Yenom, my first novel, will be published by BigWords Books in New Zealand. See my Yenom page above.
If I am not painting or playing my guitar, I am writing. This has been the case for a decade or two and sparodically before that as far back as I can remember.
My web site gives me an opportunity to share some of my unpublished writing as well as the work I have for sale.
I live in an ideal place for writing, surrounded by bush, birds, orchards, with the ocean crashing on the beautiful Tirohanga Beach below. This is just a few minutes away from Opotiki Township where a climactic scene takes place in Yenom.
Here on this page I am posting excerpts from my writings. As with my painting, I do not follow any particular style. I am obviously influenced by what I read, but only in the sense that I am open to change; I do not consciously set about to emulate or copy. We are surely all unique, have our own voices, yet spring from the same place and are heading forward together.
Excerpt from Yenom
"And I suppose you don't remember me."
Cain squinted his eyes, studied Seth closely. He donned his most thoughtful face. "You do seem familiar. Mind you, at my age one feels one knows everyone. Is there something you do that I should remember?"
"It's Seth, remember, you asked me what I wanted to be and I said an actor. We were going to write a script about a future world."
"Going to? Certainly doesn't sound like me. If I decide to do something, I just do it. Maybe it's done. Maybe this is it – our future world."
Seth looked about him, at the colorful lot, much like in the Amsterdam Market except here they were all paying him close attention. Our future world, he mused. "If this is it, I somehow missed the beginning."
"I don't know of anyone who remembers the beginning. And as for being an actor, we are all actors...
You must have patience.
No you musn't. We all need to be doing something. It might be sleeping, it might be meditating, it might be going for a walk. Just needs a decision - choices then a decision. Patience? Perseverance more like it.
Don't remember. That's sufficient.
Language is changing. Language must and does change, and our reality changes with it.
More excerpts from Yenom
She always felt a special glow of pride when she read the plaque on the door, Star Ship Revision Center. The name, Star Ship, was obvious - Leading the way. And the Revision was what it was about - revising language. She loved working with words.
Inside walls were seductive pastels, the furniture sharp and smart, gold and black. Chairs and desk seeming to hover above the floor with their elegant legs...
...There was a person coming into view on his right, approaching the water feature, longish dark hair, wearing a faded blue, denim jacket. He was a stranger, but Seth knew this man. Nothing in particular he could put his finger on, it was a manner of being more than anything.
The man sat on a twin bench four to five meters away. He draped his arm over the back of the bench, nodded to a passer-by. He let his head back so that he was looking up at the sky. He stretched, then placed his hands in his lap and shuffled his feet in a patch of dusty ground.
Seth was beside himself. There was an affinity with the young man, a stranger yet so familiar...
...Seth turned to Pete.
"Am I imagining things or is this place run by women?"
"Now you're asking some sensible questions."
The number of women about is staggering, Seth thought. Women to the fore, putting things right. They are showing us how things are done, mm, how to cooperate rather than compete, make love not war. If anyone can do it, it will be the women. Always thought that.
"Look out!" Pete grabbed him by the sleeve. "You were about to walk straight in front of that vehicle."
He loved her and she loved him
though neither was game to say so
Upstairs she stayed
below he listened
to birds in the trees
she overlooked to the sea
She went to town
while he sat around
writing it down
Neil. Another passion of mine is writing poetry/ prose. More prose than poetry, I think, but I won't get into argueing the difference. The following "Oh Glorious Lady" was special because it came from the depths of desperation. It was written pretty much in one splurt, rhyme and all. Around that time I was avoiding rhyme at all costs which also made it unusual for me. It's probably the only poem I have written that has been so indelibly imprinted on my mind.
Oh Glorious Lady
you stand so tall
as you tiptoe through
my empty mind
you pick me up
in your feathered tree
with your smile
your eyes so pure to see
you dance and sing
of a fire that glows
that draws me near
that I might hear
your inner voice
of joy sincere
Oh dearest lady
do you wish to share
all this with me
that I may be
with you and see
through peaceful eyes
beyond the mist
beyond all lies.