My best non-book, non-music things from 2014

Tomorrow I'm going to post my top ten albums of 2014.

Then, in a few days or weeks, I'll post the top ten books I read in 2014 (I'm holding off because I'll probably read another three books in the next 11 days and one or two might merit inclusion on the list).

Until then, here are the best things I did this year:


1) Put a solid state hard drive in my PC

Honestly.

There's a lot more "worthwhile" and "big picture" things on this list, but they all have drawbacks (a promotion means work is more tiring; fatherhood means less time to yourself, etc). But putting a solid state drive into my four year old PC is the best $120 I've ever spent. Booting up used to take two minutes. Now it takes less than 10 seconds. Those 10 second boot-ups still fill me with glee. It's all gain, no pain.


2) Spent solo days with my daughter at least one a fortnight

Kereru-spotting at Zealandia

I started out the year working from home and caring for my daughter every Thursday. It was just possible to do a full working day when she had two naps a day (2 hours work before she woke, 3 hours during her naps, 1 hour of phone calls and emailing sprinkled during her waking hours, and a couple more hours once she was in bed for the night).

Draining, but possible.

When she went down to one nap, and I started managing a team at work, I had to go down to one day a fortnight.

Thursdays with Lia are one of the reasons this year has felt full to brimming. So much to do, so little time. But on reflection, our days together have been more important than a day in the office or a chance to recharge my batteries (even if I'm the only one who'll recall specifics): watching the baboons at the poor dad's zoo (Melrose Park); fun times with the paddling pool on the deck; eating pizza in the car; birdwatching at Zealandia and Otari-Wilton; all those smoothies and trips to the supermarket...

She turned two yesterday. She'll have a brother come April. Next year will be different, for sure.


3) Said 'yes' at work.

When I came back from Iowa in December last year I was asked to act up in a more senior role at work. It meant more pay, and a more impressive CV, but it also meant more stress and less head space to devote to creative writing. But I said yes and it kicked off the most fulfilling year of my professional life.

The role I was acting in later got re-profiled into a manager's role and I said 'yes' when asked to apply for it. And reader: I got it.

Best unidentified tree:
this one on McKinley Cres, Brooklyn

Managing people isn't rocket science, but it has been an adjustment. A bit like being a parent. You still have to do everything you used to do, but you also have to make sure the needs of others are being met.

It (higher pay) also helps when your wife wants a bigger house.


4) Acquiesced when my wife said we needed to sell our house

Even before Baby #2 was a reality, Marisa was back in the routine of getting the Property Press every week. Our section isn't that baby friendly and carrying a toddler, a baby and groceries up the steps from the garage would be a bit of nightmare. And we'd be short of space (goodbye daddy's dedicated office).

But it wasn't yet three years since we'd bought this house. Our first house. I was attached to it. I liked how it was a 20 minute bike ride to work (downhill) and a 30 minute ride home (uphill). I liked how private it was. I liked our view. I liked the vege garden we'd eked out. I liked the damage we'd done to our mortgage.

But I let myself be overruled and we bought a new house, and sold this one, and we didn't take a massive bath (we actually sold our house for more than we paid for it), and we'll be moving in early February.

The new house will be bigger, and warmer, and more sheltered, and the kids can run around without us worrying about them falling down the hill. And the section will take less time to maintain.

And I'll still have a dedicated office. And I'm going to put bluetooth speakers in the ceiling throughout the house and we won't move for at least ten years...


5) Volunteered with IHC

I spent this year as a mentor in IHC's one-to-one goal achievement programme. Like parenthood and managing workers, this was rewarding but time-consuming. I'm not sure how I'm going to squeeze it in next year, but we shall see.


6) Baked

These crucifixion shrewsbury biscuits went down a treat on Twitter
(and in real life).

This boysenberry NY cheesecake with a brownie base looks a bit iffy,
but it was great. Guess you had to be there.

7) Quit writing my column in the Dom Post

Which I wrote about here. And yes, I can see the irony in this post being a listicle.


8) Not stressed too much about my output of other writing

I got one short story published this year (which I wrote in 2013), and finished one other which might be published next year. I made a bunch of starts on stories that I intend to get back to. And I progressed three novelly ideas to the point where they felt solid and I could probably start writing any one of them. The only problem was I couldn't be sure I'd pick the wrong one and want to switch tracks in six months.

But I think one of those three (actually, half of one of the ideas) has ascended to the top this month and I might really make some headway in 2015.

The thing is, what does one year of low productivity really mean if I'm in it for the long haul? It took me about three years to write The Mannequin Makers only for it to disappear from the face of the earth after a couple of months.

But many who read it dug it. Reviewers included. It will always be there on my Wikipedia page (at least until I get culled from Wikipedia).

One thing I learnt from the last decade as a worker bee: it rarely happens overnight. But as long as your CV keeps getting better, as long as you don't drop off the face of the earth completely, or get an offensive forehead tattoo, your hard work will pay off in time.


9) Kept making playlists

Even if I haven't blogged enough to post one a month.

Here's October's. And here's November's.

These things are useful when it comes to writing my best ablums of the year post. But I've also found it interesting to listen to playlists from 2012 and 2013 and relive whatever I was going through at the time,

If I ever need to transport myself back to 2014, I've got my soundtrack sorted.

Walking away from a hill of beans

My daughter’s favourite movie is Shrek 2.

She’s seen the first and third movies, and Shrek the Halls, but for her there’s only one Shrek.

(Parental disclaimer: She doesn’t watch TV normally, but she’s been sick a lot this winter year [day care], and sometimes you’re all just better off with a DVD on in the background.)

Lia is as likely to ask to watch ‘Ona’ (as in Princess Fiona) as she is ‘Shrek’ and when Fiona’s not on screen she’ll say/moan/shout ‘Ona, Ona, Ona’ until she appears.

When watching the first Shrek, she’s moaning half the movie before her kickass princess arrives.

(Thought experiment: What if the sequel to Shrek was called Fiona?)

Her absolute favourite moment in cinematic history is the half-minute snippet of Butterfly Boucher’s cover of “Changes” (with a cameo from Mr Bowie) during Shrek 2. It’s an insipid version. I tried playing her the original the other day but it left her cold. For her, Boucher’s the original and Bowie’s the pretender (kinda how I feel about Bowie’s version of Iggy Pop’s ‘China Girl’).

My daughter will sing “Ch-ch-ch-changes” at odd moments during the day.

I’m spreading Marmite on her toast: “Ch-ch-ch-changes”.

We’re walking down to the garage: “Ch-ch-ch-changes”.

We’re waiting for the bath to fill: “Ch-ch-ch-changes”.

And things are changing.

I’ve quit writing my column in the Dominion Post’s Your Weekend lift out. Tomorrow’s my last dispatch, four years since my first. 104 columns later, I feel like I never got better, never got being a columnist. The restrictions of the form (500 words a fortnight, submission 2 weeks before publication) were still restrictive. The challenge of juggling my other writing, my day job, my family — both in terms of finding time to do everything, but how and when to mine these other lives for the column — was still challenging.

I’m writing a longer thing about the frustrations and frustrations (no typo) of being a print-first columnist that should appear online in the next wee while… but big picture: I hope to free up four 5am-7am slots a fortnight for fiction. For writing books. Because that’s what I really want to be doing.

It’s been nice to be paid, regularly, for words, but I’m steadily moving up the ladder at work (the word ‘Manager’ features in my job title — “Ch-ch-ch-changes”) so the money isn’t as important.

Although... there’s another baby on the way — “Ch-ch-ch-changes” ­— and Marisa wants a bigger house — “Ch-ch-ch-changes” — and I’m not sure I can write another novel while working full time…

*

Two years ago I wrote about my time as I columnist to that point. Turns out that was the exact midpoint of my “career”.

That post included a list of what my 52 columns had covered. Well, here’s the second half:

53.   The bump list, fatherhood, Aliens

54.   Road rules, advertising, cultural amnesia

55.   Getting glasses, Cats Protection League, superpowers

56.   Sign language, grocery shopping, silence

57.   Palmerston North, guitar solos, the poet James Brown

58.   Antenatal classes, THE VIDEO, gingernuts

59.   Apocalypse, The Netherlands, televangelists

60.   Due dates, Tom Petty, house alarms

61.   A baby!, quinoa, yellow pohutukawa

62.   Chivalry, Louis L’Amour, Whangamomona

63.   Valentine’s day, Dwight Schrute, Walter Benjamin

64.   Supermarkets, flatting, the great wildebeest migration

65.   Landfills, Second Treasures, Richard Dean Anderson

66.   Flying, the parents room, dodged bullets

67.   Cycling, Wellington, cholesterol

68.   Obstacle courses, Lisa Carrington, Kronum

69.   Internet piracy, Pablo Honey, Spotify

70.   Haircuts, GrabOne, ‘Sexyback’

71.   Winter, fantasy football, sperm

72.   Golf, great uncles, hipflasks

73.   Smartphones, shouty TV shows, the capital of Myanmar

74.   Parenthood, sea fog, editing a novel

75.   Dentists, Norm Peterson, “sticktoitiveness”

76.   Whinging, Whittaker’s L&P Slab, couriers

77.   Father’s day, itineraries, Bulgarians

78.   Fashion, Iowa City, tie-dye

79.   Rodeo, praying cowboys, deep-fried oreos

80.   The Midwest, bathroom graffiti, extirpation

81.   New Orleans, Local Natives, Louis Armstrong

82.   Working parents, the Father of Rocket Science, Eugenics

83.   Halloween, pumpkin season, Matariki

84.   Washington DC, Independence Day, Toad the Wet Sprocket

85.   Professional wrestling, Shane Howarth, collecting quarters

86.   Compact living, the Keret House, tiny house porn

87.   Aging, the periodic table, Tim Duncan

88.   The man card, Russell Packer, kitset furniture

89.   Dieting parents, Tyler the Creator, toddlers

90.   Reality TV, Undercover Boss Uncovered, frankenbiting

91.   Subtlemobs, Kenny Loggins, community

92.   Hospitals, parenthood, Stoicitis

93.   Americans, black sheep, Antarctica

94.   Office moves, standing desks, A Dictionary of Lift Users

95.   Professional wrestling, community halls, The Ultimate Warrior

96.   Direct democracy, Aaron Gilmore, Switzerland

97.   My (early) thirties, baking, wives

98.   Football world cup, GDP per capita, Martin Devlin’s hair

99.   Day care, germ sponges, the social lives of toddlers

100.  Time travel, Back to the Future II, true believers

101.  Rodney Hide, afternoon tea, shoelaces

102.  Crap teachers, quitting, interpretive dance

103.  Weeds, holly leaved senecio, apocalypse

*spoiler alert*

104.  Macauley’s New Zealander, apocalypse, Clifton Carpark

 *

There's a bunch of things that I could have, and should have, written about over the last four years that I didn't because of the column. Maybe this blog will burst back into life. Maybe I'll just post Spotify playlists once a month and add a few hasty thoughts about books I've read. 

We shall see.

Until then, here's a playlist:

Common people / reading grumpy / see me go

The first ever issue of Common, "The biannual magazine for those with a creative bent and an inquisitive eye", arrived at my house a while ago. It looks a million bucks and was helped into existence thanks to a Kickstarter campaign. Here's hoping there's a second issue (and a third).

Inside there's an interview with me that includes the question: "What do you like about photographing birds?" and, coz the mag has an arty/visual bent, goes on to include a couple of my bird photos...

Regular readers of this blog will know about my birdy-bent, and may have even noticed the lack of bird photos of late. Well, dear readers, it comes with the lack of posting. 

I did manage to take this photo of three silvereyes out of my bedroom window the other day. Anyone who has tried to snap a single silvereye will know how tricky the buggers are to capture, but three in one frame, in focus? I was stoked.

Instead of being behind the camera or at my writing desk, it's been the dayjob, the bike commute (see today's Your Weekend column), fatherhood and the occasional piece of housework-cum-modelling...

Reading summary - February/March

I've been a grumpy reader these past few months. It's probably to do with the fact I haven't had much time for books (biking to work means I can't listen to audiobooks as often as when I rode the bus) and I've spent so much time re-re-re-re-re-re-reading my tedious, flaccid, opaque, snore-fest of a novel (remind me to hit reboot on my emotions re: THE NOVEL closer to the launch date).

So Brave, Young and Handsome by Leif Enger (novel, audiobook, US)

This was okay. A bit sprawling and unfocussed. And what/who the heck does the title refer to? Hood Roberts? You mean the fourth most important character? Or am I missing something? Surely I missed something.

The Real Thing by Tom Stoppard (play, audiobook, UK)

Listening to a play on your iPod should work. I mean, it’s better than reading a script, surely. But, for me at least, listening to a play is a sure way of making it seem thin and lifeless. Sorry Tom S, but this was nowhere near as good as the real thing.

Death Comes to Pemberley by PD James (novel, audiobook, UK)

My god, the prologue! What a bore. At least old PD will hit her straps in the first chapter: a dead body, a cast of shifty upstairs/downstairs characters… But no. The text kept circling back to moments “six years ago” (i.e. stuff that happened in Pride and Prejudice), as if this was one long, insufferable cliff note on Austen’s novel. And when death finally came to Pemberley? I wanted to shake the hand of the perpetrator!

The Thing Around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (short stories, Nigeria/US)

These stories did little to arouse any great feeling in me, except perhaps 'Jumping Monkey Hill', which played with the idea of writer’s conferences, the colonial influence still existent in ‘African’ writing, and the old story-within-a-story trope. Things were laid on a bit think with the lascivious, condescending, decrepit English patron of the workshop. Like many of the stories in the collection, he felt functional, formulaic. And there were two - repeat: two - stories written in the second person. I'm sorry, but that's now way to win me over.

We others, new and selected stories by Stephen Millhauser (short stories, US)

Hey, I actually liked this one. I’d read Millhauser before, but clearly not his collection In The Penny Arcade, which features the story ‘August Eschenberg’. It’s a darn good story – insofar as it’s masterful and anyone would be proud to have it in their back catalogue – and it’s got A LOT in common with my quaint wee novel The Mannequin Makers that’ll poke it’s head out of its burrow in August: department stores, window displays, the quest for mastery, a rivalry between two practitioners, the old art vs life divide. There are a few differences: Eschenberg makes clockwork figures, the dudes in my novel just make mannequins (hence the title), my novel roves widely, Millhauser’s tale is long for a short story, but sticks to its singular focus on the life of its title character. I’d have no problem if I had read this before (or during) writing my novel, because I think there’s worse things to do than be inspired by great fiction, but that’s not the case. Great minds and middling minds sometimes think alike, I guess.

*

And finally, for no good reason, here's NZ's answer to Gang of Four:

Everyone's got their breaking point / with me it's spiders, with you it's me

Are we judged here by the words we say / or is it just by the noises we make?

The truth is not kind / and you said neither am I

Since I submitted the manuscript of THE NOVEL (a.k.a. The Mannequin Makers, for now) on 31 August, I've fallen to bits.

I'm taking steps but it all feels a bit of a rear-guard action.

I've gotten glasses for my myopia. I've had malevolent skin cells (Bowen's disease, actinic keratosis) liquid nitrogened to oblivion. I got a root canal to hopefully put pay to the toothaches I've been having. And last week I was told my cholesterol was shockingly high for a 29 year old (especially shocking as my diet ain't that bad and I'm not that overweight), so I'm exercising more, buying expensive margarine and trying a shot of apple cider vinegar in the mornings (my step-father's prescription).

We shall see.

Next time I'm encouraged to write a novel, I'm going to ask for danger pay.


I do the rolling / you do the detail

Re: The Mannequin Makers, I met up with my editor and Random House last week while she was down in Wellington. Over coffee (actually, over green tea and a chai latte) we discussed the comments she'd sent me the week before.

The email read: "I have now finished reading this and really enjoyed it. It’s definitely different, quirky and memorable... [some specifics]... There are, though, a few things I think need a bit more thought... [10 substantive comments and 1,500 words later]... I hope these don't depress you..."

One the one hand: Ugh, more work. But I agreed with 80-90% of the comments, and they've provided the impetus to improve the novel. Being given the direction and time to make the darn thing better sure beats being told, 'It'll do,' and it being rushed to market and met with a round of shrugs (a Meh-ixan wave, perhaps? no, forget I said that).

I have until 1 December to snip the sutures and massage the organs of the novel so that it's more vexing aspects (the confusing ones at least, it'll still be vexing in several spots, but deliberately so). Then the manuscript with be given to an external editor with a fresh set of eyes and a fine-tooth comb. 

I'm excited to have the ball back in my court for the next six weeks. The path to publication seems a little clearer now, a little less fraught.

By the end of it, I'll have no idea how the real world (or at least those in the bookish segment of the real world) will respond, but I should be happy to stand up and take the rotten fruit, the shrugs and the backslaps, knowing the book is the best approximation of the book I set out to write that I can manage at this point in my career.

I remember running through the wet grass / falling a step behind

I'm heading up to Palmerston North on Thursday for the launch of the city council's Creative Giants website. I have a page. So do Janet Frame, John Clarke and Shane Cotton. Pretty cool company to keep.

In between imbibing free Cab Sav and trying to catch the eye of the canape waiter on Thursday, I'll have a word with the people behind the website about the omission of David Geary and Sarah Laing. Let me know if there are other Palmerstonians (permanent or fleeting) who are sufficiently creative and gigantic and I'll spruik them too!

We came through / like gothic monsters perched on Notre Dame

Of course all of this - the body's revolt, the editing process - is a lot of background noise compared to the biggest thing happening to me this year. I'm set to become a father some time in the next two months. 

It's funny, because I've used this point in character's lives before (once in a published short story ['Copies'], once in an abandoned novel) and now I'm here. The loss of my father in my teens means I will always be interested in the way fatherhood works, as a child and a parent. Now I'm about to step through that shimmering waterfall, that glitchy Stargate, and enter the world of parenthood.

How fucking exciting. How fucking scary.

(Best I get all the swearing out of my system before there's a minor on the premises.)