal. We generally agree to some shared tikanga / basic philosophies and principles, but we’re not always in control of what our children are exposed to.

Our tamariki are exposed to more content than we ever were – they make connections differently and their view of the world surpasses ours in ways that can be really intimidating. This often means that the role of a parent, kaitiaki or tuākana is vastly different than it was even a decade ago. 

The Whatumanawa Collection by the renowned scholar of indigenous education Linda Tuhiwai Smith is the perfect bridge between these spaces, ideal for those who support young people who have gone through something difficult. These are not bedtime stories about fairies and dragons – these are tools, tailor-made resources designed to support complex conversations amongst whānau. 

Professor Linda Tuhiwai Smith.

There are five books within the series, each broaching the subjects of trauma, domestic violence, suicide, separation, life and death. The series is beautifully illustrated by Isobel Joy Te Aho-White, whose magic with colour and perspective give light to some very heavy moments. These books also contain psychotherapist input into the design of the stories. This is particularly evident in the activity notes at the conclusion of each story, where the reader is given a chance for critical reflection and the opportunity to safely digest the content. 

I enlisted the wisdom of four of my favourite humans aged 9, 11 and two 13-year-olds to help review each book. They read each book individually and then wrote their responses to the following:

  • the things they liked most / least;
  • something new that they learned; and
  • what feelings came up for them. 

I sat with each one individually as they moved through the series – using the stories as an opportunity to engage them in conversations about how they were affected (if at all) by each book. 

The reviews below contain references to traumatic subjects that may be triggering for some. There are content warnings before each book.

Ka wehi au ki ngā Wenerei | I don’t like Wednesdays

Content warning: Suicide 

Synopsis: A young boy is mourning the loss of his older brother to suicide. The story focuses on how the younger brother processes this trauma – it gives language to the pain he experiences and the internal dialogue that accompanies such a loss. It also paints a picture of the invisible elements of grief – the ways we shut down and the effects of that on ourselves and the people around us. 

Review: All of our kids responded to this book except for the 9-year-old, for whom it proved a little too sad to talk about just yet. However, it was the 11-year-old’s favourite because, as he sees it, “it showed me how to appreciate the people we have, while we have them”. For us, that sparked a conversation about times in our lives where we’ve felt really grateful for the people in our whānau and the ways we can show that appreciation. 

The teenagers (13) and I agreed that the way the story demonstrates the difficulty of talking through our feelings was useful. The ways tamariki deal with grief can be difficult to recognise or understand, but this story gives light to those complexities while extending grace to the process. 

For one of the teens, this story elicited the most tangible emotional reaction: “It was hella sad and made my eyeballs water”. High praise from one who generally shies away from expressing themselves. For that sentiment alone, I’m grateful. 

He Reo Iti Noa Ahau | I am a Little Voice 

Content warning: Domestic Violence 

Synopsis: A child has been removed from a traumatic home and is unable to communicate as a result of their traumatic experiences. The child has trouble hearing as a result of an injury and comes to live with his Nan after being hospitalised as a result of the violence he experienced at home. The child’s Nan becomes a stabilising figure, alongside a child psychologist who supports his rehabilitation. The child is also introduced to new whānau members who enable them to reintegrate into te ao Māori.

Review: This was the only story within the collection that our 9-year-old actually liked – because he really loved the sense of resolution in the story. When the main character (Rāwhiti) finds his maunga and his awa, our kids found their connection to the story. A very powerful moment. 

The 11-year-old felt confused by this story, he didn’t feel comfortable thinking about how much Rāwhiti had gone through and that stopped him from engaging with the story itself. He did, however, love the relationship between Rāwhiti and his cousin Hoani, as did the teenagers. They were also really reflective of what it takes to help someone recover after experiencing something traumatic, and praised the use of tikanga Māori to support that healing process. 

Ko te Wai, ko Tama me te Marama | Te Wai, Tama and the Moon

Content warning: Death, grief, loss 

Synopsis: Te Wai is a young girl with a great imagination and an attitude to match. One day she coralls her best mate Tama into accompanying her on an adventure to the moon. While waiting for their spaceship to arrive, they’re met by lots of whānau members who give them food and encouragement. Te Wai’s Mum is gravely ill, and as her community supports her to learn about the stars and how everyone eventually becomes one after death. She learns that this, too is awaiting her Mum. 

Review: Our 11-year-old loved the playfulness of this story. He was also able to talk through the comfort provided by all the different characters, sharing that the way the aunties and kaumātua made him feel good was by giving the kids kai. The teens were grateful for the presence of tikanga Māori, particularly pertaining to death. They also talked about the power of friendship during times of loss and how important it is to show up for the people you care about. 

The youngest (9-year-old) was sad about the death, and didn’t want to talk much – except to say that the aunty was a good person for taking care of the kids when she could. 

Listening to these rangatahi and tamariki pick apart the aspects of Te Wai’s community was comforting, however the story itself didn’t feel as strong as the others (though, when a subject is as complex as homelessness, illness and parental loss – it’s a hard story to tell). 

‘Love The Spinoff? Its future depends on your support. Become a member today.’
Madeleine Chapman
— Editor

He Mahi Taunga Kore | Nothing is Impossible 

Content warning: Domestic violence 

Synopsis: Rangi’s Mum is in a violent relationship and is hospitalised as a result. Rangi is taken away by social workers to stay with his grandparents, who support him to recognise that nothing is impossible. 

Review: The teenagers were quick to praise the ways that this story actually gives a name to the harm that a lot of Tamariki witness and experience. We talked about how so much of what they’re exposed to is through a sort of sheen – I’m often trying to assess how much they should know and sometimes, they’re ready for more than we realise. 

They also loved seeing that the roles our Nans play in our lives was reflected, as did the 11-year-old. The 9-year-old was scared by the presence of the ambulance, but liked the Nan and how she encouraged Rangi to believe in himself. 

Rīwai me te Mātai Arorangi | Rīwai and the Stargazer 

Content warning: infant death, homelessness 

Synopsis: Rīwai and her whānau have been having a hard time, living in a van whilst having her little brother, Te Awanuiārangi (Tawa as she calls him) gravely ill in hospital. The story follows Rīwai as she navigates the loss of her brother, alongside the harsh reality of high living costs. Throughout, Rīwai is shown love and kindness, culminating in the whānau returning to their Marae for the tangi. 

Review: Definitely a tearjerker – but also, as the teenagers reminded me, a beautiful example of the ways that tikanga Māori serve to wrap around us when we’re facing difficulties in our lives. That they could identify the tikanga in action was a very powerful commentary on how important these types of stories are – so many of our cultural practices are often misused or misrepresented in literature, but for these rangatahi, their presence did exactly what they’re designed to do. 

The use of tikanga Māori in this story gave space for the reality of our emotional needs, and somewhere for the sadness to go. 

The 11-year-old found solace in the imagery, praising the dad for his artistic skills and the illustrator Te Aho-White for theirs. They were also struck by the feeling of appreciation for the home they have with their whānau, and not wanting to take that security for granted. 

For our little big-hearted 9-year-old, this story was a little too close to home and so his review became a conversation about what we’re scared of, and how we talk about that. Which, again, exemplifies the very purpose of these stories. 

I would recommend these stories for anyone working with children. There certainly aren’t other tangible resources like these, that are founded in te ao Māori. Read them yourself, and if you find a child working through some of these issues – share them with the whānau. Share these tools far and wide and equip the adults around these kids with the tools they need to gain perspective. 

Tips: 

  • Read one at a time. I could only manage one per day and yes, I cried. 
  • Take time to reflect. Use the prompts at the conclusion of each book to help. 
  • Use water before or after to help process the contents. Drink, swim or shower where possible. Water is a great neutraliser for energy. 
  • Read alone before sharing with tamariki, so you can anticipate their responses / are prepared for them and have taken time to process your own. 

As parents, aunties, uncles, teachers, leaders and role models, we’re often standing on a hill waiting to make sense of the distant horizon within the purview of our tamariki. Now, when we cast our gaze into the darkest shadows of that looming horizon, we might see the Whatumanawa Collection. It’s there, waiting for us to collect each offering and see how it might enable us to build something better, something more compassionate, something that our children will benefit from for generations to come. 

We might even see something that we desperately needed for ourselves, that we can use to change the stories our inner children have lived through. And from that position, we might find the tools we need to support our tamariki to face that horizon for themselves, and create a view where the very real trauma that they face can be left behind, fully processed and put to rest. 

And when it comes down to it – that might be the one thing that we can all agree we want for them.

The books in the Whatumanawa Collection collection (Huia Publishers, $22 per book; published in both te reo Māori and English editions) can be purchased at Unity Books Wellington and Auckland. Linda Tuhiwai Smith is appearing at Verb Readers & Writers Festival this Friday 10 November, in Wellington.