The Big Let Down (or, why I hate New Year’s)

*Disclaimer – all the stories that follow are based on my flawed and subjective memory. So please bear that in my mind if you were present for any of those moments and they don’t ring 100% accurate to your recollection. I can’t help that, none of us can.

** Another disclaimer – all of these stories, in some manner or another, involve drinking. But given that the context of them is New Year’s, this shouldn’t be a concern.

The Beginning

               When it comes to New Year’s Eve, I just can’t be arsed. Not this New Year’s specifically, I mean all of them. No matter where I am, what I’m doing or who I’m with. I realise that this sounds rather bleak, but bear with me. It’s the expectation that gets me down. There’s all this build up to… nothing. I mean, nothing. Best case scenario is that you’ve had enough fun that you’ve got messed up in some manner, and let’s face it, there are consequences to doing that that nobody enjoys.

New Year, New… well, hmmm.

It feels really good to be sat here writing this. It’s an actual joy. Why? Because it’s been a while, that’s why. It’s been a while because toward the end of last year, I took a class on writing short fiction. During that time, and since, my focus has been on fiction.

I love learning to write fiction. It’s challenging and interesting and completely engaging. My classmates and I have formed a writing group, to continue the practice of sharing our work and giving honest and unbiased feedback. Albeit in a kind, encouraging way. Which is vital, I think, to the effectiveness of constructive feedback on creative work. You need to be gentle when you’re that intimately involved with someone else’s head. I know I definitely need that respect and sensitivity in order to remain open to other ideas and perspectives.

The Devil You Know

At high school, in the girl’s changing room, there was a mirror next to the toilets. It was long, but sat high up on the wall. I was a short teenager, a little over five feet for most of the time, so the bottom of the mirror only reached as far as the top of my neck, just below my chin. Apart from my bobble head peaking over, the majority of the mirror reflected back the high tiled walls and ceiling of the shower room. It was a bit like looking into eternity, a vast expanse of white juxtaposed by this little animal head, a wink of identity at the bottom of an expanse of nothing.

So here’s the part where you make a choice

Art is entirely subjective. The value of a piece of art, to any individual, is derived through a combination of subjective meaning and the talent of the creator. Of course, what constitutes ‘talent’ is, also, entirely subjective. When I use the word ‘art’, I’m talking about any creative output, from a literal piece of art, to a screenplay, to everything in between. The example I’m going to use to demonstrate my argument is from a television show. And yes, I do mean Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But, before you groan loudly, roll your eyes, and close this tab, just, calm your farm, and hear me out, because, I’m not really talking a TV show here. I’m using an aspect of it as a metaphor to tell a bigger story about the importance of subjective meaning and why art, the analysis and interpretation of it, is so important to our personal growth and perspective on the world. So, ner.

'Roads? Where we're going, we don't need... roads.'

It started with a run. 

There was a moment while I was running around the bays of Wellington, in the beautiful morning sun, looking out at the ocean, where I felt exhilarated. That moment was the culmination of months of change and effort, and it felt good. I felt almost peaceful. But when the world changes, it changes fast, and mere hours later, I woke up to messages from my parents telling me that not only had my gran been suddenly taken ill, she only had hours to live.

Huts of New Zealand 2017 - Part 2

You came back for part two? Wow, how bored are you? Well, it is January, so I’m guessing that the answer to that is very. Plus fed up of work, plus probably suffering from some kind of ill-health…Ooop, too real? Let’s get back to the huts.

July (31/07/17)

This is Awatere hut on the Makateru river in the Ruahine forest.
As you know, I always look for the story, but there isn’t always a story lurking, sometimes a hut is just a hut. The most details I could find were– ‘This is a basic three-bunk hut in the Hawke’s Bay region.’ What more could you need to know?

Huts of New Zealand 2017 - Part 1

Back in January of 2017, through a series of odd coincidences, I was given a calendar for work all about the back country huts of New Zealand. I shared this on Facebook because, hey, look, a weird calendar celebrating a bizarrely niche subject matter! As a follow on, somebody suggested that each month I could write something about the featured hut, and share photos. The idea was immediately amusing to me because I knew nothing about huts or their purpose, and yet they seemed very, well, twee. I don’t think there’s another word for it.  So for no other reason than the idea made me laugh, I began writing monthly Facebook posts about the huts. I did this on my personal page only, for a number of reasons- I didn’t know how interesting it would be to other people, whether I would actually keep it up for a 12 month period, and to publish it on my blog would mean doing proper referencing so as not to be a dick in sharing pictures that were clearly not my own (but hey, that tedious work is now done!)