Our voice? Can you hear it?

How do I approach voice, compared to the first post in this blog? Looking back now, my more essayistic styled approaches to the subject of voice and culture, seem naive.  However, looking through the creative posts, you can begin to identify a journey of understanding and growth.

Through an article titled Writing Other, I made clear my opinion on the rules and regulations associated with writing someone from a different disposition. I highlight the importance of listening to the voice of minority writers, something that has always been pressed upon me as important, especially in the recent few months attending Emerging Writers Festival, in which their opening presentation was based on great aboriginal storytelling and encouraging aboriginal writers and youths to have their voice be heard. This cry for minority writers is an important one to open up to, being a queer writer myself, I understand the need for my voice to be heard above others with an experience unlike mine, but it’s also an important observation on the notion of censorship. To listen is as equally important as speaking, but we must do both to fully appreciate the gift that is writing culture in Melbourne, and through the internet. I sternly question if using another person’s voice makes it your property, and how you must do extensive research to avoid humiliating and possibly harmful association.  “If you aren’t prepared to do that work, then don’t even touch ‘other’’ I forcefully state. Looking back on it now, that statement, while still holding a lot of gravity, may not be as binding as I once believed. People, no matter where and who they are, are still people. Specificity remains at the heart of good writing, but emotion can be relative no matter distance or difference. I end the sentiment on this statement. “There is never an end to learning”. This thought encapsulates my blog. I consider it a chronological display of my awareness growing, and there is never going to be an end to that.

https://culturevvulture.blogspot.com/2018/08/writing-other.html

One of the most interesting displays of learning is the comparison of my first attempt at writing a voice unlike my own, with a piece I wrote inspired by a poster I saw hanging in the women’s bathroom of RMIT. The story is a split point of view piece. One character, an Australian, is fed up with seeing so much Chinese culture displayed in her city. She graffiti’s “speak English” on a Chinese advertisement. The second character is a Chinese exchange student, who responds to the writing with her own graffiti, condemning the first girl’s ignorance.  The piece ends with a final character who was intended to be the perspective of an uninvolved outsider. The piece was to be an observation on the culture of the university, rather than any racial statement.  The first and last perspectives were easy voices for me to write because they were native to me, however, the exchange students voice was difficult for me. I don’t have too many friends from outside of Australia, how was I to write their accent? How could I portray through voice who this person was? My answer back then was to limit the English vocabulary, which now I think is more negative than positive.  I tried to use simple language to emulate that of a second language speaker, but enough to not appear like a stereotype of eastern characters.  This assumption was based on my own learning experiences with a second language, and how little I am able to express myself in that dialect. That notion now feels uninformed.  Many exchange students I have worked with have an amazing grasp on the colorful way to use the English language, and many of them are not beginners.  Since then I have discovered a new way to attempt that voice, with my submission piece to cha. Rather than limiting vocabulary, I know look more towards sentence structure. In English, the sentence order is not strict, but we follow a pattern of Subject>Action>Object>Place>Extra Subject (I ate dinner at the pub with my friends) whereas, in many Asian languages, they follow the structure of Subject>Extra Subject> Place>Object>Action (me and my friends went to the pub, dinner we ate.) Sounds like Yoda in English, but it’s a structure, that I can employ in my writing, even just for the more experimental experience.

https://culturevvulture.blogspot.com/2018/09/talk-english-to-me.html

It’s clear to see that I’m more comfortable in my native voice, but it’s one I try and avoid when I’m writing, especially in fiction. I try to write in a hybrid American- Australian tone. This subject not only drew me out of my knowledge of writing other culture, but also submerged me in awareness of my own locality, and prompted me to raise questions as to why I wasn’t using this voice as an asset? Was it perhaps because most of my literary digestion involved American voices? Perhaps it was to do with my fear that if I wrote a book with an Australian voice, that people might not understand or like it. I know realize that not every piece of literature needs to be worldwide reachable. It’s okay to write for my local industry, and it was more than okay to write for myself.  I titled a piece ‘The Aussie Handbook’ which was intended to be an amusing reflection on Australian culture, whilst also commenting on the social climate, all in an easy three chaptered manual for foreigners to blend into Australian life.  It was freeing to be able to over exaggerate the accent, and use local jargon to my heart's content, to bring to life a piece of writing that was as sarcastic as it was serious. I felt that because I was Australian, it made sense to play into a stereotype because I was naive enough to get it right. Still, my attempt at writing Australian voice raised questions. Why was it the voice I used when I wanted to inflict humor into a situation? Do I not take my native voice seriously, or am I still under the impression that no one else will?

https://culturevvulture.blogspot.com/2018/09/the-aussie-handbook.html

I am left at the end of this road, with a hundred new paths to follow. My voyage into exploring and experimenting with voice, both global and local, has only just begun. 

Habitus ll

At the start of the semester, I defined habitus as “the economized guide to narrowing down everything into a box.”

While I don’t find that description entirely wrong, I am amused by my grim point of view.

I describe myself as disliking writing that is “heteronormative and conforming, but my style is very cookie cutter.” I describe myself as loving vivid characters, but falling back on old troupes, and that perhaps is where my habitus as mutated the most.

My habitus has stretched and quivered, and still, there’s more room to grow.  I have traveled, but it must be blindingly obvious to some people that my roots are firmly planted in rural country, a place which I disliked writing about for those two exact reasons, the place is a land of heteronormativity and conformity. But like other writers before me, like Tim Winton, the Australian outback can be more than that, it can be whatever I want it to be. It was only limited by my imagination and self-restraint.

The most surprising thing I discovered was not shocking differences, strange practices, and alien views that clash with my own. The most shocking discovery was that the people I interviewed over this semester, who where designed to be ‘foreign’ to me, where extremely normal. These people were almost ordinary even, in a sense that, they didn’t stray far from the people I had already met in my life. They were ‘normal’. They blended in with my idea of what is consistent in a person’s nature. Even their views, which I assumed would be on the other scale to my own more liberal-leaning views due to their more conservative countries, where not dissimilar to views from Australia.

I realized that maybe through media, maybe through easier access to each other, maybe by sheer humanity or DNA, we are more familiar than we are distanced by differences.

We all fell emotions, we all have a grasp on the world around us, and what role we play in it. I feel foolish now to face what my expectations of these people and what their respective home countries would be like. I didn’t expect my HKBU partner to swear. I didn’t expect my partner from the Netherlands to have such strong opinions on social media. Afterward, it made sense to me to view them as their own person first and foremost, and their nationality as secondary. We may have used different words but in the end, we meant the same thing.

From a writing perspective, I felt pressure ease. The characters I’m writing might be from Hong Kong, or Russia, or America, but its still Hong Kong, Russia, and America in 2018, or the future. I’m still writing about people.  Naturally, I’d still need to do research to understand the nuances of particular people, but they can be and should be, painted by their personality first, not by their nationality.

HKBU Interview

In my interview, I focused a lot on the personal aspects of her life. I discussed mostly her relationships and her family life in Macau.  My work is inspired by her personal history with her ex-boyfriend and her grandfather’s pets. Her grandfather kept ten snakes, three of them pythons. The image stuck in my head, of a black python slithering across the wooden floor of a kitchen, and my story blossomed around that strange energy.  I was surprised by how laid back she was, and how much she swore. I was under the impression that she would be more conservative with her language, so when she told me “Melbourne is a bit shit” I was pretty shocked, but kind of delighted. I am disappointed that we didn’t end up being wonderful friends. I had hoped, like some of the other students, that we would become close, but for whatever reason, technology incompatibility, or personal disinterest, it just didn’t happen. I was expecting her to be a writer, but as it turns out, she’s not so big into writing. I changed all of my questions, that was in relation to writing as more general questions about her life. 

Story Outline

The story is based around three main characters and their owners, Moxie, whose owner hasn’t fed her in a while, Ritz, whose owner is always busy, and Sady, whose owner won’t leave their house. 

The cats all leave their subsequent houses one day to go to their favorite hangout spot, the alleyway, where among the trash they like to play in, they find something very strange. They find a finger, then a hand, then an arm. They pay it very little mind.

They then return home, tracking their dirty paws across town. Sady isn’t allowed in by her owner, and is scared away when loud noises pull up outside her house, Ritz finds her owner, and is immediately looked at, and washed, and rewarded. Moxie goes home alone, her owner still hasn't come back. 

This story is sort of a play on cute horror and is written in a way to tell a story around characters, rather than the characters telling the story. Since they are cats, the narration will mostly be in third person, detailing actions rather than feelings and thoughts. The style is inspired by an australian author, Cate Kennedy, from her story in which a story is told from the perspective of a child who is on the spectrum.  The story is told around him, because of his age and mental state, readers understand more than the character.

The Aussie Handbook

Preface

G’day, I’m here to teach you how to be a true blue Australian. This is a mixture of hard yakka, ‘aussie aussie aussie, oi oi oi’, Bunnings snags on a Saturday and Frank Walker from National Tiles.  

After reading this manual, you’ll be able to talk the lingo with your mates, track down a Shelia, and blend seamlessly into the stitch work of Australian Life.

*Note, this applies nationally, but some places, like Queensland and WA are dog’s breakfast, and follow their own set of formalities.

Chapter One- The Aussie Gene Pond

What does it mean to grow up an ‘aussie’? Most minds drift to a convict hand-me-down with that accent, a slur they reckon originated from being maggoted all the time.

You have to look far back to find where ‘Aussie’ DNA came from. If you’re blonde maybe you have some Scandinavian. If you have lithe long fingers maybe French. How you look might matter a little bit, but if you’re a mixer or a traveler, it doesn’t matter, so long as you know the words to ‘Wheels on the Bus’.  Australia thrives on its multiculturalism, and its banter. That means we have lots of people that live here, and we are still racist about it. But Aussies are laid back so don’t take it personal.

Chapter two- Making Mates

In Australia, we call not giving a shit ‘down to earth’. Calmly and politely not giving a shit is the epitome of being a man in Australia, that and being either surfy or bushy, which is why Chris Hemsworth is our choice for national dreamboat.

Being the ideal Aussie woman includes not taking anyone’s shit but being quiet about it.

We Aussies don’t give a shit so much that we don’t even need a government. We all reckon they’re pisspots and drongos. Bill Shorten looks like a cane toad, and Malcolm Turnbull looks like a muppet. They don’t do much except spend taxpayer’s money, decide to build shit and then backtrack, oh and finally legalize gay marriage, after a stupid plebiscite that half of us didn’t even vote on. We don’t vote unless there’s a sausage sizzle on.

You know an ‘Aussie’ is being authentic with you if they call you a cunt. If you get called mate, you’re being patronized, either because we reckon you’re a wacko, or we hate you.

Common phrases you might hear from an aggravated Australian:

‘Oi mate, can ya settle down?’

‘Oi mate use ya blinkers’

‘Oi mate, hows it goin? That bloke's a bloody wacko’

And of course, all manner of swear words. Aussies swear, just not to our Grandma’s.

Chapter Three- National Pastimes

There aren’t too many holidays we celebrate like we do with Australia Day. Especially if you came from the 80’s, you must have a great sense of national pride. You don’t want to go out and buy a new pair of thongs, or an esky, because that’s too commercial, but you might buy a sticker for your bumper, or a flag to proudly flap outside your house, might even wear it as a cape, because we are all superheroes, even though the Aborigines want their day back.

But hey, we still respect them and all that, like at the footy we make sure to include a smooth blend of their culture and our culture into our uniforms.

Footy is the next big topic, so study up. No sport is like footy, it unifies us as a country. Even if you don’t watch it, you’ve gotta have a team. If it’s Collingwood, you will have to endure jokes about not having teeth, so don’t pick them. Pick a team from a place where you feel resonates with you. The tiges, the bombers, the blues, the doggies, pick wisely and never change because changing teams is un-Australian.

Next get used to drinking. If you’re a bloke, you better learn to like Corona or Carlton Draught. If you’re a woman, you may also sample this masculine drink, but a Cruiser is probably more acceptable.

We love the drop. If you don’t drink then there must be something wrong with you.

Conclusion

Good on ya if you finished the manual. Remember above all, be yourself, but a quieter, less foreign version of yourself. Seeya out there.  

Research

Some writers research in order to write. I write in order to research topics that interest me. Especially if I can meet with other people, in forums from illness support groups to phone sex hotlines, and learn what people know best.

--Chuck Palahniuk

Inside the brain of a Nihongo Gakusee at all times

おはよう ございます (Hello)

                                                       

                                                        My name is….なまえ (Name?)

                                                                

                                                              なに  (What?)

                                                                                     

                                                                                        Can you speak Japanese?

                                            

                                                      Can you speak にほんご

いいえ ちょつと (No…a little)

                                                      

                                                 

 What is the value of knowing?

                                                                   

                                                    In オーストラリア? Nothing

                                                          

                                                                                                           In 北海道? Everything.

              

                   In writing? In ぶんがく? (わたし せんこう わ ぶんがく です。そお です か。)

いい

(Is good)

                              No

              いいえ

                                                                Is fun?

                               はいそおです

                           ....Still. By no means sensei. Still, you understand a little bit?

Shhh

There can be a great value in silence. Silence makes people uncomfortable, especially around here, wherein our culture silence doesn’t indicate politeness or respect, it indicates a wrongness, a judgment, an alien. It’s rude to not make small talk, it’s rude not to answer. It’s rude to keep to yourself.

Cate Kennedy, in her collections of short stories, wrote brilliantly on it. In Dark Roots, she published a story called ‘Angel’, which was about an immigrant who understood the silence, let it guide her into our country, and how it ultimately lets her down.

Silence is valuable though. When you are silent, you have the opportunity to really listen to the world around you. When you are quiet, the noise comes singing back to you. When you say nothing, someone feels as though they have to say everything. The unease bites them in the ass and they spill everything that you might want to know about them in one big mouthful.

Silence is scary, and people hate it, but you can use it as a tool. Sharpen the silence and aim well, and people will tell you volumes about their lives. It can send a message. It can end a relationship. It can be the beginning of love. It can be the end of it. 

Bio

Georgia Couchman is a 20-year-old mess of a creative writing student from RMIT University.  She is in her second year of her bachelor’s degree. Georgia likes her literature like she likes her wine, bitter and cheap. Most of what she reads is found second hand, but she prefers to read romance and horror, or something that combines the two. Her two literary heroes are Stephen King and Charlotte Bronte, but she reveres anyone with a book to their name. She has written and edited posts for NERDS4LIFE, a blog exploring current pop culture trends. She spends many of her nights pretending to know how to use a typewriter, forgetting to drink her tea, and annoying her pet cats Mac and Luna.

Talk English To Me

It's been a long day at uni. My last lecture droned on forever. Not to mention, I've been put into a group project with people who have accents. I don't mind, but it's annoying.
I sit down on the toilet.
My eye drifts, as often it does when I'm occupied by other business.
That's when I see it.
It's an orange poster. There's some clip art of a city skyline on it, and it was full of unidentifiable chicken scratch. Fuckin chicken scratch everywhere, with weird symbols that I couldn't understand.
Who the heck even invented this weird language. some of the symbols sharp and complicated and impossible.
It was clearly an advert for some event. How did they expect people to come to their shit if they don't speak clearly? Or is it 'Asian' only. Isn't that racist? Why in the middle of my English speaking university, do I have to be affronted with this crap in the bathroom stall?
The pen was out of my pocket before I had given it a second thought.  I leaned forward, mid-piss, and wrote.

"Speak ENGLISH. It's a universal language."  I underlined it twice for good measure. I clicked the pen and shoved it back in my pocket.

-

"Take a quick break class, see you here in ten minutes,"
I leap out of my chair, I  need the girl's bathroom.
There was one person in line in front of me. I avoid her eyes and look at the ground. I could have held on until I got home to the apartment, but I was too desperate now, so desperate that I accidentally took my pen.
I heard a flush and quickly slipped in and sat down.
I saw the usual orange ad for the rooftop bar on the door. I looked again when I saw black angry scrawl written on the side.
I breathed in. Speak English? Isn't that what I do all day while living here? How many times have I been asked to repeat?
I finish what I'm doing, and stand, opening my pen.
I draw a long arrow to the other side and write.
"That's rude.  How many second languages do you speak? Grow up."
I close my pen and go back to class.

-

I'm keen to go to the toilet and see my handiwork the next day. A part of me feels bad. Will anyone knows it was me? Could they recognize my handwriting? Maybe I should take the poster down.
I stride in and look at the wall.
Ugh.
How rude? I bite my lip. I'm annoyed, but I can't help the hot flush of embarrassment churn in my stomach. I pull out my pen. I want to write something back, but nothing comes to my head. I draw an annoyed face with another arrow. still no words.
Whatever. If I don't go now I'll miss my train.

-

Finally. I can go. I've been waiting in line for ages. RMIT should get some more bloody toilets. I sit down in the furthest stall and take note of my lavatory entertainment on the door.
I notice it's all in Chinese. I also notice that there's some aggravated conversation in black and blue pen.
"Speak English..." I sigh. How ignorant. I didn't think RMIT would be like this since it was so liberal.
I read the clap back.  All the arrows are confusing, but it's funny. People are so strange. I wonder if they knew each other. I want to write "AMEN" on the poster, but I didn't bring a pen today.
I wash my hands. Maybe I'll take a photo next time I'm in here.

-

The next week, the poster is gone.

((This is inspired by a poster I found in the toilets of the NAS a few weeks ago.))