All the ways Dominic Hoey learned to be a writer

The Sunday Star-Times Short Story Awards are back. Novelist, poet and playwright Dominic Hoey took out the top prize last year, and talks to about learning to write.

‘‘Idon’t really believe in writers’ block,’’ Dominic Hoey says over the phone. He’s at home in Onehunga, Auckland, picking over his books to remind himself of names and titles, at the behest of a nosy journalist who wants to know what he’s reading. He’s just finished Rogues, a book of stories about con artists and criminals by Patrick Radden Keefe, and A Thousand Moons by Sebastian Barry, who was shortlisted for the Booker Prize.

Hoey is indiscriminate, efficient in his choices. ‘‘I usually just read the Booker long list and then grab some of those, but I also try and find small presses too, because I think that’s where a lot of the exciting stuff is happening.’’

Hoey seeks out literature, knowledge, and stories with purpose. Writing recently for Newsroom he explained, ‘‘I wanted to go to uni to learn how to write but I couldn’t fill out the forms. So instead I harassed any writer I met to give me tips. What’s a metaphor? How do you edit?’’

What was exciting about those kinds of questions, Hoey says now, was people would contradict each other. ‘‘Some people would say, write eight hours a day, and another person would say, nah, just an hour. [I liked that] you can make your own path.’’

When Hoey wanted to deal in short stories he consulted the works of Booker Prize winner and creative writing teacher George Saunders. When he’s wanting to write in a particular style he seeks out similar works to get in the zone.

That’s Hoey’s advice to budding writers thinking of entering this year’s Sunday Star-Times Short Story Awards: ‘‘Go online and just Google your favourite short story writer and read what they say about writing short stories. That’s what I did.’’

All that tenacity brings Hoey to right now, packing for the Toronto International Festival of Authors, where he is appearing to promote his third book, Poor People With Money. Meanwhile, he’s a few thousand words into his next novel, a social history of a Grey Lynn family, a familiar theme in Hoey’s works – his winning Star-Times short story, 1986, was judged as a ‘‘sharply observed social commentary’’.

Following the story of a kid growing up in Grey Lynn, its opening line reads: ‘‘It was the middle of summer and Sione kept telling everyone I had Aids.’’

Dominic Hoey

Judge Rosetta Allan said the protagonist’s voice was strong, direct.

Hoey wants to be writing more plays and poetry. He’s got all these ideas. That’s why he doesn’t believe in that slow writerly shuffle we call a block. ‘‘It’s a job, and you have to do it.’’

So how does he do it?

First of all, ‘‘I can’t write during the day’’. He tried to be one of those people who gets up early to write. Instead, ‘‘I write from midnight’’ until two or three in the morning. ‘‘I don’t know if it’s good for me, but it’s just how it works, so I’ve just come to accept it.’’

What else? ‘‘I’m very much a believer you get the first draft done as soon as possible, even if it’s a load of rubbish. Then make it good. Once you have the first draft you have a base, you know what you’ve got, the things that are working – you can pick them out, and get rid of the rest. Everyone knows someone who has been writing a novel for 10 to 15 years, and usually it’s because they are adjusting as they go.’’

Great writing, Hoey goes further, comes from reading. ‘‘You just need to read. You need to read all the time.’’

Growing up with dyslexia, Hoey didn’t master reading until he was eight or nine. Once he was on his way, he couldn’t be stopped. His parents filled the house with books, a whole library in fact, and if an author’s name seized him, Hoey could usually find their book in that library.

Dyslexia became a dominion. He doesn’t know what his writing would be like if he wasn’t. He’s always got ideas and he’s realised, well, not everyone has creative ideas all the time. ‘‘That’s definitely from dyslexia. Your brain works differently, I guess.’’

His fascination with words continued into adulthood. When he turned 20 he really wanted to be a writer – but he didn’t know any. He grew up in a poor neighbourhood, he says, where nobody attended university or travelled overseas. He knew rappers, though, and he liked hip-hop, so he started rapping under the stage name Tourettes. Then he got into poetry and started asking about that. His book of poems, I Thought We’d Be Famous, was published in 2019.

Now, Hoey can effectively pick and choose what he wants to work on – but he likes to focus himself. He doesn’t have a favourite method. Whatever he’s not working on is what he yearns to do.

‘‘Right now I really want to write some poetry [but] I don’t have any new stuff. I want to do another play. It’s always the thing you’re not doing. I really believe you can’t have two projects on the go. I can’t, anyway. You only have so many ideas, and if you’re splitting up projects it’s just going to be trash. My ex, who is an artist, said, ‘you have to put all your eggs in one basket, and if it doesn’t work out, kei te pai, move on to the next thing’.’’

Hoey’s advice for writers entering the awards is succinct: ‘‘Edit your work. Do at least five drafts.’’ And for anyone thinking they’re no good? Just look at Hoey, he says. ‘‘I’m a dyslexic who failed high school and I still can’t spell.’’

‘‘I really believe you can’t have two projects on the go. I can’t, anyway. You only have so many ideas, and if you’re splitting up projects it’s just going to be trash.’’