PO Box 3413
Wellington 6015
New Zealand
16 April 2008
Dear Friends,
I'm now going to ask my young author friends to look at their stories and work out where the ideas came from. What idea started the story? What other ideas joined in? When you do this, you may come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as an invented story. Fiction is just a rearrangement of actual experience.
Let me talk for a moment about a new book that will be published in America and New Zealand almost as soon as you read this letter. It is a novel for readers, ages seven through to adult, and it is called "Chicken Feathers." It's about Josh who lives on a chicken farm and has a pet hen Semolina who talks. Some very fine pencil drawings have been done by David Elliot; but I won't tell the story here. I just want to describe some of the experiences that inspired it.
First, did you know that I was "hatched" on a chicken farm? Yes, I truly was! In 1936, my parents were working on a poultry farm in Roslyn Road, Levin, New Zealand. I was their first child, born in a little cottage on the farm. Of course I don't remember that. What I do remember is a photo of my father sitting on a box in the yard. He is holding his six weeks old daughter and behind him are the chicken houses. All around us are white chickens, some standing still, others blurred because they were scratching in the dust or walking or wing-flapping. I loved that photo and thought the best part was not Dad and me, but those white hens.
Chickens have always been a part of my life. Although my family moved from house to house, always there was a place for some laying hens. Feeling in the straw of a nesting box and finding a smooth warm egg, was a delight for us children. Years later, I too, had chickens. Some were the regular eggs layers but others were like Semolina in my story, birds that had been given to me because someone else didn't want them.
One afternoon a child phoned me to say that her father was going to kill their old rooster. Please, would I take the rooster and give him a good home? Of course, I would. He was a magnificent bird, black feathers that shone blue and green, a bright red comb and big spurs on his legs. What I didn't know them was that this handsome rooster whom I called Colonel Sanders, was blind. In fact it was a couple of days before I realised that he came to me by walking sideways towards my voice, until he was resting against my leg.
Colonel Sanders was an affectionate bird. When I picked him up and stroked his feathers, he made cooing noises like a dove. But he wasn't so friendly to strangers. When someone came to the house, the Colonel would fluff out his feathers, scuff the dirt and then, with a shriek would launch himself at the visitor, his claws and spurs extended. Because he was blind, he always missed; but still, it was best to put him in the chicken house when guests were expected.
I was also given two bantam hens Katie and Lily. They would not have anything to do with the birds in the chicken house. They much preferred to follow me around the house. Katie would lay her eggs on top of the fridge. She liked high places. Lily, on the other hand, laid her eggs in correspondence tray next to my typewriter. When she had dropped that perfect little egg, she would tell me about it. Have you heard chickens singing egg songs? It goes a bit like this - Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, CLUCK, cluck." I think it's chicken language for "I have done a GREAT thing."
Another pet hen Dulcie used to wait by the gate those days I went into town. I'd arrive home late and there would be Dulcie in a huff of black and white feathers, all cross because I was late and she was cold and hungry.
Beatrice was a stray goose that needed a home. She too, was very friendly. She didn't have a gander for a mate, so she decided that our golden retriever dog Honey could be her best friend. They wandered along the beach together, turning over small stones for crabs, and when Honey lay in the shade for a nap, Beatrice would snuggle up beside her, her beak nestled in Honey's fur. Sadly, Honey who was very old, died, and Beatrice mourned for her. Although there was nothing physically wrong with the goose, she limped around the yard, dragging her wings, refusing to eat. That didn't last long. Beatrice then decided to find a new friend and she tried to adopt one of our sheep. The farm echoed with her shrill goose cries when the sheep ran away. Eventually, the sheep stopped running, and she and Beatrice became pals.
So there are some of the experiences of birds that inspired the book "Chicken Feathers."
Have your pets influenced your writing?
I can briefly mention another book that came out near the end of last year, "Snake and Lizard" a junior fiction work that has beautiful illustrations by Gavin Bishop and was published by Gecko Press, Wellington. This is a collection of stories about two very different creatures and all the adjustments they make to become good friends. It is set in the Arizona desert, but that is only a disguise. Snake and Lizard is really about my husband Terry and me. We are very different, opposite in fact, but Terry is also my closest friend. He is the part of me that is missing and I think I also complete him. We work very well together but sometimes, with our different viewpoints, we have funny arguments. Terry is Snake in the book. I am Lizard. I should add that of all the books I have written, this one is Terry's favourite.
Do you and members of your family appear in your writing?
With love to you all,
Joy Cowley
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Previous Letters
letter 21 - April 2010
letter 20 - November 2009
letter 19 - April 2009
letter 18 - July 2008
letter 17 - 14 May 2008
letter 16 - 16 April 2008
letter 15 - 26 September 2007
letter 14 - 17 May 2007
letter 13 - 17 February 2007
letter 12 - 17 March 2006
letter 11 - 5 September 2005
letter 10 - 4 August 2004
letter 9 - 25 April 2004
letter 8 - 3 December 2003
letter 7 - 17 August 2003
letter 6 - 1 February 2003
letter 5 - 21 October 2002
letter 4 - 1 May 2002
letter 3 - 12 December 2001
letter 2 - October 2001
letter 1 - March 2001
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