Twice a year, on (or near) the equinoxes, I clean the gutters. It’s not a job I enjoy, but it’s a necessary evil living downwind of the neighbour’s huge pines, macrocarpas, and gum trees.
The one thing I do enjoy about the job is the excuse to spend a few hours up the ladder, peering down at the yard from a perspective I don’t normally have.
So last weekend when I was cleaning gutters, I took my phone with me and snapped a few pictures from on high.
The last time I photographed the garden from this perspective was in September 2022. At that time, we’d just finished establishing and gravelling the paths in the front yard. Look what a difference three years makes! And what a fun perspective from which to view it.
I’m thrilled to announce that the Draconic Search and Rescue ebook is now available for preorder on many online retailers!
Nathan McMannis is bored. His friends have gone on to new adventures, while he’s stuck at the Alexandra Institute doing correspondence school. All he wants is more excitement, less maths homework.
But you know what they say: Be careful what you wish for.
A huge earthquake strikes, and emergency services are overwhelmed, unable to rescue the thousands of people in danger. To make matters worse, the weather turns deadly.
Against his father’s orders, Nathan flies away with his draconic partners, Foggy Bottom and Rata, to rally the dragons. The Draconic Search and Rescue Team descends upon isolated and endangered towns to ferry people to safety. But the task might be too big, even for the dragons.
If they fail, thousands will die.
Will the fragile peace between people and dragons hold in the face of disaster? How far are the dragons willing to push themselves to save the humans who persecuted them for centuries?
Another wild, dragon-filled adventure set in modern day New Zealand! This standalone adventure can also be read as Book 5 of the Dragon Defence League series.
Blooming daffodils cover a multitude of sins (aka weeds) in spring.
The local veggie gardening group had our first Monday evening gathering for the season last night. And what a lovely gathering it was!
I hosted, which is always a bit nerve-wracking. You don’t want the place to look like it’s been abandoned or neglected, and in early spring, weeds are often more prominent than crops. And some of the group members have absolutely stunning gardens and are way better than I am at growing food.
But we all have weeds. And we all have different challenges in our gardens and in our lives. And everyone comes in a spirit of community. Once people begin piling out of their cars and strolling the garden, any nervousness is forgotten as we all share our successes and failures so far this season, and catch up with each other’s lives outside the garden.
Conversations ebb and flow as the group wanders, breaking into subgroups around particular plants, garden structures, pest outbreaks, or other items of interest.
Because we’re not quite on daylight savings time yet, we ended our garden stroll as daylight faded. But like any good gathering, we weren’t done yet—it was time for kai and a cuppa.
Artichokes are on their way!
Last night, the party broke down on gender lines, as it often does (for no real reason … we laugh at ourselves all the time for this tendency to segregate)—the guys lit the brazier outside and commandeered the cheese and crackers to accompany some home brew. Indoors, the ladies had tea and cookies.
Without the garden in front of us, the conversation diversified—and we’re such a diverse group outside our interest in growing plants, that you never know what might be under discussion on any given day. Crafts, books, digger operation, food, business interests, travel, rock collecting, climate change … you name it, we’ve probably discussed it. Garden group conversations are always intriguing and full of laughter.
When our guests headed home for the evening, the fire was still burning merrily in the brazier. The night was unseasonably warm, and the sky was clear and washed with stars. For an hour, my husband and I ignored the dirty dishes and sat in the dark by the fire, sharing what we’d both learned from the gathering.
While we sat there, a few thoughts occurred to me:
Tomato seedlings in the greenhouse.
We don’t enjoy our garden enough. And by ‘enjoy’, I mean just sit or stroll and appreciate the beauty. Not that we don’t do this at all, but we could be doing it a whole lot more.
We are absolutely blessed to be part of the local gardening community. I’m a total introvert, and being with groups of people where there are multiple non-stop conversations going on is exhausting for me. But I love this crowd of generous, community-focused people, and I look forward to each of our get togethers.
Finding common ground with people can be as simple as sharing excess lemons or cuttings from your favourite herbs.
There is something humanising about gardening. The very act fosters community, brings people together. Reading the daily news, I can quickly begin to think the worst of the the entire human race. The garden group reminds me that there is beauty, not only in the garden, but in the ones who tend it.
Next weekend I’ll be selling books at my stall at the Ōtautahi Crafter’s Market. It’s the first market of what I consider my Christmas market season. I know, I know, Christmas is AGES away, and I won’t start thinking about my own Christmas shopping until at least late November. But thankfully, lots of people start turning their thoughts to gift buying as early as September. Especially, the aunties and grandmas who buy books for their nieces, nephews and grandkids.
So I’ve booked in for a number of markets over the next few months, and I’ve come to realise that, in spite of being a socially awkward introvert who hates crowds and noise, I love selling at markets.
It’s EXHAUSTING, for sure. And it can be really depressing when you have a bad day and don’t even sell enough to cover the cost of your stall. But there’s so much to love about selling at markets.
I love to meet my readers, or the parents/grandparents/aunties of my readers. Anyone who is browsing books at a market where they could instead spend their money on ice cream, hot chips, or cute garden gnomes is serious about books. They’re my kind of people. (Not that I don’t like ice cream, hot chips and garden gnomes, of course). I enjoy hearing what they like to read, who their favourite authors are, and why reading is important to them.
Despite the crowds and noise, I appreciate the festival atmosphere of a market. Aside from the occasional spouse or young child who’s being dragged along against their will, people are there to have a good time. They’re happy. Shopping at a market isn’t like shopping for your groceries, that has to be done whether you want to or not. Market goers are willing victims—er, I mean—customers. And because they’re having fun, it’s easy for me to have fun.
I love the excuse to browse other people’s stalls. I mostly frequent craft markets, and as an avid crafter myself, I love to see what other folks are creating. It’s a great way for me to get my Christmas shopping done, too.
I enjoy the community of market goers. Go to enough markets, and you start to see the same vendors over and over. You say hello, ask how their day is going, whether they’ll be at the next market. For the vendors on either side of your stall, you practically become staff by the end of the day—looking after their stalls while they’re at the loo (and of course they do the same for you), and coming up with clever ways to hawk your own items and theirs together (Look! You can read my great books by the light of those beautiful handmade candles.)
There’s nothing more satisfying than personally sending a copy of one of your books out into the world. Digital sales are fine, but there’s not the same feeling of success as when you actually hand your book to a reader yourself.
I enjoy the creativity involved in creating my stall. Like many authors, I dabble in lots of other creative pursuits. A market stall gives me an opportunity to make use of my sewing, paper crafts, and other creative output to titivate my stall.
In spite of these positive things, I can’t deny that selling at markets can be exhausting and overwhelming. I’ve developed a few techniques to manage the stress that a day among so many people can induce.
The story ball vending machine adds to my market day fun.
Bring a healthy lunch. It’s so easy to think, “Oh, I’ll treat myself to something from a vendor for lunch.” But sugary, salty, greasy food leads to feeling depleted and icky by the end of the day. I take carrot sticks, fruit, and a sandwich—all prepared in bite-sized pieces so I can snatch a bite between customers throughout the day.
Get there early, but not too early. I know how long it takes me to set up. To avoid being stressed about not being ready, and to avoid awkward standing around before the market starts, I time my arrival with just enough time to set up and use the toilet.
Rehearse my spiel. I know what I want to say about each of my books, making it short and snappy. By thinking in advance, I don’t flounder awkwardly for the right words with a customer.
Remember, books don’t sell themselves. I use this truth to my advantage when I need a social break. When I’m overwhelmed and don’t want to engage with anyone, I simply take a step back and stop talking to people. I smile politely, but if I don’t attempt to engage, most people won’t engage with me, and I get to take a break.
I’m looking forward to the coming months, hawking my books to readers. Come visit me at these upcoming markets!
Ōtautahi Crafters Market—20 September, 10am – 5pm at South City Mall
Hokitika Christmas Market—16 November, 10am – 2pm at Seaview Lodge
Lincoln Twilight Market—28 November, 5 – 9pm at Lincoln Event Centre
The Goode Christmas Market—30 November, 10am – 3-pm at Pioneer Stadium, Christchurch
Ōtautahi Crafters Market—20 December, 10am – 4pm at the Air Force Museum of NZ, Wigram
Yesterday marked 15 years since the M7.3 earthquake here in Canterbury. I doubt there’s been a single day since then that I haven’t, at some point in the day, thought about earthquakes. I even sleep under a quilt inspired by the 2010 quake.
Working on the quake quilt. Wow! Look how little grey hair I had back then!
Earlier this year, I took a friend, who was visiting from overseas, to Quake City, the museum dedicated to our earthquakes in 2010-2011, which devastated Christchurch. I thought I would be okay visiting the museum, since the quakes were so long ago. But facing that exhibition, everything about those days, weeks, and months came rushing back. At one point, my friend turned to me and said, “You talk like this happened yesterday.”
It felt like it had happened yesterday.
The quakes changed me, changed everyone who was here at the time.
The quakes made me a New Zealander. In the aftermath, when communities were rallying together to help everyone, I realised that this was the place I wanted to be. When the world came crashing down, I wanted to be in a place where university students mobilised a massive volunteer force to dig liquefaction from people’s houses, where farmers airlifted food into the city, where ordinary people organised the collection and distribution of blankets and other homewares for people who had lost everything, where spaces left empty in the city by demolished buildings were turned into temporary parks and places of joy.
The Famous Grouse in Lincoln, post quake.
This week I got the beta reader comments back from my next book, Draconic Search and Rescue, in which the Alpine Fault ruptures, so earthquakes have been on my mind a lot. None of my beta readers experienced the Canterbury quakes—most of them hadn’t even been born yet. Writing the book, I worried that I would frighten my readers (8-13 year-olds are my target market) with a book about the Alpine Fault rupture. When it happens (and it will), the consequences for the whole country will be huge, and some towns are likely to be entirely destroyed. Researching for this book kept me awake at night, inspired me to be even more particular about my own earthquake preparedness, and reminded me that I’m not entirely crazy to ensure that, wherever I go, I’m prepared to walk home (hi vis vest and water bottle in the car, check, comfortable shoes, check, jersey, check).
But my beta readers wanted more danger, more fear. For them, it isn’t real. The rumble of a large truck doesn’t have them pausing to listen, make sure it’s just a truck. They don’t look for the emergency exits every time they enter a room. They don’t mentally assess the construction date of every building and consider whether it will collapse in the next quake.
So this week, I’m ratcheting up the danger in my book. Shoving my characters closer the destruction, maybe breaking a limb or two. And if I’m a bit jumpy for the next week or so, you’ll know why.
Robinne Weiss 