Iona Winter studied on the Write a Novel Course at NZ Writers’ College, working with mentor Sonny Whitelaw. The manuscript she developed during the course went on to form the basis of her Master of Creative Writing at AUT, and a short story drawn from it later won the Headland Frontier Prize.
Since then, her work has included four collections spanning poetry and hybrid fiction, a work of creative non-fiction, and Elixir & Star Press, a non-profit press she founded in memory of her son, Reuben, dedicated to the expression of grief in Aotearoa.
In this Q&A, Iona talks about what that first novel course gave her, how her writing found its way from the page into fences, music and podcasts, and the biggest shift in her craft since she first sat down to write her novel.
Q. You completed the Write a Novel course with distinction, but most of your published work since has been poetry, hybrid fiction and creative non-fiction. What did the course give you that ended up shaping your work in other forms?
Iona: That’s a great question! The course was fantastic because it provided a supportive environment to re-enter creative writing, and as an ’emerging writer’ in my early 40s. The learning from Write a Novel was an excellent foundation that propelled me forwards.
After I finished the Write a Novel course, I was accepted to do my Master of Creative Writing (MCW) (AUT) based on the manuscript that came from the NZ Writers’ College course. My thesis took that manuscript further and developed it into a more comprehensive novel. After the MCW, I was awarded a NZSA Mentorship with Tina Makereti, and then a short story (from the novel) won the Headland Frontier Prize.
It wasn’t until after the Masters (retrospect can often be a clunker), that I saw how my strengths lay in shorter forms (short stories, flash fiction and poetry). I’ve written poetry my whole life, as many people do, but didn’t realise that I was any good at it until much later in life.
Q. Structure and pacing are usually taught with the novel in mind: plot arcs, chapters and scene-building. Which of those tools do you find yourself using even when you’re writing a single poem or a piece of non-fiction?
Iona: Structure and pacing have remained with me as important skills for any creative writing. With my poetry and short fiction, I always read everything aloud. Any issues with pacing or structure then become crystal clear, once I hear the words spoken
Q. Your bio describes you as a poet, essayist, storyteller, editor and indie publisher. That’s quite a list. Do these feel like separate hats, or is there a unifying skill set underneath all of them?
Iona: I think we are many things, and unfortunately the world we live in requires us to have labels. If I had it my way, I’d just say ‘I’m Iona’ and let people find out for themselves.
Anyone who knows me well will say that I’m somewhat rebellious when it comes to conformity, and I see my skills as being both fluid and hybrid. Kind of like having the skills to practically fix things around your home; if you know how to use a screwdriver set, hammer, cordless drill and know how to patch a wall or change a tap washer, you’re much more versatile.
Q. Your creative work has included poems spray-painted on fences and collaborations with mixed-media artists. How does writing change for you once it leaves the page?
Iona: There’s something about the resonance with my writing, where some pieces lend themselves more naturally to the printed form and others need to be spoken. I love collaborating with other artists, and have worked with musicians, textile artists and visual artists who put another spin on my work.
I’m constantly amazed when people tell me what they think my work is saying, and I love how we (as humans) are great at seeing art through our own unique lenses. Part of creating any kind of art is being willing to release it for others to engage with, and that’s where the magic happens.
Q. A Counter of Moons (2025) was your first work of creative non-fiction, after four collections of poetry and hybrid fiction. What had made you write non-fiction at that point?
Iona: After my son Reuben took his life in 2020, I knew I needed to write my story, as a suicide bereaved mother, to express things I couldn’t speak about with others, but also because I couldn’t find much work in Aotearoa that spoke to the experience.
When writing A Counter of Moons, I also wrote a poetry collection In the shape of his hand lay a river. I’d intended these to be companions, but the publishing world had other ideas!
I’ve always felt, with my creative expression, that it’s more about contributing to the collective rather than being an individualistic silo. The novel-writing structure was very helpful in terms of creating chapters that flowed well, to tell a story about real-life experiences.
Q. In 2023 you founded Elixir & Star Press, a non-profit press dedicated to the expression of grief in Aotearoa, founded in memory of Reuben. What made you want to build that space?
Iona: After Reuben’s suicide, I noticed the dearth of space and resources in New Zealand dedicated to the expression of grief. One night, I heard Reuben’s voice say, ‘You need to make space for other people’s grief, Mum.’
I decided to set up an indie press dedicated to grief, and the curation of a multimedia anthology seemed to be the way to go. People wanted this space; there was so much support in the wider community once I put out the call for submissions.
We have a noticeable aversion to grief and difficult emotions in our country. I’d seen this my whole life, and after Reuben’s death, it became amplified. I figured that if someone needed to do it, why not me? I had nothing left to lose.
Creating a non-judgemental grief space for others, and curating taonga that can be handed between people during difficult times, has been purposeful and heartwarming.
Q. a liminal gathering brought together more than 100 contributing artists around grief. What surprised you most about what people needed to say, once you gave them the room to say it?
Iona: People continued to say ‘thank you for accepting my work, when nobody else would, because it was about grief’.
There are so many kinds of grief that we experience throughout our lives, and rather than creating a hierarchy the almanac acknowledged that all kinds of grief were welcome, accepted and celebrated as a natural part of life.
The responses were overwhelming, in a good way, and people have continued to be incredibly engaged and generous with the work. It’s almost like a collective exhale has occurred.
Q. You’re currently working on a liminal gathering 2. What have you learned from putting the first almanac into the world that’s shaping how you’re approaching the second?
Iona: That’s another great question! Having space between the almanacs was important, due to the nature of holding this space for others. Being of service and doing things for the good of humanity, comes with an emotional and energetic toll.
This time, after being burned out from the last, I said yes to all offers of practical help. In an ideal world, I would be well-funded and with a team of like-minded and enthusiastic people to co-run this project as a regular thing, rather than being a one-woman band!
Grief is universal and the lack of engagement from mainstream channels and the literary industry, speaks again to the colonial inheritance we have in Aotearoa with grief. My non-conformist nature means I care less about marketability and more about making space for people’s creative grief expression.
Q. Your podcast rocks in my pockets explores creativity and suicide bereavement through conversations with New Zealand artists. What made audio feel like the right medium for these conversations, rather than the written page you’re so at home in?
Iona: Through writing and speaking about suicide bereavement, and the subsequent conversations with suicide bereaved people, it felt important to create another space where bereaved artists could speak about how suicide bereavement can be a catalyst for creativity. rocks in my pockets is a place where we can meet one another and talk about how creativity allows for the expression of the unspeakable.
With all my creative mahi, it’s been important that the work is accessible. Not everyone can afford to buy books, not everyone has the capacity to read, and some people prefer to listen, etc.
I made the conscious decision that the ethos of Elixir & Star Press and rocks in my pockets is non-profit. The idea of making money from grief, which is a natural part of life, is abhorrent to me. Co-creating resources that are accessible is the primary focus. That said, if someone with a million dollars wants to support this mahi, I wouldn’t say no either!
Q. You launched the podcast on what would have been Reuben’s 32nd birthday and used his previously unreleased music as the theme. Can you tell us about that decision?
Iona: Reuben’s music had to be on the podcast, because I wouldn’t be doing this work if he was still here. Reuben was well-known worldwide through his prolific musical output, and I know he’d be stoked with my persistence around making space for myself and others to be real about what life is like after a suicide.
Reuben was the third mokopuna in our whānau to take their life in three years; he’d also lost a close friend the year before.
Music was his creative expression for the coexistence of grief and love, and I couldn’t have done rocks in my pockets without his musical voice alongside me and my guests.
Q. Looking back at the writer who signed up for the Write a Novel Course versus the writer with four collections, a press and a podcast to her name, what’s been the biggest shift, craft-wise?
Iona: The biggest shift has been to unequivocally trust my creative process, rather than attempting to fit into any prescribed boxes. To find ourselves, as creatives, involves loads of trial and error.
It’s interesting after all this time that I’m still writing poetry, as I did in my teens, after the tragic death of my best friend in a motorcycle accident. Full circle.
Q. What’s a piece of writing advice from the course that’s stayed with you the longest?
Iona: The Write a Novel course showed me that I had skills that needed a fair bit of refining, and supported me with the wonderful mentor Sonny Whitelaw who gave constructive and encouraging feedback.
Finding my voice, trusting it and being unafraid to show it underpins my creative writing.
Q. What guidance would you give someone starting out as a writer?
Iona: Go for it! Just make a start and don’t judge your work too harshly. When you feel a piece of writing is finished, ask people you trust to take a look and give you some honest feedback.
Do a writing course or join a writing group, be around people who are actively writing and want to share that. Be open to receiving feedback that might not be what you want to hear.
Looking back, I wish the rejections of my first poetry manuscript when I was 21 hadn’t put me off! Find people you resonate with and keep on writing.
Find out more about Iona’s work on her author platform here.
