Geoffrey Gates's Blog

Left to right:
Mural by Japanese artist Silsil; Minoan artefact;
​Residency courtyard.  Writing to you from Heraklion, Greece. Let’s help you to picture this: Heraklion (Iraklio) is a city of about 140,000, on the island of Crete, midway between Greece and Turkey. If you picture the Mediterranean Sea (a word I can never spell) then it’s half way between Greece and Libya, Cypress and Malta. It’s the home of the ancient Minoan civilisation (3000 – 1500 BC), Mycenaean Civilisation (1900-1100 BC), Dorian Crete, Classical, Roman, Byzantine, Venetian, Ottoman, and more recently, part of the Greek state.

The part of Heraklion I am staying in is called “Lakkos” which was a notorious district between the wars, with a large immigrant group from Constantinople, as part of the population swap between Turkey and Greece that followed the World War 1. You can read about both the district, and the residency here. The main facts are that the residency is run by an Australian artist, Mathew, who has been in Crete for about 10 years, and has helped to bring attention to the unique history of the district through artistic projects, particularly murals painted by visiting artists.

I am here for two weeks, working on the last section of my third novel, which includes (you guessed it) a Greek setting for the final chapters. Before I arriving on Crete, I visited Athens, and the island of Hydra, with Hydra and Heraklion featuring as the two Greek settings for the story. ​

It’s hot here but I am managing with a fan, and a routine which has included a morning visit to an air conditioned Arts Café, and writing downstairs in a cool part of one of the three houses that make up the residency. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting artists from Japan, Australia, Canada and America. I have another week left, so in that time, I hope to keep “ripping it up” with the writing and learning more about Crete and its fascinating culture and history. Wish me luck as I move towards the final stages of the first full draft of the novel!

Varuna House was once the home of the Australian writer Eleanor Dark who wrote 10 novels, including the best-selling The Timeless Land (1941), the first part of a trilogy, with Storm of Time (1948) and No Barrier (1953). The Dark family decided to keep this house for writers, and generously donated the house to the Eleanor Dark Foundation in 1989, and Varuna has hosted writers continuously since the early 90s. At last I am one of them! Thank you to Western Sydney University for supporting this program and (of course) to my family for letting this little writer concentrate for a week on his doctorate. Time is always a rare and precious gift!

My routine for the last seven days has been to read in the morning until about 11 am, and then get started on a chapter from my novel/creative work. I must have had a bit of a head of steam, or it is this place, because I am pleased to say that I achieved my goal and wrote four chapters (about 5000 words), taking me to the end of the “Spanish” section of my story.

 I have also had a chance to enjoy a few walks around Katoomba and Blackheath, and it is as true as the stereotype that many good ideas come away from the desk, when you are walking, and your mind wanders. Altogether it’s been a fabulous week, and I would encourage anyone who has an opportunity to join one of Varuna’s programs to do so. You are well looked after – a cook comes each evening (thanks, Sheila!) and each room is quiet and well equipped for the needs of a writer. For a slow writer, this has been a week of (relatively) fast work.

http://jiwarbarcelona.com/
 
This morning I left Barcelona. That could almost be the start of a novel because the word ‘Barcelona’ conjures up so much, and leaving Barcelona almost seems like a tragic statement. I had a wonderful month at the Jiwar Creation and Society residence where I was joined by (in no order) – a Japanese composer, a Dutch visual artist, an Australian photographer, and a Canadian academic. Just as I was leaving arrived an Argentinean composer and a Mexican journalist were settling in. Staying at Jiwar is thus a doubling stimulating experience: the city itself is a labyrinth you could wander in forever -- and the eclectic international residents and their various perspectives creates a rich ‘home’ environment to work in.

Added to this, Mireia at Jiwar put me in contact with a Catalan writer (distantly Australian), and a Professor of Art History – both fabulous people who generously gave their time to listen to me talk about my work and offer insights and suggestions. I also met up with a politically active painter and shared extended conversations with two local historians. If that wasn’t enough, I made a few friends in a local Tapas bar, wandered through joyful rallies and spirited protests, and talked to people about the upcoming vote on October 1 for Catalan independence. I wrote every day.

I feel quite full to the brim with the experience, and ready to continue my novel back in Sydney. On the last night at Jiwar, we organised a small but significant reading of my work. It was a wonderful way to end the month. I can’t wait to come back and write this happier sentence: This morning I arrived in Barcelona.

For the last three weeks, I have been a resident of La Muse, in the village of Labastide about thirty minutes up the mountain from Carcassonne. This place is a haven, and I thoroughly recommend it for anyone able to get to France!

Writing is a solitary activity by its very nature, and this is the first time I have tried it in the company of others. What you get here at La Muse is the combination of solitude -- your own room to write, away from distractions -- and the company of others when you need it. My routine was the one recommended by the owners, John and Kerry, who moved here about 15 years ago from New York, though John originally hails from Ireland. So, it was 9-12, a lunch break of French-size, and 2-5 in the afternoon. That’s six hours a day of writing -- and often I did more, squeezing in an extra hour or two here and there. In the evening, the writers and artists gathered on the terrace, to share meals, wine and stories about their stories. There was also time to walk in the woods, swim in the lake, play guitar and sing, should you be that way inclined.

 John is a writer himself, and his questions about my story really helped me to re-think what had become to an extent an academic exercise. And so -- the end of three weeks -- I only have a few thousand words more than I started, but things have changed and the story holds together more. I have a direction to move from here to the next section of the book, with the first two sections of this second draft now complete.

Working every day on something, very, very rare for this writer of a blog entitled 'The Slow Writing Movement', has been a godsend and a revelation. I only hope I can do more of this in the future. For now, La Muse – I thank you. Tomorrow I move from here to Spain, where I will be shortly starting a second residency in Barcelona. Until next time, it is au revoir from La Muse and bonne chance from La France.

You can check out the La Muse website @  http://lamuseretreat.com/

There are layers to Paris, some of them personal, some of them filmic or literary. These layers are the Paris of the Mind. Then there is the present: entering a high security Paris in the age of terrorism; circling sights of your imagination not layered but overwhelmed by tourists. I have in my mind’s eye the Paris from my youth – an early visit at age 19, in winter, very beautiful images come to mind. I have the Paris of my 20s, and 30s, and – well, let’s stop there ... For these few days, however, I have a different Paris to conjure. My aim is not to try to “see Paris”, not to try to wine and dine Paris, simply to visit a few museums and places that might help me imagine what it was like here in the 1920s and 1930s in that lost, golden age between the wars, to visit the Paris of the Mind.
 

I have already hinted at how impossible this idea is. For one thing, it is August, so the place is deserted – apart from Tourists, who to their credit, have come despite worries about what might happen here, or there, or anywhere in Europe. There is no line at the Picasso Museum, which I like, and I love the museum. The displays are presented thoughtfully; one has a glimpse of the man behind the genius, and the genius behind the man. I also visit the Museum of Modern Art, currently being renovated, and I am confused by the lack of direction that I think no permanent paintings are on display at all. I thus make the fortunate mistake of paying 12 euros to see an exhibition placing Derain, Balthus and Giaeometti together, in a beautiful showing organised thematically (‘Silent Games’, ‘The Model’, ‘Coming to Grips with Darkness’ etc.)
I traipse around in the heat to various addresses of artists I am curious about – where certain artists lived; where they ate. Sometimes an address has been turned into a park; sometimes a former gallery is now a Chinese restaurant. And Monmartre – that place must be beautiful at 5 am when the sun comes up and there is no one present at all; but in the daylight, forget it.
 
After Paris I head South, first to Marseille, then to Cassis, then to Carcassonne where I start a three week writing residency I will write about next time.

I should add that in Paris I stayed in Bellevue, a great choice – more gritty than the centre; a local mix of people; few tourists; and still that long evening where people gather at 7 or 8 for an apartif and afterwards, perhaps, to eat. New memories, for me, so that despite a few ups and downs, I still love the city, and look forward to my next visit.

here to edit.

It is always great to visit London, whatever the reason. In my case, I was there to do some research for my novel (visiting galleries, and places to help me imagine certain scenes from the story). I also enjoyed seeing friends, colleagues, and some former students from my teaching days in London and Hamburg, many years ago!

One of my first places to visit was the Mayor Gallery, opened in 1925 by Fred Mayor. Mayor was quite a player in the early years by providing space for avant-garde art from Europe and Britain, at a time when taste was still very conservative in England. Although the gallery has moved several times, I was very kindly given access to their archives so I could look back at original programs and reviews from the period I am interested in (1930s). The current artist on display was a Japanese minimalist, Tadaaki Kuwayama (‘Radical Neutrality’), and it was interesting to hear how current displays and sales of international art are managed through a combination of space, gallery and online.

Apart from galleries and archives, I wandered through locations I had found in research, and amid the endless cranes and rebuilding that is the nature of a modern city, I tried to use my historical imagination! After six days in London, it was time to return to France (Paris and Cassis). More on that, next time …

You know that hourglass feeling in the last days of a holiday? We are at that point in our time together in France. So many good moments in the last month to be thankful for, and that is what is best to focus on now. We stayed for a week in Piegon in a house once belonging to a great Aunt, used as a setting for my novel The Copyart Murders. A hot week of swims in the pool in Vaison-la-Romaine; lunches under the trees; gorgeous long evenings. Back at Aouste-sur-Sye, the extended French family and swims in the Drôme in the afternoon; an 'apero' together when the sun starts its long descent. I felt a little French with my cap and baguettes under my arm after a morning walk to the village. I also felt my foreignness at times, even in this family. Overwhelmed by long conversations about the food we were eating, I retreated to the shade and read – see my reading blog (‘GatesyRead’) Any Human Heart by William Boyd; Field of Honour by Max Aub; The Time of the Doves by Mercé Rodereda; Quim Monzó’s Gasoline, and Laurent Binet’s The 7th Function of Language. Voila, the time passed nearly perfectly. Now my solo travels begin as I turn my mind to writing – first stop, London. Watch this space!

Aouste-sur-Sye at dawn Yes, back in French Time. I partly live it, and partly resist it. My French resistance starts early each day, with a walk at 6 am when the only signs of life in the village are startled cats and this ambling Australian. Aouste-sur-Sye is a pretty village; the pace is slow, even for this appreciator of slow things. I read as an anglo-saxon deprived of his work habits (currently reading 'The Human Heart' by William Boyd - a story about a selfish writer). I resist as much as a possible the tendency towards living in a House of Sleep. In other ways, though, I embrace my inner-Frenchman, and try to live the moment. The moment, after all, is very good. A glass of rose at lunch; local olives; walks to the river to swim; the warmth of the late afternoon sun on your skin. Writing time is coming in August and September; for now - let's enjoy the present moment. Yes, back in French time.  

Have just returned from a very fruitful trip to the Capital - Canberra, that is. Despite the lovely Autumn weather, I spent most of my time in the archives of the National Gallery of Australia. I'm still at that rather suspicious stage where (like a journalist) I need to protect my sources: but I was researching an Australian artist from the past, and looking over some amazing material that will assist me with my novel. I have lots to do to follow up - reading and notetaking - but it's better to have too much material than not enough!

I am also planning my trip to Europe this summer. It sometimes is the case that you go from Autumn to Summer, which will be the case for us. First, a visit with my wife's family to France. Then, my plan is to attend two writing residencies - one in France near Carcassone, and the other in Barcelona. I'll fill in the details later. Not quite sure how I'm going to afford this yet, so I'm looking out for any funding opportunities (let me know if you are a rich benefactor wanting to support a slowly emerging artist ;) )

Ran a creative writing workshop today for my Year 12 class. It was holiday time, so impressive that they all showed up. We looked at some basic things about writing, and I supported ideas by reading some extracts from various authors on my bookshelf - Amoz Oz to talk about setting, Ray Bradbury to takl about plot, Richard Ford to talk about shape, Don Delillo to talk about dialogue, and so on. Then I spent the afternoon preparing a presentation on Whole School Pedagogy to deliver on Monday to 130 teachers! Well, you have to do your day job if you want to dream of writing by night!

Thanks to Dr Peta Jane Blessing at the National Library (archivist) for her assitance. And thank you, Hume Highway, for keeping me safe among all those trucks heading up and down, much speedier than this writer who'd like to be known for quality, if not quantity, over time. The Slow Writing Movement salutes you.

State Library of NSW The year is passing on, and the Slow Writing Movement has been, well, slow, in reporting updates. My apology, I fear that i have joined the image-age and have been concentrating my efforts in posting to Instagram. Photos of my own, with little bits of text, no less! You can join me there: @gatesywriter

And what of the real world of actual writing? Positive news, really. I've been working on Thursday nights in the State Library of NSW (most weeks) and this has proved to be an excellent strategy in clearning my mind from the working week. Schools, if you don't know, are all-consuming places, and between teaching and leadership roles, I could very easily NEVER have time to write. So, taking the train into the city is actually part of the plan - creating some distance from work, and from home, to assume a different role. That of the writer, a role I actually enjoy a great deal (however part-time).

I'm not sure how others deal with this, but I am not going to talk about my next novel yet, not on a blog at any rate (over a beer, maybe). It's still too early, and I am still getting used to sharing drafts with a supervisor at university (I am working on  doctorate and thus gaining feedback on my creative work earlier than in the past). I can say, however, that I have written 20, 000 words, and the start of the novel is already taking shape (if you can imagine it in quarterls, I've got the first part done). I don't want to rush things, because from here the novel is largely set in Europe, and it will be August next year before I can research and write in the Northern Hemisphere. The past is another country, so they say, so I have other explorations to keep me busy in my 'travels' this year.

In the meantime, the slow writing movement it is! Am happy with this state of affairs? Yes! Really, if I take into account all the other parts of my life, I'm a racing-snail, sliding towards the last bend in the first lap.

Keep you posted, I almost promise ;)