It’s Christmas Eve, and I suppose I should be in holiday mode, preparing for our upcoming tramping trip, baking or cooking something, doing last-minute gift wrapping …
But we had our family Christmas celebration on Sunday, because our daughter is already on her way to Southland for two weeks of climbing, and our son leaves tomorrow. So, with the gifts and fancy meals out of the way, I am ready to get back to work.
Not the day job—I still need a break from that—but writing work is calling me. Which means it’s not really ‘work’, I suppose.
I treat writing as a job that I go to two days a week. I put in long hours on my writing days, and there are certainly days on which it’s hard to keep myself at the desk, plugging away. But the fact I was at the computer typing away at 6.30 am on Christmas Eve tells me writing is more than a job.
As it should be. If I was writing to make a living, I’d be sorely disappointed. Turns out, I can’t not write. The past week, filled with family, celebrations and outings has been fun, but I’ve keenly felt the missed writing days. I’ve been snatching moments here and there (hence the 6.30 am writing session on Christmas Eve), but haven’t had a chance to spend long stretches in the writing zone.
Instead, I’ve been gathering experiences, watching people, squirrelling away ideas. When the holiday madness settles, I’ll be primed and ready to write.
In the meantime, I’ve got a new outdoor poetry chalkboard, made for me by my daughter, to fuel some quick writing exercises. I’m wondering how long I could sustain a poem a day, like I did during lockdown. Or maybe I should limit myself to one a week, in the interests of getting other stuff done, too. So many writing possibilities!
I hope you all have a lovely holiday season doing things that inspire you!
At this time of year, I love chatting with others about their holiday traditions. Every family’s traditions are unique—a combination of family history, ancestry, and geography all mashed together with individual preferences.
Trifle has mostly replaced cookies as my Christmas baking of choice.
And they evolve over time. The Christmas traditions I grew up with are not the ones I practise today. They took a dramatic shift twenty years ago when we moved to New Zealand from Minnesota—northern hemisphere traditions make no seasonal sense here, where Christmas and the summer school holidays coincide.
So my husband and I adapted. Like most Kiwis, our holidays involve travel—we have a tradition of a family backpacking trip the week before Christmas. I always carry a little stuffed reindeer, strapped to the top of my pack, as our holiday hike mascot. We pack Christmas cookies, and usually include one ‘fancy’ camp meal (especially if the tramp extends over Christmas Day).
Our Christmas tree isn’t a pine tree—a cut tree would last about three minutes in the summer heat and wind. Instead, we make our ‘tree’ each year out of whatever materials we have on hand. Making, then decorating the tree is usually a whole-family event.
The LEGO tree of 2019 was one of my favourites, with a motor powering moving parts.
Our big Christmas meal (if we’re not on the trail) is on Christmas Eve—calzones full of vegetables from the garden. We make extras, and enjoy the leftovers for lunch on Christmas Day.
The big day is meant to be a day of relaxation for everyone, so Christmas breakfast sticky buns are made the night before, and rise in the fridge overnight, to be popped into the oven in the morning. After a lunch of leftover calzones, dinner is a big salad accompanied by cheese and bread. Simple as. No slaving in the kitchen on a beautiful summer day.
Boxing Day is beach day for us—along with most of the population of New Zealand—a day to relax with the family and celebrate summertime.
It’s a long way from the hot cocoa, turkey dinners, and carolling of Christmases in my youth, but our traditions do what all good holiday traditions do—they provide opportunities to spend time with family while enjoying seasonal delights.
So happy holidays to you all, and may you enjoy your own traditions, whatever they are! Add a comment with your own traditions!
Today is Thanksgiving in the United States. Since we’ve been in Aotearoa New Zealand, we don’t celebrate the holiday—who has a harvest festival in springtime? Add to the seasonal disconnect the dumpster fire that is world politics at the moment, and you could be forgiven for not feeling terribly thankful this Thanksgiving.
But it’s good to set aside all the frustrations in life (like the frost that has hit the vegetable seedlings every single night since our ‘frost free’ date), and reflect on the good things.
This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for a multitude of things …
My coworkers at my day job—teachers, teaching assistants, and support staff—who are all absolute legends, working under stressful conditions for lousy pay, usually without any recognition of the amazing work they do.
The fellow authors in various author communities I’m a part of, who are supportive of all writers and work together to support, encourage, and promote authors, books, and reading. You are rock stars!
The members of my local garden group, who share freely of their gardens, knowledge, and experience. You are inspiring!
My garden. Maybe it is weird to be thankful for it, because it doesn’t just happen—my husband and I have worked hard to turn this sad paddock into an oasis of food and flowers. But I am thankful for all the plants and soil organisms that have worked with us to make our efforts pay off.
My husband, who is my best friend, greatest fan, and partner in all things.
My kids, whose passion for the people and the world around them remind me that all is not lost yet.
Do you notice the pattern? It’s all about communities—of people, of living things.
I don’t know what’s going to happen in the world over the next few years. Much of it will be pretty bad, I’m guessing. But there are communities around us working for good. There are people who want all our tamariki to be able to read, to have healthy food to eat, clean water to drink, health care and mental health support. There are people around us who don’t think in terms of ‘us’ and ‘them’, but embrace humanity as a whole, in all its diversity. There are people everywhere who care about the people and the world around them.
I am so thankful that these people exist. I am thankful to be part of some of the communities who put this caring into practice in their daily lives.
So, while the world burns around us, I give thanks for the small communities that work tirelessly to put out the fires.
It’s easy to feel like the world is going to hell in a hand basket these days. You can readily believe that there is no kindness left in the world. That no one cares about the earth or community. That values such as integrity and selflessness are dead. That people’s only motivation is money.
Of course that’s not the case, and I’m reminded of that regularly.
I am blessed to be part of a community of vegetable gardeners—people who can restore my faith in humanity. I’ve written about gardeners in the past, but it bears saying again. These are people who have a deep sense of community. They pay attention to the effects their actions have on the land. They give of their time and are generous with food, seeds and plants, sharing what they have with others.
They organise local food pantries and community gardens. They raise funds for charities. They give away produce to those in need. They share their knowledge and skills freely with others. One gardener I know even hands out jars of jam to strangers.
And when those gardeners get together, they can make a difference in communities. Here in New Zealand, it is common for houses in towns to be surrounded by high wooden fences. But in the nearby town of Akaroa, fence heights are restricted, so that people share their gardens with the street. What a difference it makes to the entire feel of the community! It actually feels like a community, and not a collection of houses. I love walking the streets and enjoying everyone’s beautiful gardens.
In the past couple of weeks, I’ve turned to my own garden to escape the drumbeat of depressing news from around the world. The flowers and vegetables transcend politics, war, economics and societal dysfunction. They centre me and give me a respite from the troubles of the outside world.
And as a gardener, I feel compelled to share that respite with others.
So I invite you to come on a brief tour of some of my garden. Stop and smell the roses. Enjoy the scent of the herbs as you brush past them. Munch on some early produce from the vegetable garden. Say hello to the chickens. Bask in the warmth of the greenhouses. Take a moment to unwind and relax.
And most of all, stay safe, stay hopeful, and look after one another.
I’m pleased to show you the cover for the next book in the Rifton Chronicles! I’m loving the bright colours of these cosy urban fantasy covers!
Available: one pub. As is, where is.
Who buys a burnt out pub for their niece’s thirtieth birthday? Katie Cochrane’s aunt, apparently. Faced with the decrepit building, Katie does the only logical thing—starts her own restaurant.
But the Rifton Pub has issues, and fire damage is the least of them.
Patrons who haven’t even had a drink start showing up ‘drunk’ around Rifton, and Katie’s liquor license is suspended.
When the Rifton Garden Group takes notice, Katie is forced to concede that the ‘demon drink’ isn’t responsible for her troubles, but another sort of demon altogether. And it’s going to take all of Rifton’s witches to banish what has taken root.
Another cosy urban fantasy set in Rifton. You might never look at your garden the same way again. Perfect for fans of Legends and Lattes!
I recently participated in ALLI’s SelfPubCon, which focused on the business side of writing. There were sessions on using social media, monetising YouTube, website design, using AI for marketing … I watched video after video that made my brain turn off. Video after video teaching me how to cash in on the advertising deluge we all suffer from online. How do you get those irritating ‘commercials’ into your YouTube videos (so you can make money on them)? How do you use Facebook Ads? How do you cash in on third-party advertising on your website?
Ugh!
I hate the constant bombardment of ads for crap no one needs. Do I really want to be a part of that, even if it can make my writing business profitable? Is that really why I write—so people’s interest in my writing can sell salad spinners, ‘miracle’ weight loss pills and erectile dysfunction products?
I despaired until I stumbled across a session on selling physical books. The panelists in this session talked about selling books at markets and fairs, doing school visits, exploring unusual sales outlets like tourist destinations, how to encourage people to buy your books face-to-face.
Yes! This was my kind of marketing. The kind of marketing I’ve been focusing on in the past year. Talking to people, talking about my books, being in the same physical space with potential readers, watching how people interact with my books. Getting that personal connection with readers in the real world.
Start talking to me about SEO, CTR, and ACOS, and my eyes glaze over. But throw me into a room with a bunch of potential readers, and I’m all over it. Watching the session on physical book marketing, I finally realised that it’s not that I can’t understand the online marketing game, it’s that I don’t want to.
Making money from random pop-up ads in my online content goes against my values. Putting my own random pop-up ads in someone else’s online content goes against my values. Bombarding potential readers online every day goes against my values.
And that’s okay.
I don’t have to participate in that madness.
And, yes, perhaps if I had to pay all my bills with my writing, I would feel differently, because god knows it’s hard to make a living selling books at markets. But I like my day job. And while I would love to write full-time, I know that I gain a lot of writing benefit from my day job. I would be a poorer writer without it.
And if making art is about expressing yourself and your values, then why wouldn’t your marketing reflect that as well?
Indeed, how could I, in good conscience, make money from plastic widgets advertised on my website when my books and stories contain so many environmental themes?
So I will continue to trot out my books at local markets, beside other local artists. I’ll continue to work on the board of the Tamariki Book Festival to help other authors do the same. I’ll chat with readers, listen to grandparents talk about the sorts of books their grandkids like to read, discuss dragons and my favourite dragon books with kids, hand out stickers and bookmarks, visit schools and tell children how hard writing is even for me. And I will sell a few books, sign people up for my newsletter (people who actually want to hear from me), and probably end up spending half what I’ve earned buying art from others.
Is that so bad?
Sounds perfect to me, because it is much more aligned with my values. It values personal connections and supporting others. It recognises the value in the art itself, rather than measuring the value of the art in terms of what else can be marketed alongside it.
And maybe I won’t ever be able to support myself with my writing. But I will be true to myself.
And … um … not to deluge you with marketing, but if you happen to be in the area, come say hello and pick up some Christmas gifts at these upcoming markets:Â
I’m part of a local group of keen vegetable gardeners who meet fortnightly throughout the growing season. Each meetup involves a tour around someone’s garden, and then a cup of tea, while we discuss our gardens and gardening, complain about the weather, and generally catch up with each other.
Our most recent gathering was at a garden just 200 metres down the road from our house. Bev’s been gardening there for over 20 years, and the property is beautifully sheltered by large hedges and mature plantings.
And even though we live only a three minute walk away from one another, our gardens grow remarkably differently.
Bev’s is almost always a week or two ahead of mine. And not just because she plants earlier than I do—her tree and berry crops leaf out, bloom and fruit before mine do. She plants out her tomatoes before I do, her carrots germinate more rapidly and grow more quickly, her peas outstrip mine within weeks of germination, her green beans produce pods a week ahead of mine. The differences are remarkable.
We are so close to one another, the temperature and rainfall on our two gardens is all but identical. But Bev has created an amazing microclimate for her plants with rich soil and excellent shelter.
Other women in the group have done similar wonders on their properties, creating striking pockets of abundance by carefully manipulating the microclimate in their gardens. In fact, my garden is sometimes behind other group members’ gardens in colder locations.
It’s something to aspire to. Having started with a bare paddock with no topsoil four and a half years ago, we’ve come a long way on our property, but we also have a long way to go. We are incredibly fortunate to have amazing gardeners nearby to inspire us to keep working towards our own pocket of abundance.
The natural microclimate of our property is apparently perfect for dandelions, because they are abundant and healthy everywhere.We haven’t managed a good microclimate for citrus yet, except in the greenhouse.We do manage to grow great broad beans!
Like many writers, I’m often discouraged at how difficult it is to actually make a living by writing. And like many writers, I dream of the day when writing actually pays the mortgage and the power bill.
To hopefully take another step closer to that day, I’ve started a Ko-fi page, where readers can give a one-off donation, or buy a monthly subscription to get stories and behind-the-scenes peeks not available to anyone else.
For as little as $1 a month, you can get access to Two-minute Tales: weekly podcasts of micro-stories written just for you. Or purchase a $5 or $10 subscription for more stories, sneak previews, and early access to stories and books.
By subscribing, you’ll not only help me afford the editors and cover designers I need to produce more books, but you’ll also help me transform my books into audiobooks, which I’ve been wanting to do for years.
This is my first foray into offering a subscription service, so let me know if there are other things you’d like with your subscription. I’m sure I’ll be adding things as I go.
Head on over to my Ko-fi page to find out more about how you can join me on my writing journey!
It’s always exciting when we cross over onto the light side of the equinox. The whole garden responds to the rapidly lengthening days. Daffodils and tulips run riot. Pale fingers of asparagus poke up through the mulch. Artichokes spring up from winter-lush plants. Perennial herbs suddenly flush green with new growth. Fruit trees turn snowy with blossoms. Vegetable seedlings seem to double in size overnight.
The weeds, too, spring up overnight. And the rats and devouring sparrows multiply. Aphid populations explode. Spring isn’t all fun and games.
Fortunately, the gardener responds, too. I wake with the magpies warbling as the sky begins to shade from black to grey. I spend more of my weekend hours in the garden. I snatch a few minutes to water or weed before and after work. On my writing days, my lunchtime walk is replaced by lunchtime gardening. Daily life begins to mould around the sun and the plants that respond to it.
It is exciting, and it can be daunting to look forward to all the work that the new growing season entails—the planting, weeding, watering, harvesting, processing …
But it’s important to simply sit and enjoy. Our garden is four years old this year, and this spring I feel as if it is coming into its own. My husband recently built trellises for espaliered apple trees, and with the planting of those trees, the gardens in the front are finally ‘finished’. Not that there isn’t lots of work to do out there, but all the pieces of the plan for that space are in place.
In the vegetable garden, too, the final piece—the garden shed—is enjoying its first spring of use (and what a joy to work in there, potting up tomatoes or planting seeds!). After the application of, literally, tonnes of manure and compost over the last four years, the garden soil promises reasonable productivity, and we can count on plenty of fruit and vegetables in the coming months.
I find myself spending more time enjoying the garden this spring than I remember doing anytime recently. What better excuse for a cup of tea on the porch than that the daffodils are spectacular, or the bees are humming in the rosemary blossoms?
So here’s a bit of my spring garden for you. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!
I took another step on my quest for the perfect carrot cake icing on Sunday. This variation on cream cheese icing is made into a fluffy confection with the addition of quite a lot of cream, slowly beaten into the already fluffy cream cheese.
I had my doubts. I’m not overly fond of a straight whipped cream topping. Would the cream cheese flavour come through enough? Would there be enough tart zing to it to offset the sweet?
The answer was no.
Don’t get me wrong, this icing is GOOD! There’s enough cream cheesy goodness to give it body and depth of flavour. And the addition of cream means it gets away with having half as much sugar as other cream cheese frostings. The texture is divine—smooth and creamy, with a lightness you don’t often get in a cream cheese frosting. It’s delightful on the lemon and blackberry cupcakes I used it on.
But is it the perfect carrot cake icing? Not quite.
So, the first icing was great on flavour, lousy on texture. This one is amazing for texture, not right for flavour. I can work with that. Trial number three will be a fusion of the two, hoping for that perfect balance.
It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it. 😉
Meanwhile, I do recommend frosting #2. I think it would be spectacular on chocolate cake, and absolutely stunning rolled up in a bûche de Noël. Here’s the recipe if you want to give it a go:
170 g cream cheese 3/4 cup icing sugar (confectioner’s sugar), sifted 1 1/2 tsp vanilla 1 cup heavy cream
Beat the cream cheese until fluffy. Add the sugar and vanilla and beat until smooth. With the mixer on low, slowly pour in the cream. Then turn the mixer on high and beat until stiff peaks form.
Because of the quantity of cream in this frosting, I recommend storing cakes with this frosting in the fridge.
Robinne Weiss 