I have never written so many posts so soon one after the other but here I am. My last post Musings On Suburbia on Saturday night and now this one. Nothing in particular. Just doing some work and listening to the podcast Moon Landing Memories on Spotify. A friend of mine sent me some other links on Apple Podcast commemorating 50 years of the landing but I have not yet listened to them. I am not an Apple consumer and only use my Mac Book if I am editing audio or video. Which is not much these days. I writing more than filming. Lots of still photography. Especially travel photography. Not fancy landscape but mundane things that take my fancy. They are all on this blog on the the right side bar. Via Flickr. I have quite a few others that I have not yet uploaded.
Anyway. The point is that I am writing more than I have in a long time. Looking at my old scripts, writing one-pagers, putting pen to paper. I am even attempting an experimental piece for theatre. Now this post.
*now I am listening to 13 Minutes To The Moon.
I lived in Hobsonville for almost a year when I moved to Aotearoa in Decmber 2001. It was a small suburb with Whenuapai airport and army homes towards the north and Massey towards the south. Westgate was a collection of Countdown, The Warehouse, some cafés, Burger King and Event Cinemas. A gaming pub. I sat my driving test at the Automobile Association there. It was hard to get to Westgate from where my sister’s house. You needed a car or waited aeons for a bus. I took a bus into town when I started my PG Diploma in film, television and media studies the University of Auckland. You took it from the back roads of Hobsonville and it went down Don Buck Rd towards Massey, came out somewhere Triangle Rd before it got on the motorway. The last bus back from town was at 11pm and too bad if you missed it.
I went to Hobsonville after many years today and the Westgate area is a mess. Rather a superb example of very poor urban planning. Of course the roads have been widened and the fields opposite of the old Westgate, along the old road to Helensville, where Garelja Strawberries used to be are now fancy shops. Beyond that more parking lots and new developments. Another Countdown.
And lots of cars. But no sign of public transport.
I did not see a single bus go by; I did not spot a bus stop.
I was in Melbourne last week. I love that city, I love taking the train, the trams, the buses, walking the laneways. Public transport is smooth and easy. Of course Melbournians will disagree with this LOL. The two days I went into town, the Frankston line was closed beyond Caulfield. We had buses take us from that station to Flinders St. It was cold, raining, my son was with me and it was completely painless.
Here in Hobsonville, Auckland we have car upon car and a supposedly unending supply of parking space but no thought to public transport. Whoever planned this development did not seem have given a thought to adding in public transport. For now or in the future. So many people out there on the weekend. I am sure they would have taken public transport if there was any. With good frequency too. Not every 30 minutes. I drove. From Epsom. My bad too. I would have taken a train if it was there.
3 months since we moved back to Auckland and I got straight back into work, pretty much before I had unpacked. I still have a few paintings to hang, a few bits and pieces of furniture to get but I have mostly settled in. Physically. The mind is restless. Because I am not writing. Not writing what I want to write, when I want to write and how I want to write. I’ve written on my ‘tasks’ list that I have to write. I look at it, remind myself and then get busy with the mundane.
Then I hate myself because I have not written anything. Not even a line.
Of course procrastination is the norm for all writers. I have even blogged about it making it a virtue. LOL. I mean, how many excuses can I have? Studies, have to finish an assignment, have to cook, put the son to bed, send off emails. Do my taxes. I am tired. Not tonight, I have a headache.
Write, I tell myself but I don’t want it to be a chore. I have to enjoy the words, the energy, the flow. Even the lack of words, the inability to express myself and think about ways to do, however frustrating it might be.
I bought myself a notebook at the beginning of the year and have been writing words and thoughts. Shitty poetry. Angry prose turned poetry. No one else reads that but me. This is different. This is out there in the world. I never found that daunting, now I do. A bit.
But hey, look I have written a post about not writing! And it feels good. Maybe I’ll put some other things in here next time. Maybe force myself to write 100 words three times a week. How hard will that be? I tweet more!
Anyway that is it for now.