'Write Drunk, Edit Sober'

 I read a blog today that considered Ernest Hemingway's infamous quote 'Write Drunk and Edit Sober'. And it got me thinking about interpretations. I know we all look and see things in different ways, we wouldn't have half as interesting conversations if we didn't; but I didn't even need to get the the end of the article to have my mind made up. And to talk about it. (Notice what I'm doing now?)

 While I usually agree with said writer, this time I had to oppose.

 He seemed to take the 'ism' very literally. I know that Hemingway was addicted to alcohol and in some ways he possibly was being relatively literal. But I don't know, I just don't see it. It seems to revert a rather resonate (for me anyway) and turn it into a boring everyday sentence. And I feel that sticking to the meaning as meant word for word doesn't quite do Hemingway any justice. Like... at all. I don't like that.

 Maybe it's just me being a romantic. Maybe it's just me being naive. Maybe it's just me in general. But while you can argue the misperception and allusion to addiction, perhaps you'll take a small moment to consider this.

 What if Hemingway wasn't referring to alcohol at all?

 What if the "Write Drunk" element of the saying was referring, not in fact to being drunk or under the influence or being intoxicated by any form of drug - be it alcohol or otherwise. What if he was actually referring the the carelessness of feeling drunk? What if he was referring to the giddy, mindless feeling that you experience when you have been drinking? That 'I'll do what I want because I want to and there's nothing you can do about it" feeling. What if he was actually trying to say was 'Write whatever you want because you can. Because no one will see this but you.' Because really, what's the harm in popping a ill-timed joke, or some little 'ism' that may be a little risky or something a little more risqué than you'd usual write? At the end of the day. A first draft is only a first draft.

 Perhaps in fact, discarding the fact the Hemingway did suffer from addition (though I have read that he rarely, if ever, wrote under the influence), he really did just mean, write what ever you want and then cut it out with a clear and sensible head. That if you tried, you might find that that ill-timed joke wasn't quite so 'ill-timed' after all. Because that's what imagination is for isn't it? To enjoy and to go a little wild with. To frolic with until you read it back and think 'Oy, I really wrote that?'

Write first and edit after.

 Am I wrong to be so hopeful? So 'romantic' as it were?

 Am I being naive?

 I hope not because, personally I couldn't think of better advice.

Friendship

Here we go. Topic number two. It just popped into my head, so let's just go with it okay? Fabulous.


Topic Two
Number Two in the blithering idiot Saga
Numero Dos


I have come to the sudden and recent understanding that I am in fact a very shitty friend.
Now I'm not saying this to upset anyone or make anyone try to deny it (because I know all you're finger's are simply itching to write something in the comment box). I know a lot of people say and believe this. But I'm not just saying it. I know I'm a terrible friend.

For a start I'm a pretty selfish person. If I don't want to do something, I won't do it. This is just the way I've been for the past, I don't know, five ish years. I've been allowed to do it and it has gotten to the point where, I don't know if I do it because I want to or just because it's what I do. I.e Sit on my own in my room doing whatever the fuck I want. No judgement. Then of course I had the excuse of, but all my friends are at uni. Well they weren't were they, because I'd already lost all my friends by then. I'd already let myself sink into my pathetic little hole of doing as little as possible. So people asked me to do things, not really very often, and I said no, because being by myself was easier.

So now look at me. I want to go out, now no one will come with me. I don't mind not going out. That isn't the issue. My issue is now that I just feel. Lousy. Like a lousy, shitty, rubbish friend that doesn't really have any friends at all because she didn't look after the ones that she had in the first place. And where the hell am I going to find new ones if I can't get the ones I know I love back?

Because I do, I really do love the friends that I have, and I like their friends, but for some reason when I'm around girls my own age I turn into this little reserved nerd person, that knows she has nothing worth talking about to say. They don't even think about me. Because why the hell should they? Why the hell would they?

I have better relationships (friendship wise) with forty year old men than I do with people my own age? Why is this? Really, don't understand. How messed up is that?

Do you ever wonder if some people just aren't supposed to have friends? If some people are just born to be little hermit people that never leave their houses, never meet anyone. Just go to and from work and never leave the house except to buy food and to visit their mothers when they start calling every day asking if they have married someone in the past twenty four hours in which they called.

I don't know. I know that A) I'm the only one to blame and B) I'm the only one that can do anything about it. I know that. And I semi and planning on it. It's just a little bit. Well, intimidating isn't it? It means I need to seriously change my outlook on... well everything.

....

I'll let you know, shall I?

Art.

Welcome to the feature I'm really, really going to try to keep up with, I'm going to say at least monthly, if not more, in which I pick a topic out of misty life contorted air and blabber on about it. Won't this be fun? Come on, you know you love my endless, boring, nattering, bullshit. Sorry, couldn't think of anything more eloquent than that.


Right, on with the show.


Topic One.
Exhibit A.
Numero Uno.

Art.

I had had every intention of going to the cinema tonight. I was going to watch X Men, like the badass that I know I am (harhar) then you know- that plan fell through because I remembered, of course - I had already promised to go to my friends art exhibition (you can't see my face but imagine a disgruntled teenager huffing typically) but, whatever, I figured I'd be what, half an hour max? Before I'd be able to make my less than painful escape, come home, watch TV, read a bit maybe. Just, sort of chill. But guess what? It's Wednesday, and there is nothing to watch except the Bulletproof Monk, which by the way, I've seen a thousand and ten times, and I still cringe at its awfulness. So here I am, aren't you lucky?

So I went to this art show expecting little and dreading more. Because I was feeling close minded and worse, like a boring old fart that couldn't be doing with any B.S interpretation of modern art. I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit that I pretty much only looked at my friends work before making the oh-so-desperate escape.

Yeah, I do feel bad. But let me explain. I didn't want to go. I only went to show moral support, I don't enjoy looking at art and while, sometimes, if I'm in the mood I'll go with it, I just wasn't in the mood. (Yes. I'm just making excuses.) Because as soon as I got there they started ask me if I was going out with them after, even though I had already said no, and when normally that wouldn't be a problem, it just irritates my already tired mind to be pestered. And I definitely don't want to go out with people that are clearly on the prowl, and I definitely don't want to go out looking like I'd been stuck in an office all day, i.e dirty clothes, hair flat, mascara smudged, tights dusty enough to look like I'd rolled around on the workshop floor. (No I hadn't, but I had taken a seat on a lump of oak this afternoon). I'm moving off topic again.


ART.

Art.

...Art...


I want to say something inspiring or thought provoking, but I don't think it's going to happen with this one. Oh well, you can't have everything.

I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that is something to do with the way you feel about art right? Because usually art has to have some sort of beauty for someone, it has to mean something to someone to be art, doesn't it. Even if it isn't physically beautiful, art can be metaphorically beautiful too, which has something to do with that whole interpretation thing that I was just discrediting... Maybe I should retract the previous statement, and simply suggest that while I will try, sometimes, to interpret art in my own slow and unimaginative way, but not to the extent where I need to figure out what the point of that random seemingly ordinary chair is. Or is that the point? I don't know? Why can't these people just sit down and read a good book?

It's far too confusing for my small mind to even try to comprehend.

So I'm going to do what the art intended. And stop trying to understand it and enjoy it, or not. (Mostly, knowing me, not). Because, that is the point, isn't it?

Is it?

Joseph Kosuth - One and Three Chairs (Wiki)

First and Foremost

If you had no commitments. No restrictions holding you back. If money was no object and no dream was big enough. If you had the chance to do anything tomorrow, what would you do?

I mean really. If you could do anything, tomorrow, with no consequences toward your responsibilities or commitments. What would you change if you had the chance?

We all have dreams. We all make promises to our selves that in six months this will have changed, or that will have. But really, what do we do to actually reach those goals. We, or I certainly am, just living off whims. And it isn't working, because the whim never lasts. I'm so sick of listening to my whims and wasting time and money on phases. It's boring and I'm tired. I can't take any more of this lying to myself. So I have made a decision.

If I don't like something. I have to change it.

I don't like listening to my whims and it leading to nothing, I have two choices.

1. Stop listening to whims.

2. Stop letting them lead to nothing.

The first seems the easier. But what is easy isn't always right. Is it? What sort of boring life would I lead were we not to listen to our whims? We'd be stuck doing the same thing every day, ignoring spontaneity and probably most fun. And lets be honest, we all like to follow a good whim from time to time. And they aren't all bad. Hey, I'm writing this on a whim aren't I?

That only leads to the second. Stop letting the big stuff go.

Okay, you can let the whim to draw a moustache on your sleeping sisters face. You can probably let that go, especially when you've got witnesses and you know you won't live to see the next sunrise as soon as she finds out exactly who violated her face with a permanent marker. But what about the other ones? If we have a sudden notion to do something big, something special, or important, shouldn't we go for it.

And no, I'm not suggesting you go and rob a bank. I can't condone illegal behaviour, in the current climate. I also could never condone someone putting a stocking over their face. Does that even work?
Anyway, back on track. I guess what I'm trying to say in my round about mumbo jumbo is this: why must we dismiss our urges because they're 'unrealistic'.

So you have an urge to go travelling.

So go!

You have commitments?

So do I. Doesn't every one.

You want a tattoo?

Get something that means something to your current state in time. You want a flower because it's summer. I'm not going to judge. It's just a permanent memoir of that summer isn't it. I got mine on a whim. And sure it's scary because it's permanent. But that doesn't mean you have to regret it afterwards, does it?

It doesn't have to be unrealistic, you can make it a little more sensible. Want to go travelling? Take your two weeks holiday and don't waste it. Do what you want and go for it. Come back to work satisfied and start planning what you're going to do next year.

Sorry it keeps coming back to travel, I guess one can't escape their own whims after all.

So if you literally metaphorically had the world at your feet and you could do anything or go any where tomorrow. What would you do?


I'm not going into the 'if today was your last day' and you only had one day. I'm talking about, you have infinite amounts of time and money, even skill if you want to do something you aren't actually trained to do (we'll come back to this with an example later) or, god forbid, something that would change your life and your way of thinking forever.

Would you get a tattoo?
Would you move out?
Would you build something?
Would you change your job?
Go back to school?
Would you travel?

I would. I'd jump in a beat up old wagon (a reliable one obviously), or a motorbike with stack loads of cash and drive. And drive. Or jump on a freight train. To run away. And I wouldn't stop until I felt like I'd found the place, or the person, that I belonged with. Until I'd found home.

And I don't even know how to drive either.

Is it so terrible to wish for something as simple and complicated as that?

It's unrealistic, but not impossible. So I might only be able to do one city or region at a time. So it'll take a little more time that I wanted. Isn't that better than doing nothing at all? Than letting the opportunity to simply pass me by? Not a chance. So I'll have to squeeze things again and it'll be a little rougher than I wanted. Better than staying fine wasting my holiday sat on my laptop trolling the internet.

And this all comes back to inspiration doesn't it. Or lack of. How are we supposed to keep ourselves inspired in order to keep up with all of these dreams. How do we stay inspired enough for our aspirations?

So I'm decided. Enough is enough. It's time to act.

Wanderlust.

Well, it’s been a long time my friends. I haven’t done this for a while. But once again I’ve been inspired to write it all down and then just let it go. You can thank author Jeff Goins for this one. You’ll have to bear with me too while I get back into the swing of things.

At the moment I’m on a bus driving from Rotorua to Auckland in New Zealand for New Years. And boy has it been a whirlwind this morning. We woke up and it was pissing it down. Fan-bloody-tastic. Can you imagine? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Needing to check out at ten. The bus that will take us to the city centre will be another half an hour, which isn’t much if you have shelter, or it isn’t raining. But we don’t and it is and our bags are stupidly large. Oh yeah, and I fell down the stairs. So my back and arms are hurting, we’re standing in the rain with our wannabe waterproof coats, waiting, knowing that even when we do finally get to the city, we’re still going to have to wait another hour and a half until our coach gets here. Oh yeah, and we already both started crying down the phone to our mother, but more on that later.

We’ve been in New Zealand and away from home for three and a half months now. God has it flown too. We were supposed to have about two more months left, until we decided to change our flights about a month ago to get home earlier when we realised how little money we had left to spend there. I was happy with this decision. We were ready to come home and cutting our time short was going to be no huge deal.

But then it was Christmas, and a place we thought we had paid for before we left England, needed to be paid. A hundred pounds lost. And we wanted to celebrate, so we went to Hobbiton – which was amazing, for the record – that’s another hundred pounds between us. And Jesus Christ is that all we have left, even after money for Christmas? Holy shit, are you kidding me? We’re going to have to cut it even shorter.

This wouldn’t have upset me overly much if my travelling companion, aka, my sister, hadn’t pretty much gone behind my back and made the decision without the slightest bit of communication. Hell, I didn’t even know what it was that was bothering her until she started crying down the phone to our mum because she shouted at me for reading the Facebook message she’d sent. Having said that. I do understand her upset and worry. Hell I feel it myself. I just feel sad that she didn’t think to speak to me about it.

Being out here has also made me feel incredibly lonely. Hiding behind a mask of bitterness and disgust is easier when you have a friend that does it too. And I miss my bitter best friend. I haven’t spoken to her for months. What with her being at Uni, and the time difference. I don’t want her to forget about me. But I feel like it’s slightly inevitable. I’m not a particularly memorable person. I just feel incredibly sad without her around to remind me that it’s okay to be myself. With just Lauren for company, sometimes I have to be more careful than I would be elsewhere. I forget most of the time, hence we’ve had a plethora of arguments about god knows what.

I guess the worst part about it is, is that it’s all just a possibility. Not only that, but I feel… disappointed. Almost like I’ve failed. I was okay the first time. But now I’m dissatisfied with the whole situation. I feel like I haven’t given this country the exploration it deserved. I haven’t hiked. We couldn’t afford to rent a car so we haven’t been able to stop at look out points or go on quick walks down to a secluded beach. I feel like I’ve let New Zealand down by not giving it the chance it deserves. And the truth is, despite knowing that I don’t want to live here, partially because I’m not ready to consider leaving England for good, and partially because I think living here would spoil the fantasy of the place, would take away the ‘wow’ factor of those mountains.

I know that America is easier to get to as well, which was why I was prepared to cut our time short there. But not to the point where we’re rushing from place to place in order to see anything, catch flights and otherwise. Maybe we won’t even stay there at all anymore. It’s a huge shame, and I’m really sad about it, but, I’m ready to go home. As much as I wish we could stay there, it’s just unrealistic. I’ve already decided that I’m going to book a trip to San Francisco as soon as possible. As soon as I can afford it. Then New Orleans. Then Lauren will probably want to go to Germany, Ireland, Scotland and before you know it, my best friend will have left Uni and will be planning some travelling of her own. Possibly. Maybe I’ll join her somewhere for a little. But then… What about College. My dad wants me to go back and study Business, but I can work around that right? Of course I can, and it won’t kill me to miss a lesson or two will it? A long weekend here and there won’t do any harm.

I’m determined.

This trip has not gone to planned, I feel disappointed and sad and let down. But I feel exhilarated as well. And excited. I know now. I know what to expect, I know how to plan and what to plan for. I’m experienced now. And I’ve caught the bug.

I’m ready to experience the world. And I’m prepared for it.

18th September To 4th October.

So, it's time to update. Where was I... Ah yes, we'd just arrived in Auckland and were both massively upset having spent twenty-nine hours travelling and having slept for about four of them, we were jet lagged, old-fashioned-tired and away from home. So having gotten into the hotel, The Quadrant, eaten a packet of Snakajacks and a king sized bag of Revels, we were asleep by seven.

The next morning, having awoken at about six in the morning after a blissful and uneventful sleep we contacted home. The first is always the hardest, when the sudden realisation that you aren't going to see the people on the screen, in the flesh, for a long time. In this state we decided to go down to breakfast, free in the deal we purchased along with our room. So we filled up on bowls of coco-pops and vegamite on toast, home comforts that made me feel better almost immediately. Well, in the cold rainy light of the city anyway.

We explored the first day, walking around the town aimlessly as we searched for coffee and something to have for lunch. The main street that captured our attention was not Queens Street, the main street of the city, but the High Street, the smaller, a little more characteristic street behind the main one, typically London in feeling as many large cities are. The problem was, that as soon as we found the places we liked, the more hesitant we were to look around much more... So we got a wide and undetailed glance at the city. Walking around the centre, we couldn't really see the New Zealand that we had psyched ourselves up for. There was no green, no mountains, only the Harbour that presented a rather clearer look at the sea than we'd see in England.

The second day took us to the Auckland Art Gallery. Lauren is the expert, and I supposed if I hadn't been mortally embarrassed having had to remove my bag from my back and carry it by hand, for what reason I wasn't sure and too far into the building to bother taking back to the reception. Uncomfortable and red faced I walked past the art, sometimes appreciated other times not, due to my lack of and unappreciation of culture and art. It's awful I know, but I did like some of it. Most of it, in fact, I just don't know if I deserved it...

The week flew by as we attempted to get over our jet lag, going into the town, buying food and browsing shops.

One day, having brought iced coffee we were sat by a fountain, enjoying the first of our New Zealand sun when a group of teenagers approached us... or rather, the slightly covered area in which we were sat.
"We want to light some cones, don't mind do you?" One of them asked.
"Um, no." We replied, slightly unsure to what exactly they were referring. What the hell were cones? Oh, we realised, when the mutilated bottle, looking very much like a bong, and the tobacco like substance was brought out. Weed. We politely declined the offer to join them and sat talking to them about the differences of home and NZ. We found little really, most of the swear words were the same, the varying levels of patriotism, the home life. They were nice though, offering advice as to where we should go and what we should do in the country and the city, they themselves were from a little further up North and not natives of Auckland, but seemed comfortable enough there.

Aside from this chance meeting, little else happened, a few days before our departure we ceased going down to breakfast, having been asked whether or not we still got the breakfast for free. We were sure we did... She went to check and was ages. We waited in awkward silence. We had to go and ask if it was okay to eat. It was. We didn't go down for breakfast again. Instead we stayed in our room and watched as the Kiwi's lost the America's Cup...

We left a few days later and were on our way to Warkworth. We were excited. We were about to start our first helpx. We had corresponded with Val a lot and knew that we were going to be welcomed warmly by her. Of course we were nervous, and still pretty homesick, but we had a hunch we would be well looked after. For those of you that don't know what helpxing is, it's volunteering. We volunteer our help for bed and board. While we still, so far have brought our own food whilst living with her, she cooks and prepares the main meals. Choice!

We arrived in the picturesque little town of Warkworth, and having been quickly reminded of several small similar towns back home we figured, yeah, we'd be quite at home there. We were greeted by a grinning woman dressed in purple and donning a red hat. She had warned us that she would be in such attire as she didn't want to frighten us. She's a Red Hat. A member of a WI fund raising group. She was lovely and made us feel at home immediately. She quickly began to share local news and information with us and was really and truly interested in what we were like as people.

I think we disappointed her with our lack of interests and hobbies. Guilty of boringness we tried to think of things that might make us a little more interesting. Naturally we came up blank.

Here we again had a bout of homesickness. It's difficult, but we're hoping that things will start to get better.

Warkworth was a pretty little riverside town and when we weren't helping Val tidy up her garden a little bit, we were probably walking around the town. In the week staying with her we visited Matakana, a tiny place that had a market going on. We brought waffles. I can't get them out of my head and every place we have been to since, I have been in search of them. I want more!!

Val also took us for a drive to see some of the local sights and for the first time we were really struck by the beauty that is New Zealand. Something we definitely didn't find in Auckland.

We're really looking forward now to seeing more of the country, and it's beautiful sights. But for now we're off to Hamilton.

Family

Although it's true I do owe you two other posts concerning our stay in both Auckland and Warkworth I feel it my duty to provide you a word from the only recently wise. And while I claim to be semi wise in this matter, I do not claim to be so in any other.

Let me put this blog into perspective: I'm in New Zealand and will be here for four months, at which point I - or we, I should say considering I'm travelling with my sister... - will move on to America for a month where we will be visiting multiple different Cities and states. I am travelling only her and as of two weeks in, we have made no particular friends, and although are saying with a lovely lady in her home have made no special bonds with any other people. I know I need to give it time, especially considering both of our dispositions to be rather quite reserved and shy, it is admittedly going to take a long time for us to make friends with anyone. I know this. I always knew this. What I didn't intend, through the desire not to think about it, is our tendency to bicker and my need for solitude. Which is fine when you're in a big city, or somewhere you are familiar with, you can just take yourself off for a walk, or shut yourself in your room and listen to some rage music, until your anger simmers down and your ready to silently forgive each other as siblings often do.

When you are travelling with them, however, and you're in a small town with very little to do. I can be difficult to escape the "sort your face out" or "I'm going to punch you in a minute" comments. Which are occasionally hurtful, or irritating because you weren't aware there was anything wrong with your face, you were just in a world of your own...

Don't worry by the way, we haven't fallen out badly recently, they're more often five minute spats with the equal timer of simmering down. But they are comments I have heard often.

The problem is, my solitude is something I treasure, but if we are in a small town, I can't get it because we are both so bored that we can't be bothered to separate because we assume one of us will amuse the other, if only for a short time.

If you're in a bigger city, the likely-hood that you're going to be staying in a hostel (at least on our budget) is incredibly high, what does that mean, you'll be sharing a room with however-many-or-so complete strangers. Wonderful considering my tendency toward social awkwardness and clamming up like a oyster around people, a small voice in my head saying "don't say that, they'll think you're a moron" until you finally gather the courage, open your mouth to comment and realise they have already changed topic. I never could keep up.

All of this and more has slowly lead me to realise:

One can never anticipate how much they will miss home. Their family, their friends and even their beds. While my bed isn't particularly that comfortable, it is missed. As is my cat, but oh god don't I may have to start crying!

I miss my home. I miss being able to do whatever I want and no one criticise me for it. Why can't I stay in my room and sleep if that's what I want to do?
Oh yeah, because I have flown half way across the world to explore a country I thought I knew something about, but in fact knew so little about I feel guilty that I am actually here when there are other people that probably deserve this opportunity more. Having said all this makes me sound so ungrateful for this amazing chance, but you mustn't think that. It isn't that I do actually want to sit around doing nothing while five months fly past in a blur, but it's more that even if I did want to, I couldn't without being judged or criticised. I do want to explore and be awed and amazed. But I want to do it with someone who will help me appreciate it more. I want to do it with my family and my friends, and not have to feel guilty or sad that I don't get to share it with them in the flesh. Photographs and Skype calls don't make up for the lack of hugs or casual conversations held by the kettle as you wait for it to boil.

I'm almost waiting for this adventure to start.
But that isn't how it works.
I'm supposed to go and find it.

Maybe I'm looking for something else.
I'm living in the future, keep thinking, only four and a half months till I get to see my family again... Hopefully next week the adventure will kick start and we'll really start doing things. It's getting hotter here too so that will hopefully make things a little better too. After that I will get too busy to miss home.

Love you guys.