Te Auaha

2019 and the 3rd year of the BOC, Bachelor of Creativity. I’d arrived in Wellington, 2017, a fresh faced newbie to the world of academia. A woman in my, ahem, dare I admit, 50’s. Looking for some meaning in life. A mid-life crisis in crisis. I’d reached that age where there’s no longer a big wide world out there waiting for me. Where the rut is a well-worn groove on repeat. Where the dreams of youth have faded into pale, wrinkled, middle-aged insignificance because the mortgage needs paying.

But then…but then, Bill died, my friend, run over on his way to the bowling club. Then…dad died, life shortened by the nasty NZ sun, skin cancer on the brain. And then the kids were gone. Flew the coup they did, one by one, my baby birds, with ideals and adventures and wide eyes of their own.

“Do it!” said Shia LaBeouf, “just do it!”

Fuck it, there’s nothing stopping me but fear itself.

“Fuck fear”, I whispered to the sky, and gave it the finger, double barreled.

Kia Ora whanau, welcome

That’s the thing with a blog, where to start. A Kiwi welcome perhaps. Kia Ora means hello, goodbye, cool – a versatile word indeed. Whanau? Well that’s family. All in all welcome family to my writers blog, where we will talk about writing and stuff around writing. Reading and writing. Lots of stuff.