Mission 043: Where Susan uses her powers for the common good

This poor old blog. Mouldering in a corner, gathering dust.
At least it would gather dust if it was a tangible thing, rather than a virtual space. I've even considered deleting it. My other blog seems much more useful.

Though this blog still has some uses. Google rates it. So as I have a very important other site on the go, it's time to use this one to give it a plug. I'm not an online guru by any means, but I know enough to know that inbound links are like veins of life for a new site.

Connecting Waterview is a new community website for my suburb, Waterview, in Auckland, which aims to mitigate the effects of a motorway connection - the so-called Waterview Connection - which is planned to go right through the area. Thankfully, the New Zealand Transport Agency have decided that the bit that goes closest to us will be a tunnel. However, they seem to think that it's acceptable to stick a 7 story unfiltered emissions vent and an enormous control building right in the middle of the neighbourhood - next to a primary school. It's town planning in the dark ages. And it needs to change.

Waterview is a small suburb but not unimportant. It has one of the most diverse communities I've lived in, which is a heart-warming thing. People are friendly too - at my place, the fence adjoins five other properties, and I know all my neighbours' names – and their dogs' and kids' names too. I also know people across the road, down the road and several streets over. I've never lived anywhere where I've been so connected to the people in my 'hood.

It seems a shame that the motorway project has been dubbed 'The Waterview Connection' when the real Waterview Connection is what's going on inside the community. And that's what I love about the Connecting Waterview site – it aims to build on that and make it better, despite the big old bad-ass motorway and tunnel.

And that can only be a good thing.

I project managed and wrote the site, so I am biased, of course. It was even a paid job, but if I added up the time I've spent on it, I would be working for well under the minimum wage. But hey, life isn't always about cash.

This time, it's about community.

Through Connecting Waterview, I hope our community's better off.

So Google – and the rest of you – go find it. Use the links, or find it at www.connectingwaterview.org.nz

And while you're there, add your name to the Waterview Connection submission.

Waterview will thank you for it. And so will I.

Mission 042: Where Susan sets some limits

My book is not progressing as fast as I'd like it to. Not nearly as fast.

Some might be satisfied with 2,000 words a week. But not me. Not now. Not for the finish line I have in sight. It's as painful and laborious as a snail in PVA glue.

So a new deadline. Time to put some of the books away; these other authorial voices that have been tagging along, interjecting while I write. The last one was Marilynne Robinson - Gilead. Wonderful book. Spectacularly realised voice. But not the voice I want drawling over my shoulder putting my own characters off.

So, bye other books. Sayonara. Ciao. I'm taking a little break (that's not a mission by the way, just a declaration of general intent). See you in the spring.

My latest goal: 2,000 words a day (5 days). 10,000 words a week.

Oh, what else. Oooooh, you need a photo (in keeping with the last mission).
Hmm. What to put in?
Er, here, have this one. It's a bit random, but I didn't promise to make the photos relevant, after all.

Mission 041: Where Susan adds some necessary accessories

It is a cold, grey, rainy winter's day here in Auckland. It's one of those days when the most appealing things in life have cushions or pillows. (Hello DVDs and sofa. Hello books in bed.) The sky outside is a cool monochrome London sort of grey - the kind that permeates all other colours, so even a lush green garden looks somehow less alive.

You'd think that in this house, we might not notice the extra grey so much, or bother about it. The Buckwell after all is an architect, with a strong leaning towards minimalism. (Colours are for accents.) Sometimes, I think if he had his way, even the sofa would be made of concrete.

We have a blue-grey dog.
A charcoal-grey sofa.
An elephant-grey throw on the end of the bed.
A teeny tiny hallway painted a deep shade of Dulux Maraetai grey.
Our steel-grey and black Mini Cooper S sits on the grey concrete driveway.
I am wearing a long cowl-neck jumper, striped with shades of grey and white.
The bathroom is bedecked with mouse-grey towels, and a bathmat the same shade as the dog.
Even our black and white cat - who just now came in sodden from the rain, stalked past me and jumped on the bed, putting brown muddy footprints on the white, grey and and green duvet cover - would look grey if you mixed his fur up better.

I am not complaining about the grey. But today's grey is precisely noticeable because until now, we have had weeks of gorgeous winter weather: lots of blue sky days, crisp frosty mornings and clear chilly evenings - perfect for sitting by the fire with a glass of pinot noir.

In fact, even my blog looks kind of grey today. And it's easy to see why - there are no pictures!
So tis born my new mission. More pics for the kids!

Just like the bright pink and orange cushions on the grey sofa, and the white, purple and red Danish light shade in the grey hallway, a few slapdash photos are necessary accessories to brighten my blog.

So here is today's. Our grey dog. And what a handsome chap he is.




Ah, what the hell, while I'm at it, have another one. This is the cat, posing on the grey sofa. Note all the fur he has kindly rubbed all over it because it's just after I vacuumed.

Update: Mission 037

I missed the 20 May deadline to get the Buckwell to get the drawings into council, to keep me on track to get the extension built at number 14. It could still happen, but I'm realistic that one missed mini deadline makes the chances slimmer of making the big deadline.

And now there is one other thing that might cause the mission to fall over.

The Buckwell read the blog.

The Buckwell never reads the blog. But several days ago, he read the newest entry, then decided to go for the back issues. I tried to distract him with a glass of whiskey and a plate of cheese, but he was having none of it. He read back, and back, until he got to Mission 037.

He said nothing while he read. Instead, he just smirked a little, and raised his eyebrows in a sort of a "we'll see, shall we", expression. Then, when he finished, he looked over at me on the sofa, where I was busy pretending to read a book, and trying desperately to make out that I did not care that he was reading the blog, and even if he did, then if I did not acknowledge that he'd read the blog, then he would not comment and forget about the blog, and I could continue my machinations to see it through to its deadline.

He looked at me with a faint smile. "That's funny," he said.
"But is it realistic?" I asked.
"Maybe," he said.

I got my hopes up - perhaps my extension mission was not dead in the water!

But it is now several days later, and the extension drawings are still in a pile gathering dust...

Mission 040: Where Susan saves the planet

It is 5:58pm.
The house is freezing.
We do not have a heater.
Although we do have a fireplace, in which I have set a fire, ready to go.
I want to light it.
Badly.

But the longer the fire is on, the more wood I burn, and the faster the planet burns too.
Bloody carbon.

Therefore, my mission is to hold out until the Buckwell gets home and there are two of us to damn the planet. Then, and only then, will I light the fire.

In the meantime, I will stay at the laptop, moving my frozen fingers rapidly over its warm keyboard, until the euphoria caused by writing causes the rest of my body to emit a toasty literary glow.

What bollocks I am talking. Forget it. This is a f**king stupid pointless mission.
I'm putting on the fire now. And opening a bottle of wine.

Mission 039: Where Susan turns an accident into a piece of literature

I have just had a slight and foolish accident which, hopefully, is not going to result in any outward physical injuries. It was caused, inadvertently, by one of my damn library books (21 at last count). It was not, before you jump to conclusions, caused by the leaning tower of books on the bedside table.
Instead, I was in the study/laundry/library scanning several pages of the Gotham Writers Workshop book, as it is already a few days late, and although I am loathe to give it back, I realise that if I keep it too much longer, that it will be cheaper to buy my own copy. So I have scanned 50 pages to keep me going until I order one from Amazon (I would use Fishpond, but they don't have the most up-to-date version - boo, Fishpond; sort yourself out). As I finished scanning, I picked up the laptop to return to the lounge. As I did so, it slipped and clouted me on the nose. Don't ask what sort of a position you need to be in to cause this sort of an injury; suffice to say it is awkward. (The study/laundry/library/storeroom is very small and requires a highly able person, preferably without snowboarding knee ailment.)

I spent the next five minutes with a packet of frozen edamame clamped against my nose and upper lip, until I could no longer bear it (today is the coldest day of the year so far).

It is now almost half an hour later. It still hurts. I don't think it is broken. But I will not be happy if I get a bruise. (Athough it is likely.)

So I am going to turn this unfortunate incident into a poem. What can I say. I'm a writer. That's what I do. (Unless I am procrastinating.) Deadline 25 May.

Mission 038: Where Susan has a clear-out

10 signs that autumn has officially arrived at our house:

We have used the fire (twice)
We are (mostly) wearing socks inside instead of bare feet (must buy slippers).
The leaves have fallen off the peach tree and the fruit is ripening on the mandarin tree
We are no longer drinking sauvignon blanc, but are preferring hearty reds, such as shiraz voigners and cabernet sauvignons.
Instead of talking about going to Waiheke Island for the weekend, we are talking about buying snowboards and going to Ruapehu.
We had a chorizo sausage casserole thingy last night for dinner.
The barbecue is gathering dust.
My tan has faded.
In last night's shopping we bought two Ponsonby pies and bunged them in the freezer, anticipating that they might become a warming Saturday lunch.
Quinces and pumpkins are really cheap at the moment.

Can't complain. After all, it will officially be winter here in three weeks, and some days it still feels as if it could be summer in London. However, although the coat cupboard has started seeing some action, there are lots of clothes that need to be banished, because in our teeny tiny house, there's only enough room for one season at a time. So I present to you - the autumn spring clean. Deadline: 18 May.

Mission 037: Where Susan pushes for more space

Six months the Buckwell and I have been in our little house, which at 55 m2 consists of:
one lounge
one kitchen
one bathroom
one bedroom
one laundry/study/library/storeroom

It is a very cute house, and just perfect in summer for two people freshly moved back from the UK, from an apartment the same size.

It is not, however, big enough for two people, one cat and a dog. Especially in winter, when the french doors are closed, and the dog has been outside for a wee in the rain and has come back in stinking of wet dog. And the study/laundry/library/storeroom is too cold to write in without gloves and ugg boots on, so the dining table (which is squished into the lounge room) is covered with all manner of folders and books and pens. And three laptops.

Last weekend, some friends rang to see if they could pop in for a visit with their two children, but it was raining, and even though the Buckwell was away, there would have been three adults, two children, one dog and a cat stuffed into one small lounge room. I had to tell them all to go home. I was actually busy writing (that was my legitimate excuse for barring the gate), but really, even if I hadn't been, there's no room at number 14 for rainy day visitors.

In the beginning, we blabbed to plenty of people about how we were building an extension onto our wee house. "It should be done by Christmas," we said to UK-based friends. "You can come and stay."

We meant Christmas 2008, although thankfully, no-one took us up on the offer, or they would've been camping in the back garden. And now Christmas 2009 is looking increasingly less likely, too. The trouble is that our architect (the Buckwell) has too much on his plate to have time to draw up the extension and get it into council. And, ironically, the house is too small to work in without distractions.

So from today, I am going to set some deadlines, clear some space, and motivate the Buckwell into getting it done. He has no idea that I am setting these deadlines, and is unlikely to read this blog and find out. So this mission is more about motivating someone else, rather than me doing.

These are the deadlines:
Drawings into council: 20 May
Obtain quotes on work: 1 June
On site by: 25 June
Extension complete by: 25 August (just in time for me to have a birthday party in the 'new house').

Wish me luck.