Opinion: An art to writing the perfect obit

Ashleigh and Colette Orringe joke their late friend, Doug, nearly got them kicked out of their own wedding. Photo/Supplied

Art of the Obit

Who will write about you when you're gone? Anyone who's penned a story after a loved one has drawn his final breath surely mulls the question. Is it better, for the control freaks among us, to write our own obituary? Or should we select our best writerly friends to do the deed?

The death last week of local tourism leader Doug Tamaki has sparked tributes, including stories in this paper listing achievements, awards and hobbies. Family members and friends were quoted. Still, someone must write the obit. That's the piece attempting to measure a life, not in Rent (the musical) parlance of "five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes," or daylight, sunsets, midnights, cups of coffee, inches, miles, laughter, strife... (though these are all excellent measures), but in terms of who that person was. Someone must (if they haven't already) collect pearls from Doug's 56 years and string them into a cohesive message.

The past year has seen the death of many celebrities in their 50s and 60s: Prince was 57, David Bowie, 69, Carrie Fisher, 60, George Michael, 53 ... And rather than a recitation of platitudes and superlatives, readers of well-crafted obits about these luminaries in publications such as the Guardian, theEconomist and the New York Times are drawn into the lives of the deceased, to see them as they might have seen themselves.

Yes, those media outlets have a stable of professional writers who majored in history and minored in poetic brilliance at prominent universities. That doesn't mean the rest of us can't rip off a tip or three.

The Economist's Ann Wroe has been editing obituaries for the magazine, usually writing them herself, since 2003. In an interview with blog site thehairpin.com in 2014, one of her tips for a well-crafted obit was forget chronology.

"You just have to try and get the essence of who they are, and it has to boil down to what was most important to them."

She also doesn't care how someone died and insists on only reading source material by her subject.

"I think that's the only way to do it because that's the voice that has disappeared."

Wroe wrote of Bowie, "...Mr Bowie grew up as David Jones, a sharp-toothed kid from dull suburban Bromley whose parents held no aspirations for him. Through a talent born of yearning he had transformed himself into Ziggy Stardust: extravagant, flawed and sexually polymorphous, tottering on platform shoes and hiding behind a mask of paint..."

Most obituary subjects haven't written memoirs, recorded hit singles or appeared in Hollywood movies. But even the most private souls leave behind letters, emails or social media posts. YouTube or home videos can provide additional clues about how someone spoke, laughed and moved. It's fodder for commemorating a life.

One of my death duties as a widow, seven years ago, was writing my late husband's obituary. Reading it now, through the lens of perspective, without the early mourning fog, I see it lacks Sean's essence. It reads more like a CV than a mini collection of revealing stories. It groans with adjectives that could be applied to anyone: "compassionate", "cherished", "easy-going". At just 200 words, it's more death notice than tribute. At least I chose a nice photo.

I hope someone weaves stories into Doug Tamaki's obituary similar to what one of his friends posted on Facebook above a photo of a laughing couple: "Our wedding at the courthouse, we are pissing ourselves because Doug Tamaki had just busted out the emergency exit to take a pee and all alarms sounded. Nearly got us kicked out of our own wedding."

Leave 'em laughing. Someday (hopefully in the distant future), my obit writer better serve up extra doses of humour and have zero tolerance for cliche. In the end, a good writer can resurrect our voice after we're gone.