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Summer! I see you!

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So I have a date on Saturday night. And then a wine and food festival on Sunday. And then next weekend I have a wedding in Christchurch (where I’m bound to be murdered, since Christchurch is now like the SIN CAPITAL OF NEW ZEALAND, deceptive rose gardens and tea shoppes aside). And then the next weekend is the Pearl Jam roadtrip, a week with my brother, my birthday. Xmas at home, back up to Northland for new year…

My brother is having an open second Christmas and new year thing — he and Hayley invited their whole Facebooks, and people are bringing tents and camping on his lawn and the beach in front of his house. Like a bazillion people are going, and he has ONE TOILET. Potential for hilarity: huge! Also, he went to ask the Christian camp next door if he could use their field to pitch tents, and they are having AN ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS SUMMIT! There will be ONE HUNDRED ALCOHOLICS camping next door to our WEEK LONG PARTY! Potential for hilarity: unquantifiable!!

… and then I’m meeting Kelly, Daniel and Kelly’s sister Lizzy in the Coromandel and we’re camping at Hot Water Beach for a few days. We’re going on a horse trek and kayaking in Cathedral Cove and DRINKING A BUTTLOAD OF BOOZE ON THE BEACH.

UNF UNF UNF UNF.

Also: next book is CHEWING AT MY MIND. Sparks is getting shut in a drawer in January while I write the first draft, and afterwards, once we’ve had a chance to chill out about each other, we’ll re-evaluate our relationship. But, even if I DO manage to fix all the things wrong with it, I don’t even think I’m going to query with it, since it’s not actually my style/genre, and I don’t WANT an agent expecting me to produce further versions of it. Why, then, did I write it, you may ask! To which I reply: GOOD QUESTION! Goodbye, a year’s work. I learned a lot from you, but you are ultimately not what I want to say to the world. It’s not you, it’s me.

Well, no, it’s you. But that’s my fault. I created you. But I have learned from your shabby tension and conflicted characters! I may or may not be able to make you what I meant you to be, but I love you for what you are.

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Writer of things. Annoyer of cats.

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