Cate Sutherland's Blog

Redeeming Brother Murrihy: The River To Hiruharama by Antony Millen


My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A complex but riveting read. I found it hard to put down; it was challenging and comforting at the same time. It was honest and thought provoking. Because I know you, it was hard to separate the you I know from the main character, even though you are clearly different from one another. I found the anger and frustration of Conrad compelling and believable and the ending surprising and satisfying.
This is not a light read, but it is rewarding.





View all my reviews

Redeeming Brother Murrihy: The River To Hiruharama by Antony Millen

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


A complex but riveting read. I found it hard to put down; it was challenging and comforting at the same time. It was honest and thought provoking. Because I know you, it was hard to separate the you I know from the main character, even though you are clearly different from one another. I found the anger and frustration of Conrad compelling and believable and the ending surprising and satisfying.
This is not a light read, but it is rewarding.



View all my reviews

After a few years of working on the novel, I saw a New Zealand Novel Writers competition, I think it was run by the Listener Magazine, but can’t be sure, it was a long time ago, but I remember the top judge was Witi Ihimaera and the winner was David Brown.

I needed help to get a sample of my story ready to submit because it was spread over too many Word processing programs. My sister in law Karen Brown, who is a legal PA and a fast typist, helped me by typing up some chapters into something cohesive. I was really grateful for her help.

The competition said the novel could be from any genre, but I didn’t win and began to see that science fiction wasn’t thought of as profitable to publish in New Zealand.

One particular New Zealand agent was very arrogant and when I asked to speak to them personally, I was told that “everyone wants to speak to him personally.” I was made to feel ridiculous for wanting it. But if someone is going to represent me/my book, of course I’m going to want to talk to them!

Then there was the online publisher: Crossroads, who gave me a contract. Yay! I was going to be published! No, turned out to be a fraud. The lady who ran it needed other writers to legitimise the claim she was a publisher and publish her own books!

I became more cynical with each passing year.

In spite of this, people like my sister Beryl, continued to believe in me and I want to thank her for her emotional and financial help.

Particularly, I want to acknowledge my gratitude to God, who inspired and guided me. It is the right time to be publishing digitally; I don’t think I could have done this at any other time in my life or in history. I want to doubly acknowledge my husband Dean Sutherland; this has been really demanding for him, at what is possibly the worst time in his life, helping with publication while nursing me through cancer. He’s just been fantastic!

I also want to acknowledge the people who said I couldn’t do it; because you often provoked me to keep going.

Thanks

Cate

At the time that I was starting the book I was looking at science fiction book covers to see what was on offer. I found plenty of good looking covers, but they all turned out to have very little to do with what was inside the book. Besides which, I was inspired by Rodney Matthews who was making science fiction/fantasy posters and album covers at the time.

I wanted something that matched my book, something with a bit of integrity. I was still with my first husband at the time and he was an artist so I talked him into making the art work for the cover. The trouble was that the artwork was not finished by the time we split up, and by then I didn’t trust him to finish it. That may have been unfair of me, but divorce is a messy thing.

So I ended up paying a commercial artist to finish it for me. It cost $1000.00, which I borrowed from my new parents in law; Jan and Pete Sutherland. Unfortunately I can’t remember the name of the artist who completed the work for me. We then had it professionally photographed and made in to a transparency, and there it stopped again for a while, the art work got stored away in my wardrobe for years and the transparency has long since disappeared in one of our house moves..

When we decided to publish the book we asked Celia Vick to photograph the artwork again, which had deteriorated a bit by then, and Melissa Robinson, my daughter to my first marriage, who is also an artist (following in dad’s footsteps), fixed the problems with it and designed the dust cover. She will also do some drawings of my characters further down the track.

My husband Dean Sutherland built my website and has facilitated the publication of the book. With inspiration by God and Antony Millen.

I began writing this book when I was 21 years old. I was encouraged to start by my first husband, Daron Robinson; I suspect he wanted me out of his way and having me busy with a book was a convenient way of doing it. A friend of ours, Kevin Slade, insisted that if I was going to write I would need a computer and a word processor.

So I ended up with a Commodore 64 and I can’t remember the name of the Word Processing program, boy that really ages me! The program was awful; it had no descenders, so when it printed out the g’s, y’s, p’s, and q’s, were all above the line. It was incredibly messy and unprofessional looking.

The computer had a bad habit of not saving, even when you tried three or four times to save your work. I lost chapter four so many times, I just about tore my hair out, but I ended up rewriting and polishing that chapter so many times that it was just about perfect, and then I never used it!

As I continued to work on the story the computers improved and so did the word processing programs. My first marriage ended and I married my second husband. My sister in law Kathryn Sutherland (second husband’s sister) contributed a computer and a better word processing program. It was very comforting to have something reliable to work with at long last.

Even though the story wasn’t finished, I was encouraged to submit what I had done to publishers and agents. A couple of reactions were worth mentioning. Many wanted money to review it. I paid one person to do it, in the understanding that they would help me find a publisher afterwards. I do not recommend that anyone does this. I ended up getting my money refunded. The review was useless and the publisher to whom I was recommended was a vanity publisher of the worst kind.

Another “agent” was only interested in what I looked like and whether I would be good in bed or not. That was humiliating. There were plenty of rejection letters, but the one from a writers co-operative in Tauranga, now defunct, was the worst of all, telling me that my writing was truly terrible and that I should give up now. I kept that letter for a long time and then finally destroyed it because I didn’t need that kind of negativity.

You have to be strong to deal with the rejection and I wasn’t. I put the book down many times never meaning to pick it up again, but I always did.

I learned that New Zealand publishers need subsidies from the government to publish New Zealand books and so they are unlikely to publish science fiction books.

Having said that I got pretty close to being published by the good graces of one Steve Yeomen, whose kindness and belief in me have never been forgotten.

Those of you who know me personally will know that I have cancer.  I have been told that I only have a few months to live.  I don’t know exactly how long I really have, I am hoping for a miracle and that I live for years  and am cured, but whatever happens I often find myself weak, tired and in a lot of pain.  I cannot promote this book in ways that I would like to.  I can reply to posts on Facebook and answer emails, but I won’t always be able to answer the door or the phone, or welcome people in for a drink.  I’m sorry about that because I like nothing more than spending time with people that I know and love.  Please don’t be offended if I say I can’t see you today.  I just get really sick sometimes and the tumours produce unpleasant and embarrassing side effects. I want to acknowledge the people who have helped me, particularly those from the New Zealand Cancer Society who encouraged me to do the things on my bucket list. I had two things on the list that I didn’t think I would have time to do.  One was publish this book, which I have only been able to do with my husband Dean’s help and the other was build a house.  I don’t think I’ll get the house built.   In the photo on my website I am wearing the wig that the Society provided and I am grateful for other services they provided.  Particularly, I want to mention Vicki Donderwinkel and the volunteers from the Taumarunui support group.  I would also like to thank Sandi Hagar and Catherine Wolicki from Hospice Waikato.  Michelle Peat’s positivity, conversation and constant smile, were so welcome. The Oncology Department of Waikato Hospital has been very helpful, kind and supportive, and I would like to mention Nurse Anne Liggins, Dr Michael Jameson, Dr Ziad Thotathil and Susan Hobson.  All the staff that I had contact with from that department were exceptionally good to me and if I left anyone out I apologise.  The nurses from Chemotherapy and the radiologists from radiation therapy, all helped to make the treatment I went through more bearable.  Thank you to you all.

I had a friend once, his name was Wally, but names go through fashions and Wally became a euphemism for slightly stupid. At first Wally embraced the change in meaning, and laughed at it, but then it got annoying and he decided to change his name. Changing your name isn’t the easiest thing to do and just when you seem to have got everyone calling you by your new name you’ll come across someone who remembers you by the old one.He decided to call himself by his other given name: Robert. It took me a while to get used to his new name and so I called him Wally Robert for a short time just to help me adjust. But I think, in truth, his name was Robert Wallace.Anyway, Wally Robert was about forty when this tale begins, and he decided that it was time he left home. He wanted both a flat and a recording studio because that was his line of work. He found the perfect place for both in an upstairs loft over an insurance assessors garage on Upper Queen Street. The space was large and being in a commercial district no one would mind bands making a lot of noise. The rent, however, was a little too expensive. So Wally Robert decided to sublet half the space.

Now, with noise being an important factor, you would think that Wally Robert would let the other half of the floor out to someone who was quiet and then their noise would not compete with the bands that would be trying to record in the studio. But no, instead he let the other half to a carpenter who ran power saws, sanders, routers and who, even in his quiet moments was banging around with hammers, nails and powered staple guns. Wally Robert said it wouldn’t matter, he would sound proof his studio and bands would usually come in in the evenings when the carpenter went home.

The amazing thing about it was that he was right, and it seemed to work.

One evening, my first husband and I, (we’ll call him Jack, his name’s not Jack but we’ll call him that because it will annoy him) went to see Wally Robert, and a largish dog greeted us. Wally Robert was just behind the dog and he looked completely bewildered.

“Hi.” He said. “This is Tarsha.” Introducing us to the dog.

We patted Tarsha and let her sniff us.

“Tarsha belongs to Kirsty who’s moved in.” He explained, still looking bewildered.

“Who’s Kirsty?” I asked.

“She’s this girl I met at church.” Wally Robert said. “She attached herself to me and now she’s moved in with her dog. I had to move my bed out of the bedroom and put it in the control room. She’s got the bedroom now.”

“Oh.” I said.

I didn’t know what else to say. Jack and Wally Robert fell to talking about a recording that Jack wanted to make and no more was said on the matter. A little while later Ben, the carpenter who shared Wally Robert’s loft, put his head around the door.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He said. “I’ve got a client who’s asked me to make him some Shoji screens for his apartment. He’s imported rice paper from Japan to cover the screens and it’s a bit dusty in my place, can I store them in your control room?” He asked.

“Sure.” Wally Robert agreed. “Just pop it in the corner.”

Ben brought through a roll of rice paper wrapped in a brown paper cover and put it in the corner of the control room. Wally Robert already had a couple of expensive speakers stored in the same corner, so they seemed fit companions for one another.

“Thanks.” Ben said and left.

Soon Jack had finished his discussions with Wally Robert and because he was bringing in his band to record a demo tape we agreed to meet again in a couple of days.

Two days later we arrived. Wally Robert was out and so we waited on the street for him. It wasn’t long before he got there and unlocked the door for us. We all went upstairs. The door to the control room was shut and locked as usual, and Wally Robert unlocked it. Just on the other side sat Tarsha she was very pleased to see us, her tail wagging, but she also seemed quite anxious. When we got into the room we could see why.

Tarsha was a young dog and she had been very unhappy about being shut up in the control room for a long time on her own. She had found the expensive speakers and shredded their paper diaphragms and she had found the roll of rice paper and torn it to pieces.

Hearing us arrive, Ben came over to deliver a message.

“Kirsty said to tell you she would be gone for a couple of hours.” He said walking towards the door of the control room. “She had a job interview.” He finished as he put his head around the door.

There was a long uncomfortable silence as he took in the carnage and what it meant.

“You put the rice paper in my care.” Wally Robert said eventually. “I will pay for it to be replaced.”

“It cost hundreds of dollars.” Ben said in despair. “And took weeks to import from Japan. The screens are supposed to be finished next week.”

There was more uncomfortable silence. Ben tried to pick up pieces of the rice paper, but it was completely unsalvageable. Any pieces that might have been of a useful size were covered in dog saliva and tooth marks and only the greatest stretching of the imagination would make the pieces seem functional, in reality they were not.

I looked at the paper with less interest than anyone else, and yet it seemed vaguely familiar. When I was growing up my mother had been inclined to sew. She made clothes for myself and my brothers and sisters, and even for herself and my father. So I was familiar with sewing notions. Could this expensive rice paper imported from Japan really be what I thought it was? I looked hard at it and even felt a piece. It seemed to be the same thing.

“I think this is stiffening.” I said.

“Stiffening?” Said Ben.

“Yeah.” I said with uncertainty. “You use it in sewing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I think it is.”

There was a pause, stiffening didn’t mean much to Ben.

“You can buy it at a fabric store for a couple of dollars a metre.” I added.

“Really?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Where’s the nearest fabric store?”

“I think there’s one a few blocks away on Karangahape Road.” I said. “You can buy it in a variety of weights.”

“Are you really sure?” Asked Wally Robert, who had been listening to our conversation.

“I think so.” I said. I wasn’t at all sure, it seemed the same stuff, but could you buy rice paper for Shoji screens at a fabric shop? The only way Ben could find out was by going.

Wally Robert pulled a twenty-dollar note out of his wallet and gave it to Ben. Ben rushed off up the road and I didn’t see him again that day.

Weeks later I was at Wally Roberts studio again and Ben wandered in. He had photos of the Shoji screens he’d made and installed in an expensive apartment. He never told the client that the costly rice paper that he had imported from Japan had become a chew toy for a worried puppy. Nor did he tell him that his Shoji screens were made with stiffening that could be bought from any fabric store for two dollars a metre.

2005

 

This may sound like it’s going to be an interesting recipe, but it isn’t. Instead, it is one of the most unusual and unexpected fishing tales you will ever read. And it’s all true!

My town is built on the banks of the Tongariro River and recently the river flooded. Actually, it was an extraordinary flood because I live in New Zealand and February is usually the hottest driest month of the year, but not this year. This year we had torrential downpours and high winds.

We were quite blessed because our house did not get any water damage. We were slightly inconvenienced by the bridge into town being closed, but since we didn’t want to go out of town, it hardly mattered. No, the real problem came when I wanted to go blackberry picking.

Now I love blackberries, but you do ask yourself if it’s worth it or not when you’re picking them. The plants have thorns, they aren’t long thorns or anything, but they are backward facing, so you can reach into the bush to pick the dark, shiny, fat berry just fine. But try taking your hand back out and then you feel the thorns digging into your skin and clothes. It’s quite easy to get stuck, especially as you reach for the berries further back into the bush. They are also invasive plants that are considered a noxious weed in our country. The local council should spray them regularly, but this year they were more occupied by the floods. However, I make blackberry muffins with the fruit and when you’re eating them you can believe, despite the scratches that scar your hands and arms, that it was worth it.

So, after the flood I took my children and went to my favourite spot for blackberry picking. It was a picnic area by the river, mostly flat and grassy but with one deep puddle. The water had gone down everywhere except in the puddle, but the ground was covered in a thick layer of mud. Still I decided it would be worth it and plunged in, although standing ankle deep in mud and being torn at by thorns, I did have my doubts. My son, trying to slip past the large puddle, got caught in the blackberries and I had to go and release him, after that I decided it was time to go home.

A couple of days later we went back again. The mud had dried out a lot everywhere except next to the puddle where it was very deep. While I was picking blackberries my son tried to get past the puddle again, this time avoiding the blackberry thorns, but he ended up in the mud up to his knees. Once there, he was stuck firm. I had to come to his rescue without getting trapped myself. There was only one way to get to him and it meant going through the puddle. I pulled my trouser legs up and waded in. The water wasn’t too deep but it was muddy. It wasn’t until I had committed myself to the murky fluid that I realised, I wasn’t alone in it; something was swimming beside me! I thought for one terrifying minute that it was some nasty eel, but as I watched, the desperate fish made it to the other side of the puddle and tried to get out, heading for the river.

I couldn’t believe it! A beautiful silvery rainbow trout was trapped in a puddle! It reminded me of the Dr Seuss book ‘McElligot’s Pool’. My daughter had come up behind me and she too saw the trout. A group of boys were also in the area and one of them came into view just as the trout was disappearing back into the pool. He shouted to his friends to come and see the fish. By the time the other boys arrived, the fish had disappeared into the deeper water and they wouldn’t believe us when we said it was there. So, while I pulled my son out of the deep mud the boys sloshed around in the water looking for the fish. It was absolutely hilarious to hear them screaming with fright when it brushed up against their legs.

Finally, one brave kid chased the fish and caught it. Because it is illegal to catch trout without a licence in my area I told the boys to take the fish to the river and throw it in, but unfortunately the distance was too great and the fish died before they got there. By now I had my son and his footwear free of the mud, so I didn’t see what became of the fish, but I imagine that some family sat down to a fine trout dinner that night.

I still think we got the best of it with Blackberry Muffins.

Feb 2003