50 Ways of Saying Fabulous Book 2 Anniversary Edition

  When an unknown writer submits an unsolicited novel to a publisher, it’s consigned to what’s known as ‘the slush pile’. This unappealing term refers to the manuscripts that don’t come with the endorsement of a literary agent, but have been sent in by would-be authors along with their best hopes and dreams. It was quite rare back then in 1994 for an unsolicited manuscript to end up being published. Obviously, a manuscript needs to be of a publishable standard and commercially viable, but also to possess that elusive quality which captures the imagination of a commissioning editor. Occasionally, magically, everything falls into place and this is what happened with my book. I had a manuscript that was a contender, but I was also determined enough to keep persisting despite numerous rejections. Still, I don’t discount the importance of timing and luck. Both were integral to 50 Ways of Saying Fabulous finally being published.

  I wrote 50 Ways over a period of a year by getting up at 6am and working on it before I started my day job at 10am. Sometimes, I’d grab some time on weekends and evenings. My self-imposed deadline was to have the novel finished in time to enter in the first novel competition run by Reed Books in New Zealand. I was living in Sydney, but had grown up in New Zealand, where the book was set. I work well to deadlines and it was helpful to be working with something concrete in mind, rather than just the vague hope that someone might publish what I was writing one day.

  I entered the competition and to my enormous delight, in early 1993, I was advised that my book was one of five shortlisted titles. I didn’t end up winning but nevertheless it was still very encouraging. The publisher, Ian Watt, expressed a strong interest in the book, but declined to publish it as he was already committed to several other gay-themed books. I didn’t have an agent, so I submitted the manuscript to publishers myself, knowing that it was destined for the dreaded slush pile. But it helped that my book had been shortlisted for the Reed competition as that indicated a certain quality and meant the manuscript was looked at more quickly than it would have been otherwise. I’d been working for several years as a bookshop manager by then so I knew the Australian industry: in particular which publishers had previously published gay-themed work. Some of the sales reps who called on me were also very helpful and gave me tips and leads.

  Though the first response I received wasn’t encouraging. A publisher at a major house (who I’d considered my ‘best bet’) read it extremely promptly, within a week, but rejected it with a very firm no. His view was that the book was written ‘out of a repressed adolescence’ and should be put in a drawer and forgotten. He suggested I write about issues that were relevant to contemporary relationships, not where we were twenty years ago. Thankfully, other publishers were more encouraging. To my surprise, Pan MacMillan, who I’d thought an unlikely prospect were the most enthusiastic. I had only sent it there due to the encouragement of my sales rep. The book went through to a final acquisitions meeting but was ultimately rejected as the editors who liked it couldn’t convince their colleagues. My consolation was that BlackWattle Press, the small Australian gay and lesbian press, who had published my short stories, were keen.

  Submitting the book had also provided me with some very useful feedback. I’d received some very detailed reader’s reports and I set to work fixing the problems that had been pointed out or that I had realised myself. I also employed a freelance editor to work on the manuscript so that I could polish it to the highest possible standard. Then my break came: I read in the newspaper that Jane Palfreyman, the editor who had liked my book at Pan MacMillan, had been headhunted and promoted to publisher at Random House. She had the brief of creating an Australian fiction list. I wrote her a letter of congratulations and asked if she would reconsider the revised manuscript. She promptly replied that she would and after a month or so, Random House made an offer. This was incredibly exciting, though there was one problem: it meant withdrawing the book from BlackWattle Press. While Jane had been considering the book, they had firmed up their interest and we’d even had an initial meeting. But there was no contract, and though I felt terrible to be letting the publisher down who had been so supportive of me in the past, the Random House offer was simply too big an opportunity to say no to.

  I was similarly lucky in placing my novel in the UK with a publisher who was developing a new list. The novel was in its final stages of being prepared for Australian publication when I met the British author Paul Bailey. We were hosting an author event for him at the bookshop where I worked and I asked him if he could recommend an agent in the UK. He wasn’t prepared to put it forward to his own agent without taking a look at the book himself. He valiantly read it, liked it enough to give me his agent’s details and also suggested I send it to his friend Geraldine Cooke who was the publisher at Review, a new list at Headline Publishing. Geraldine ended up buying the book, though she confessed that the reason she had picked it up in the first place to take home with her to read was because the Random House proof fitted inside her handbag!

  As I was a debut novelist and unknown, my publishers were keen for me to obtain a couple of quotes from established writers that they could use to promote the book. The American writer Edmund White was touring Australia around this time and was also published by Random House, so I asked him for a blurb which he kindly provided. I also approached Peter Wells, New Zealand’s leading writer of gay-themed fiction who I had met before. He also wrote me a very complimentary quote.

  Then in the month of publication, Peter got back in touch to say that he thought the book would make a good film and that he was interested in the film rights. He saw it as a continuum of the films he and his partner Stewart Main had made about childhood and sexuality (Little Queen, My First Suit). I was delighted and flattered. From my point-of-view they were the absolute perfect people to make a film of 50 Ways. I had loved their films, in particular A Death in the Family and their feature Desperate Remedies which had been made on a tiny budget but looked sumptuous.

  The contract for the film rights was negotiated and signed late in 1995. The film enjoyed the support of the NZ Film Commission early on, and over the next couple of years Peter wrote several different screenplay versions. By early 1998, things seemed on track. The screenplay and project were very highly regarded at the NZ Film Commission and there was even overseas interest. We were under the impression that the Film Commission had funding earmarked to make the film. Then, their attitude changed. Possibly, this related to a change of members on the board who made the decisions and didn’t know the history of the project. Whatever the reasons, the film fell out of favour and communication with the Commission also dried up for a period. Peter was particularly disappointed by this. He had concentrated on the film at the expense of his fiction and prose writing, and he felt disillusioned by the film medium. He decided to move onto other non-film projects. Luckily for me, producer Michele Fantl remained committed to getting the film made. Stewart also reconsidered the project and decided that he would persevere, take a more central role and write a new screenplay himself. The tricky process of winning support from the NZ Film Commission began all over again.

  There was never any talk of me being involved in writing the screenplay and that suited me. I had never written for film and it was a completely different medium. But I also felt that it was best to be somewhat removed from the process. A fresh, experienced eye would be better equipped to decide what belonged and would work in the film. I also had my own new writing projects to pursue. Peter Wells wrote the early versions of the screenplay. I admired his fiction and had complete confidence in what he would do with my book. I was asked to consult on his various screenplays and answer the occasional question – usually on some farming issue where I would refer to the expertise of my family. I was happy with this level of involvement.

  Once Stewart took over the writing duties, I began to contribute more than I had in the past. He was interested in my feedback and I provided very detailed notes on his screenplays. I always approached this task trying to be as open an
d accepting as possible of Stewart’s vision and ideas. The only issue that I felt extremely strongly about was when the screenplay called for a character to be killed off. One thing I always liked about the novel was that it was a gentle story, and although there was ‘a murder’ in it, the victim was a bull. On a farm, the death of a farm animal is somewhat commonplace. However, for film a murdered bull did not deliver the necessary dramatic tension and various readers of the screenplay were pushing for something bigger. This resulted in a rewrite that went a little too far in ‘the action stakes’ in my view. The climactic scene where Roy comes to the farmhouse during the fire had Billy, Lou and Roy all wielding shotguns and firing them. Roy later accidentally shot himself. I really objected to my young characters toting guns and was uneasy about Roy’s death. But when I expressed my view, Stewart was very responsive. He amended the screenplay, softening the action and permitting Roy to live.

  However, the next version saw Arch killed off, and again to my mind, this seemed unnecessary. I objected and Stewart reworked the scene, producing something which was far cleverer. In the scene where Arch falls off the bridge, instead of proving fatal (as the screenplay had originally played it), Arch is badly injured yet still manages to be as poisonous as ever. He lies about what happened and implicates Roy. This raises the stakes, provides the motivation for Roy to flee, and leads to the film’s climactic scene at the farmhouse.

  Aside from these two instances, I tried not to be precious about my novel. I didn’t want to dictate what could or couldn’t be done, and endeavoured to be open to new ideas. I even suggested a few myself and some of them have ended up in the finished film. For example, it was thought that Lou needed to have some internal dilemma of her own that she was wrestling with and which would contribute to her falling out with Billy. Another problem was the need to introduce Belinda into the film earlier. I suggested Lou would have issues over the need to be fitted for a bra and that this would require a visit to the fashion boutique where Belinda worked. Stewart wrote a wonderful comic scene and it’s a great moment in the film, which isn’t in the book.

  But ultimately, my direct contribution to the final screenplay is very minimal. There are suggestions I made of how to rework a scene or an occasional line of dialogue. But it’s Stewart’s screenplay and what’s more, he also contributed the film’s best comic lines. When I saw the film for the first time, I noticed that it was Stewart’s original dialogue that drew the biggest laughs from the audience.

  One aspect Stewart wanted to highlight in his screenplay was the rugby storyline. In the book, there’s really only a chapter devoted to Billy’s disinterest in rugby. But in the film it becomes a major plot thread, developed from the beginning and culminating in the big match at the climax of the film. Much of this is Stewart’s invention and there is a particularly ingenious moment near the start of the film, when an alien monster appears who resembles a giant rugby ball. It’s a very apt image – for poor Billy rugby is a monster! But this is also an important storyline for a general audience to respond to. It’s about rugby, one of New Zealand’s great passions, not two boys fooling around together, yet also demonstrates that some girls (Lou) and ‘poofter boys’ (Roy) are in fact very good at rugby.

  Between 2001 and 2002, the project began to find favour again. I saw three different screenplays during that time, there was another change of staff at the Film Commission, and then finally, heroically, by spring 2002, Michele and Stewart had the funding wrapped up. Money was committed by the NZ Film Commission and NZ on Air (the television funding body) and everything was being planned for a shoot in early 2003. Then, dramatically, Stewart came down with TB and ended up quarantined in hospital. Obviously, this threw everything out and eventually Michele was forced to postpone the shoot until 2004. It could not merely be postponed for three to six months, as the screenplay specified drought conditions and it needed to be filmed over a Central Otago summer. Thankfully, the NZ Film Commission was supportive of the decision to postpone and remained committed to seeing the film made.

  Although it was highly frustrating to call a halt to the production, it did permit the luxury of a further twelve months to refine the screenplay and project. Stewart used some of that time to actually live in Ophir, the tiny town in Central Otago which had been chosen for the shoot. He soaked up the surroundings, scouted for locations and polished the screenplay. The film finally went into production in February 2004 for a period of seven weeks. There was one major problem: the weather. The region had suffered a drought throughout December and January which was terrible for the local farmers but perfect for the film as that was what the screenplay called for. However, by February, the drought had broken and the rain began to fall. Not only did the cast and crew have to persevere through wet and cold conditions, but the landscape also began to change from brown to green. This problem of green rather than parched brown hills was ultimately fixed in post-production at considerable expense.

  From the very early days of planning, the novel’s setting in Central Otago was seen as integral to the film. Although it would have been easier to choose locations adjacent to Auckland or other locations with a more established infrastructure for making films, the director and producer were committed to filming in Central Otago. Over the years, they had several scouting expeditions down south. It is a unique landscape and when the film was first planned, it was also scenery that had been seldom seen in New Zealand cinema – the film Illustrious Energy being the main exception.

  However, that all changed with the advent of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings which utilised numerous locations in the area. The advantage of this unique setting could not have been gazumphed more thoroughly. Lord of the Rings wasn’t merely a film – it was a phenomenon. It had a massive effect on New Zealand tourism. A guide book was even published which led admirers of the film’s scenery to the various locations used in Central Otago and elsewhere. Yet the Lord of the Rings films used locations from all over New Zealand to conjure up the magical world of Middle Earth. Central Otago was masquerading as an otherworldly place, whereas in 50 Ways Central is simply itself and utterly integral to the film. The importance of the landscape is expressed from the very beginning of the film with cinematographer Simon Raby’s stunning opening sequence which has an almost painterly quality.

  Lord of the Rings actually benefited the 50 Ways project in several ways. The local community had already had the experience of a film company in the area, and though that was filmmaking on a big budget scale, it did mean there was an appreciation of what the film could do for the community and area. There were also skills that had been developed in providing services for a film cast and crew in terms of catering and accommodation. But the best bequest left by Lord of the Rings was a road. The strange outcrops of rocks which serve as Billy and Lou’s playground, Dragonland had been previously spotted by the Lord of the Rings team. They had planned to film a battle scene there and even built a road up to the remote spot for that purpose, only to change their mind later about using the location. But the road remained, almost as if it had been constructed with 50 Ways and Dragonland in mind.

  In the novel, the setting is Paerau, the farming valley where I grew up. Beautiful and unique though it is, it was far too isolated to be practical as a film location. It’s not a town, not even a village, just a handful of farmhouses and a school strung around the foothills of a valley. Shops, accommodation, and a pub are all 45 kilometres away in the nearest large town of Ranfurly. Paerau was never a serious contender as the setting, yet, as the crow flies, it is literally just over a range of hills from the location in Poolburn that was finally selected. You can’t really get much more faithful to the novel’s setting than that.

  I visited the film set in early March 2004. It was a fascinating experience as I had never been on a film set before and I was struck by all of the work involved and the intricacy of detail being applied. It was particularly intriguing to meet the child actors, and watch them in some of their scenes. I w
as extremely impressed with the casting, especially that of Billy (Andrew Paterson) and Lou (Harriet Beattie). Key production members such as camera man Simon Raby, production designer Ken Turner, and costume designer Kirsty Cameron also spent time with me. They explained how they had approached their particular job and the various artistic and practical decisions that had been made, especially in regard to the Seventies time period.

  I also got to meet Michael Dorman (Jamie) on that visit; I had actually suggested him to Stewart for the role. There had always been an interest in casting an Australian actor in the ‘sexy’ role of Jamie the farmhand, possibly a TV soap star. In spring 2003, I was waiting at the hairdressers, and flicking through a magazine when I noticed an article on Michael Dorman. I was a fan of the Australian TV series he appeared in (The Secret Life of Us) but I was surprised to read that he was originally from New Zealand. Then, I took note of his hair: it was shoulder length, shaggy, sexy and absolutely perfect for the Seventies setting of the film. In the novel, Billy is a big fan of David Cassidy and Jamie is described as looking like him. Michael’s colouring was completely different – blond and blue-eyed – but everything else about him struck me as perfect for the role. I wrote to Stewart suggesting him. In due course I heard that Michael had been approached but that it was unlikely they could afford him. I was very surprised and pleased when Stewart sent through word just prior to the start of filming that Michael had been cast. But unfortunately, the long shaggy hair that had so impressed me was gone. It had been cut off for the new season of Secret Life before Michael was cast.

  I came away from that visit to the film set feeling very confident that the finished film was going to be good. I’d read the screenplay which was funny but also poignantly affecting on the page. But now I had seen what the actors were bringing to that script and could also appreciate how extremely well cast they were. Nor were these easy roles to cast. The film placed enormous demands on the young actors, especially Andrew as Billy. The physical setting was perfect and from the small amount of footage I saw, looked stunning on film. The Seventies time period had also been faithfully recreated without making a joke of it and every aspect of the production impressed me as highly professional. All the elements seemed to be in place.