Because my Community Asked Me To

Greetings my fellow curious souls,

I’ve been asked to provide some wisdom about how to get your story published, and I accidentally said yes. Now it’s too late for me to turn back and sheepishly email our friends at Mila’s Books that I’d like to change my mind. So, I’m following through.

I want to begin by saying that publishing my book, choosing to become a self-published author and the book itself was a happy accident.

In 2025, I was the guest curator at Auckland Writers Festival, which then led to being invited as a poet and masterclass instructor at Ubud Readers & Writers Festival later that year. 

*pause* Ubud Readers & Writers Festival is an annual festival held in Ubud, Bali, where established and upcoming writers (mostly with big publishers and agents) come from all across the world to share story—and the festival organisers invited me, a kid from South Auckland who had not yet formally published a book to be both a visiting writer and master class instructor. *unpause*

I’m not even going to lie, just getting invited was (and still is) one of my highlights. I was the ‘just happy to be here’ guy, for both the obvious author milestone ways, and also a less obvious way. I was grieving the death of my father and this opportunity gave me a way to pour the small parts I had left of myself, that I no longer wanted to carry, back into writing.

In the lead up to Ubud, the festival organisers had asked me if I had a publication that I wanted to sell and promo at the festival. I asked if they could get in contact with my friends at Auckland University Press, who published a stunning anthology of Spoken Word Poetry (and one which I happened to have a poem in). They were unfortunately unable to get a shipment as the anthology was out of print.

So, they gently encouraged me to pull something together, and so I did.

That’s how my book, For all we know, happened. Truly. I became a self-published author because I needed to, for a very cool career opportunity. Not because I was out there to make a big statement about the validation and legitimacy politics of self-publishing and/or the barriers that exist for writers like me and countless others (maybe you include yourself in this) who hope to get their work out there. Both of those issues exist, and need to be written about at length in another time. But in the spirit of the moment, I felt like I was just answering a call – to commit and tell the story as best and as faithfully as I could. 

However, once I committed to it—the door to attend Marina Alefosio’s Fafagu Measina: A Storyteller’s Residency in Sāmoa emerged, and I used that as an opportunity to actually pull the book together.

So now, we’re in July and I’m spending 10 days in Sāmoa. My laptop, and a lot of time in solitude. And that’s where the book was born.

*pause* Let me tell you about what Sāmoa did for me. It gave me an opportunity to return home, to listen to the land, to grieve, and weave and build, not just the narrative bones of the book, but critically the time to write and edit. In our lives as writers of the Moana, where almost all of us are time-poor, if you are presented with the opportunity to go to a writer’s retreat/residency, take it! Fafagu Measina was worth every penny. I also need to add that I would not have been able to attend that residency if not for the financial assistance from the Tautai Artists Across Borders Fund—so when you are brave enough to say yes to the residency, because you are worthy—also keep your ear to the ground for financial assistance, and apply. *unpause*

Fast-forward to the launch which was held in October, just before leaving for Ubud. It was a real last minute effort on my part, but I am eternally grateful that the incredible team at Manurewa High School allowed me to host my book launch at their flash-as library. That night was the best night of my life. Don’t get me wrong, as amazing as the Auckland Writers Festival and Ubud Readers & Writers Festival, and all the other incredibly cool literary things, were (and still are)—this was the moment I knew I made it. In fact, I distinctively remember after one of my dear friends came to embrace me after the book launch, she said to me sternly, “It took you long enough! We have been waiting 10 years for this book.” 

And                                                   she’s                                             right. 
This              book             could            have           come          out        10         years   ago.
But I think it was always supposed to come out when it did.

So    yeah,    I    wrote    and    published    this    book   from    the    dreams    of    my community. 

It was born out of a call from my community for me to take up space (both a very un-Tongan, un-Samoan, and generally a very un-Tangata-Moana thing to do). But my book was born quite literally from the vā that I hold between my community of poets; those festival organisers who co-conspire with me, and see the potential in me to create a more equitable literary landscape; and my family who I aim to always make proud.

I became a published writer with a book. A BOOK! *Screams in disbelief* 

Also, while we’re on the topic of community showing up—I want to give the biggest shoutout to my former student, Noah Rehu, for designing the cover from scratch. I could not have thought of a better artist to come up with the visual language needed to hold the words in my book. He is an artist in every sense of the word, but more than that, I could not have done this book without Noah lending his gifts to my book. It takes all of us, and truly when the former student becomes your collaborator, you know that change is happening.

Since then, I’ve had to kinda learn a thing or two about self-publication, print-runs, logistics and distribution (and am very much still learning). There are far more experienced people out there in the world of self-publishing, but here is my newbie wisdom: 

1. Printing books is costly—budget wisely. I was very fortunate that Tautai also came on board to support the first print-run. Without them, I would have taken out a personal                          loan                 to               cover               the                cost.
   
   
2. Printing the book is one thing, but distribution is another. I chose the path where I wouldn’t try and sell my book in bookstores because truthfully most of the people who shop—heck, even browse—at bookstores are not the people who I wrote this book for. So distribution was an easy one for me, but maybe for you and your publishing goals     it             will            be           a           different        conversation.
   
   
3. Make sure to get an ISBN code and (maybe) a barcode also. ISBN code is essential, but a barcode is optional—but very helpful if you are planning on selling your book at                                a                                      bookstore.
   
   
4. If you’re publishing something for commercial use, a physical copy must be submitted to the National Library of New Zealand for archival purposes. So save a copy, and make sure you do that.

There’s probably more, and if this is your kind of thing, then I strongly advise looking at the New Zealand Society of Authors page on publication & self-publication. However, I need to stress that my publication journey began with relationships at the centre, and out bloomed a story, which then turned into a book. 

And while all the other accolades are cool and amazing—and truly do make me think what the heck is my life—I also think the most important thing for me to tell you is to begin with relationship. It is through our lens of seeing and doing things relationally (a vā centred approach), that excellent stories that will challenge this world, will be told. And the world will open doors for you to tell those rich and complex and hard stories because you are worthy.

I am not extra-ordinary.

I belong to a lineage of storytellers who refuse to accept that this is how we must do things.

If this is a call you are supposed to answer, I hope you answer that call and know that you do not answer it alone because every story carries the dreams, hopes and sacrifices of the people who helped you get there.

In                            peace,                      power               &                    poetry,
Zech Soakai