Photo by Ebony Lamb
Freya Daly Sadgrove is a writer and performer from Pōneke. She has an MA from the International Institute of Modern Letters, and her poetry has appeared in various publications in Aotearoa, Australia and the US. Her first book, Head Girl, will be published by Victoria University Press in February 2020. You can find more of her work at freyadalysad.com.
Eamonn Marra is a writer and comedian. He was born and raised in Christchurch and now lives in Wellington. He has an MA from the International Institute of Modern Letters. Eamonn’s shows include Man on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (2014), Respite (2014/2015), I, Will Jones (2016–18) and Dignity (2018). His debut novel 2000ft Above Worry Level will be published by Victoria University Press in February 2020.
How did you both come to writing?
Eamonn: When I was 19 I started a blog about my depression.
Freya: Fuckin classic.
Eamonn: It was the founding of my brand. I mostly wrote sad poems on the blog, which in hindsight are terrible, but there was a great little group of NZ/Aus bloggers who all encouraged each other and that is what kept me going. I moved on to making zines and writing fiction. Then I moved up to Wellington and started doing comedy.
Freya: For me it was just something I always did I guess. I wrote plays and stories with my friends as a kid, and I was eight when I started writing stupid poems. I was really jealous of Laura Ranger, remember Laura’s Poems? God, I was so jealous. Imagine having a book at nine. I’m glad I didn’t though because my poems were… deeply unimpressive. Laura was impressive.
Eamonn: I wonder what Laura Ranger is up to now?
Freya: I hope she’s enjoying life.
What was your writing and reading experience like at high school? If you could offer some advice to your teenage writing self, what would it be?
Eamonn: I didn’t write at all during high school, and I barely read either. I was really into reading and writing at primary but high school just knocked everything I loved out of me. If I could offer advice I would say to myself ‘do what you want to do and don’t worry about being cool because you are never going to be one of the cool kids so you might as well do improv now while you’ve got the chance.’ It would have been good to learn earlier on that it’s okay to fail. I wanted to be great at everything I tried, so I didn’t try anything.
Freya: That’s a very important lesson. I was lucky, I had a really excellent English teacher. He introduced us to Carol Ann Duffy and Sylvia Plath, and I feel like he did it at exactly the right time and place, it was like, perfect conditions. I got excited about poetry again and I used to give him my angsty poems to read and he would give me feedback on them. Having a supportive English teacher was invaluable in terms of putting some fire under me as a writer. Obviously you can’t count on having that, but if you can find someone who’s got knowledge and passion about the kind of writing you’re doing, and who will encourage you and challenge you and create a safe environment for you to try out your voice in... that’s the dream.
Eamonn: Yeah finding a mentor or community that makes you feel safe to take risks is important for everyone, but especially high school students. I went to a competitive all-boys school, there was just no way for me to be vulnerable at all, and vulnerability is where good art comes from. I had never been able to talk about my feelings or emotions there, and then when I got depressed everything I’d been bottling up came out as writing.
Freya: Yikes. I feel kind of amazed by everyone I know who went to an all-boys school and didn’t turn out a total asshole. Phewf what a relief that you got depression!
Eamonn: God. High school sucked. Next question.
Freya: I loved high school :)
You have backgrounds in comedy and theatre, respectively – how have these influenced, or interacted with, your writing?
Freya: Okay it’s funny how Eamonn mentioned improv before, because I love to make fun of myself for having done some improv a few years ago (nerdy), but actually it was a huge part of my development as a performer and therefore as a writer. Because for me the two go hand-in-hand. I experienced some of the most intense terror I’ve ever had doing improv – like, panic and tears before and after every rehearsal – and when I went to quit on that basis, the director Dan Pengelly was like ‘you can totally quit if you want to, but’ and he told me about his very similar experience when he started improv, and he gave me some of the best advice I’ve ever got as a, uh, creative person, which was to try to ‘sit in the fear’... after which point I found myself becoming extremely bold, walking on stage with my mind totally blank with terror, and just doing whatever the fuck came out of my body. My improv skills totally plateaued after that though. But yeah, doing theatre in general has made me a bit more fearless and a bit more open and a bit more able to, um, plant myself in the present, like inside a moment… it’s definitely contributed to my constant and powerful desire to make myself vulnerable to other people, and that’s a big force in my writing. Plus it’s helped my comic timing, which is also important to me in my popo.
Eamonn: I agree completely. For me, making long-form comedy and storytelling shows has been a huge part of teaching myself about pacing and structure. In a comedy set you cannot have a boring five minutes that becomes worthwhile in the end, every bit needs to be entertaining in and of itself. No one wants to go to a comedy show to hear about your feelings, but if you make them laugh enough you can sneak your feelings in. You need to earn the pathos. You need to keep building and all the parts need to flow and make a sort of narrative sense, which can be a challenge because it is generally written in pieces and then glued together.
Freya: Yeah you’re really smart at narrative.
Eamonn: And you’re a really amazing performer! I think in writing circles performance is an underappreciated skill. There’s an idea that you’re either a good performer/engaging presence or not. But just like any skill it is something that you can work on and get better at. When I started doing comedy I was not a good performer at all, but now with years of practice I think I’m alright. Not all writers need to be able to perform, but if we want writing festivals and events to be interesting and engaging and to appeal to a wider audience, there should be more resources going into developing and fostering those skills for writers that want them.
Freya: Haaaaaaardcoooooore.
Both of you write in ways that use humour to explore some deeply personal matters - what is it about the use of humour that makes it the best path for you to look at these topics?
Freya: Well, it’s like, what other path is there? You have to go through humour because if you don’t laugh a lot then… you’ll… die.
Eamonn: I have very little time for writing that isn’t at least a tiny bit funny and I have even less time for writing that is only funny without there being something else there.
Freya: I absolutely agree. Jokes without, you know, a bit of depth, are boring. I don’t like silliness when its purpose is to avoid vulnerability, I like silliness when it enables vulnerability. And I think we gotta find ways to laugh at our horror, otherwise it’s just horror. Then again, I do have one or two poems that don’t really have jokes in them. I find them scary – I can’t tell if people will like them, because I feel like there’s a bit of an expectation that my poetry will be funny.
Eamonn: The expectation to be funny is quite scary. When I was in the MA I cut out a whole lot of jokes. I thought no one would take me seriously as a writer because I was more known as a comedian. But then I read Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood which is one of the funniest books ever written and decided I needed to put all the jokes back in.
Freya: It’s strange to read my book now, because I wrote it over three or so years of being mostly catastrophically mentally ill. A lot of the jokes in it make me feel a bit sad now, like, I can see where my head was at from outside of it and I’m like, damn, that was fucked. But I’m glad I found some reasons to laugh, and I’m glad I wrote my book. I don’t know. You gotta do something.
Eamonn: I have found that writing fiction is a really great way of exploring those heavier topics. It’s quite different to comedy where even though I made a lot of it up, it was always presented to the audience as if it were real. I like that I don’t have to tell anyone what bits are real or not. None of it is really real. I think the depression suffered by the narrator in the book is quite different to a lot of the depression I’ve suffered even if we have shared some experiences.
Freya: Ayayai. Yeah… for me, my poetic persona is veeeery close to real me, but also it’s just little bits of me, anchored to moments of my life. It’s weird to put poetry into the world that you’ve sat with for ages and crafted, and then people I know are like ‘ooh Freya must be really living some deeply personal shit right now’ when actually I am always growing and changing okay. I mean, I am always living deeply personal shit, because I am very interested in… myself. But I’m a rich tapestry baybee.
Your debut books will both be released next month – rather than asking you to describe your own writing, what can each of you tell us about the other’s book?
Freya: Eamonn wants us to answer this one without showing each other our answers, which I find suspicious!!!!!!!! Anyway look, I think Eamonn's book is wonderful. I relate to it extremely, because it's about a deeply sad person trying to navigate being alive in their twenties. The way he uses language is sort of sparse and amazingly deadpan, each sentence is like a dropped rock in your chest. It's really, really funny and also it can absolutely destroy you, cos you’re rolling along with his casual bluntness and then he uses the same casual bluntness to drop in some devastating detail, and then just keeps the story moving and you have to keep moving with it too. He doesn't make any excuses for his protagonist, who does some interesting untangling of some fucked up attitudes – Eamonn approaches that with tenderness but without pulling punches. I also love how it's so firmly set in Aotearoa. The book feels so recognisably here, not just in the setting but also the people and just, the whole feel – there's this sweet, quiet thing going on underneath that properly honours the idiosyncrasies of this place. My absolute favourite character is the mum. Ugh, I love her.
Eamonn: Describing Head Girl is an overwhelming experience, because Head Girl is an overwhelming experience. It’s sexy and scary and hilarious and heartbreaking all at once. Freya hits the sweet spot between depth and instant reward. It’s both challenging and fun. You will feel bad about how much you enjoy reading about some of the fucked up things in the book. It's self deprecating but never in a way that demands sympathy. Freya comes through as both fragile and incredibly powerful. I need to emphasise how funny it is. I would be lying if I said the jokes are never cheap, but they are cheap in a way that serves a purpose. Just when you think the sentimentality is creeping in, Freya undercuts it with a dumb joke that blindsides you. She never lets you settle in a feeling for long and when you’re just getting comfortable she pushes you off balance. She controls tone in an unparalleled way. It will fuck you up like a great book should.
What did you find to be the hardest aspect of getting your first book published?
Eamonn: It was really hard to do big chunks of writing after the masters. I had to pay rent and find work and do all that kind of thing. And without a deadline and the support of a supervisor, it was hard to work on such a big project. My writing tended to be for stand up or smaller bite sized things. I didn’t do any work on the book at all for about a year.
Freya: Hell yeah, I couldn’t write for shit after my MA, I think I wrote like one and a half poems that sucked ass over about 10 months. I was just creatively exhausted and needed to find some new, er, fire. It took me a long time to get cracking on my manuscript.
Eamonn: I took some time off work at the beginning of 2019 to write full time for a while, and even though I didn’t get as much done in that time as I hoped I would it was pretty essential to just be able to think about the book without other things getting in the way for a couple of months. Also having shitty mental health makes writing impossible. So whenever that happens my productivity grinds to a halt.
Freya: Oh yeah! Nothing knows how to thwart you better than your own fuckin brain.
Eamonn: The easiest part was working with VUP. The publishing process was amazing and they made it really easy for me. They had so much patience and kindness when I needed it most.
Freya: Yeah they are real ones. You know, you work with some people and they restore your faith in the idea of ‘jobs’. Like, they care so much about what they do. We’re lucky to have them. Although I would maybe say that one of the hardest parts about getting my first book published is actually this period right now… I’m fuckin terrified. It feels like we’re just going blind into a massive unknown. I believe there is a song about that in Frozen 2, except Elsa is way more brave about it than I feel.
As well as releasing your books together, you’re also flatmates. How did you first meet one another, and how has your friendship impacted on one another’s writing?
Freya: Heehee, we aren’t flatmates. [editors’ note: fuck!!!!!!] We just give off big flatmate energy maybe. We are very frequently in each other’s company. Eamonn, you can tell the story of how we became friends if you want. One of the characters in his book is very lightly based on me because of it.
Eamonn: Yeah, we have never officially lived together but in 2014 Freya was going out with my flatmate Callum and essentially lived with us all year. They claimed that they weren’t ready to move in together but Freya was at our house all the time.
Freya: We weren’t ready to move in together!!! But we were ready for me to be constantly present.
Eamonn: When I was writing my story with the Freya character, my supervisor Emily Perkins said ‘a good litmus test to tell if someone’s partner is living with you or not is if they’re there when their partner isn’t.’
Freya: Shhhhhhhhhhh Emily. Shhh.
Eamonn: But it was great because that’s how we became buds.
Freya: When did we get interested in each other’s writing? I feel like it was right at the beginning. I liked your zines and shows and I was doing my MA so it was pretty natural that we would become like… writing allies.
Eamonn: Yeah, I think I was very impressed by your poetry straight away. It was also cool that you were doing the MA that year because that was a real big goal for me and I got to see kind of what it was like through you. That was quite a fun year.
Freya: Yeah I miss 2014. But also weren’t we both pretty depressed? 2014 was a slightly gentler depression year for me, but I was writing about it a lot. I sometimes think our experience of our mental illnesses is actually a core strength of our friendship because in many ways we have quite a similar worldview, plus it’s deeply important for us to be on each other’s team. Not everyone can do that kind of support.
Eamonn: Also I think that house at the time had a super collaborative energy. Everyone was always helping each other on their projects and bouncing off each other. We started a band!
Freya: A punk band-cum-theatre collective. With Callum. It was called The Great Danger.
Eamonn: We wrote three songs.
Freya: ‘Tiny Dogs’, ‘Motherfuckers Go To Class’, and ‘David’s Birthday’.
Eamonn: And Caro and Jackson were living there and started Food Court with me and another flatmate Simon, and I wrote and performed a couple of shows and Callum helped out with those, and Callum was at art school making a bunch of zines and storytelling projects—
Freya: And he made a doco about you that we were all in, and me and Callum made a short-lived podcast called The Poo Review, where we reviewed our poos—
Eamonn: And Jackson put LEFT together, and David started making his science storytelling shows, and I started making the What We Talk About podcast with Alice.
Freya: And you and me and Callum tried to make a Fringe show.
Eamonn: And then I got real sick and pulled out.
Freya: It happens. Then me and Callum made a deeply ridiculous replacement show over a couple of weeks.
Eamonn: There was probably heaps of other shit too that we have forgotten or repressed. We still work together but maybe we are not as adventurous anymore?
Freya: We’re still adventurous!! We’ve just adapted to adulthood more or something.
Eamonn: Now we spend more time trying to make things good, rather than just make things.
Freya: Oh, that’s true. But we needed that time of doing everything. Figuring out our creative priorities. Anyway yeah, making shit together has always been a huge part of our friendship.
Who are the other writers who are a part of your lives who you read to inform your own work, or look to for advice and critique?
Eamonn: I started writing my book during the IIML MA programme in 2016 so the feedback from other writers in that class and my supervisors Pip Adam and Emily Perkins was essential. Annaleese Jochems and Chessie Henry were in my class and the standard of their books was so high and made me want to work harder on mine. I really hope some of the others publish soon because there was so much talent in that class.
Freya: The book I wrote during my MA was, er, quite different to Head Girl, but the programme was massive for me in terms of coming to understand the importance of critique, how to give it and receive it, how to take what I need from it, how to develop that kind of trust with other writers.
Eamonn: I’m glad you did because you are usually the first person I send something to for feedback. Freya really gets what I’m trying to do and knows how to help me get closer to that. Freya also made me finish the book when it looked like I was never going to, because she wanted us to have a joint launch.
Freya: I’m fuckin smug about that. It is a very good reason to finish a book. Eamonn is also a big sounding board for me, I can be like ‘is this worth anything’ and I know he’ll be totally honest, which is so important.
Eamonn: I also have a little writing group with Pip Adam, Annaleese Jochems, Jackson Nieuwland, Carolyn DeCarlo, Alisha Tyson & Kerry Donnovan Brown which is still pretty new but really amazing and they helped me a lot with rewriting a couple of the stories in the book last minute.
Freya: Some other writing relationships that are very special to me are with Hera Lindsay Bird, Eleanor Merton and Ursula Robinson-Shaw. Hera and I send each other emails and they help me learn how to live, which is the same thing as learning how to write. Plus she ran TMI school, which was how I started writing again after my MA, when I'd forgotten how for ages. Eleanor and I have writing days on Fridays sometimes, which vary in productivity but which are consistently great days. And Ursula Robinson-Shaw is my… what do I call her. She and I take care of each other and each other’s writing in very great detail, and have done for years. She is like my mother and also my daughter, but for writing. Hera is my wife and Eleanor is my sister. Eamonn is my... flatmate.
What kind of literary community do you think of yourselves as being a part of, and how does this community impact on your work?
Freya: I think of my undergrad poetry class, I’m still mates with a bunch of them – that’s where I met Becca Hawkes and we have lots to do with each other poetry-wise these days which is a dream. I think of my MA class, I think of TMI School, and after TMI Hera told me I had to go to the National Young Writers’ Festival in Australia, and she was correct, because I went there and became a better writer at the same time as making a million new friends.
Eamonn: Freya told me I had to go to National Young Writers Festival in Australia the next year, and she was correct, because I went there and became a better writer at the same time as making a million new friends.
Freya: Yeah………. Literally every young writer should get to go. It’s summer camp for nerds. If I ever have lots of money I would like to send a bunch of Aotearoa writers over there. It’s been monumental for me.
Eamonn: It’s great that they give you a shot before you’re widely published. It makes you feel like a real writer. They have a really broad definition of what a writer is, which is really cool. And it’s really diverse in every conceivable way.
Freya: I love Verb Festival and Featherston Booktown for similar reasons too – they really feel like festivals that build communities and connections between people – you go there to be among writers and with writers rather than to like… gaze at them from afar.
Eamonn: Verb festival is the best part of the year in Wellington. Someone needs to give Claire Mabey a million dollars.
Freya: Fuck yeah.
Eamonn: There’s also a great bunch of young and emerging writers around that bring such an amazing energy to the writing scene.
Freya: I feel like we have a lot to thank Starling for tbh. [editors’ note: *blushes*] Reading Starling is how I came across the work of some of my favourite young lady writers, and now we are all beautiful friends. And they encourage me to dress how I secretly really want to dress. That sounds unimportant… but actually it’s very important. Have you seen how hot poets are these days? Being amongst poets makes me hotter.
Freya, you were the architect behind the Show Ponies event at the most recent National Poetry Day, which paired poets with backup dancers and musicians. How did this event come about, and what further steps do you see for this or similar projects?
Freya: I went to Featherston Booktown last year and Sam Duckor-Jones had organised these Late Night Lit events which were so fun. Sam knows how to set a mood. The first night was me and him and Greg McGee (who was very sporting about wearing a silk robe and is a very nice man) and I just felt like… huh… it’s so fun to be a bit luxe for poetry. What if we went… really really luxe. I think it’s great to take things way too far. And it turns out that you just… can! If you happen to have a bunch of talented people willing to take a massive risk with you. People put a lot of trust in me and that made me feel bold as hell. I had no doubt it was going to be the absolute shit, but it was a lot of work and the most stressful part was not being able to guarantee people adequate payment for their amazing work. Now that we’ve proved we can pull it off on a shoestring, you better fuckin believe we’re coming back bigger and better and more sustainable!!! Watch this space wink wink nudge nudge balls are rolling balls are rolling.
Eamonn: Even though this question isn’t for me, I want to say I saw Freya organise this event and I think she worked harder on it than I’ve ever seen anyone work on anything. She had such a limited budget but such a clear vision and just got it done. I always knew it was going to be amazing, but I’m glad everyone else now does too. Everyone will be talking about it for years.
Freya: Thenks.
What’s next in your writing life?
Eamonn: The next thing I’m going to do is write a play.
Freya: And I get to perform it eh Eamonn.
Eamonn: We’ll see how you do in the audition.
Freya: Bite me.
Eamonn: And I’m probably going to get back into performing comedy again because I’ve been taking a break from that for over a year now. I’m also working on a film with Stella Reid as part of the Headlands film project. And I’ve started planning the next book, but it’s in very early stages and I think I have to give it a few months to really germinate before I can do any substantial work on it. Writing this all down feels like far too many projects. Lucky I don’t have a job.
Freya: My family has started telling me ‘but you do have a job Freya it’s just not a normal job where you get paid’ whenever I talk about how I don’t have a job. Because I’m a real writer now. Anyway, my plans this year involve some secret Show Ponies business wink wink wink wink, and I’m also working on a show that’s kind of a companion to my book. Got lots of fun projects to do this year. I feel like making things happen. Then I can give up poetry and write my middle grade children’s fantasy novel.