Category: Twitter

Shameless self promotion

So, rather ironically given I work in communications for a living, it turns out I am a bit of a rubbish self promoter. I need to try harder to let people know Which Way is Starboard Again? the book is out there.

To that end I have spruced up the blog and transferred it from the basic seamunchkin.wordpress.co to seamunchkin.com. If you already follow the blog your subscription has been transferred and nothing will change – it just means it’s easier to share and buy through the website.

I’ve put up a page about the book here and even have a dinky PayPal button

which you can also access here for people who would like to buy signed copies with special messages directly from me.

All the Facebook, Twitter, G+ links have been updated and I’ll put a redirect on the original blog so, other than the new look, it’s pretty much business as usual.

So if anyone you know is interested in reading about sailing, anxiety, projectile vomiting and ant wars I would really appreciate it if you could point them this way.

Thanks for bearing with me – back to your regularly scheduled programming!

Anna xx

Ban this blog

Fuck. Drugs. Sex.

If the above upsets or offends you, you can stop reading, you have that right – a right that has been taken away from a bunch of young Kiwis who may want to read a book called Into the River .

For non-New Zealand readers, the book – an award-winning novel aimed at young adults – is at the center of an embarrassing furore after being removed from the shelves following a complaint by conservative lobby group Family First. The group is concerned about some of the book’s content, including drug taking, language and sexual themes.

While it hasn’t been officially ‘banned’ as such, at the moment it is illegal to buy it, sell it or loan it to one of your mates until a classification decision is made on it. In this case they are looking for an age restriction.

I’m not a huge bandwagon jumper, but I am on this one boots and all – and not just because I love books and am a writer myself.

Civil disobedience through silent reading - a protest reading of Into the River held in Wellington
Civil disobedience through silent reading – a protest reading of Into the River held in Wellington

Firstly, encouraging young people to read is a huge thing. It helps them learn about themselves, empathise with others and start thinking about their place in the world. If we can’t give our young people enough respect to make their own decisions about reading and learn for themselves what works for them and what doesn’t, that says a lot more about us than it does about them.

And how dumb do we think these kids actually are? Do people really think that they would never have thought about having sex or taking drugs if they hadn’t read about it in a book? What about the TV shows and films they are bombarded with? What about life? You can’t ban that.

All Family First is going to achieve is to make a book many kids had probably never heard of seem that much more attractive.

When I was in primary school a ‘helpful’ librarian wouldn’t let me take Anne of Avonlea from the school library because it had ‘adult themes’ – so I turned around and got it out of the local library instead.

The same librarian blocked me from taking out the Lord of the Rings trilogy because it was deemed too ‘difficult’. We had a ‘five finger word test’ where if you got more than five words wrong reading a passage aloud, you weren’t allowed to take that book out. (It was the 80s, they had some strange ideas.) And being Tolkien of course I had pronunciation problems and failed miserably. In the end I borrowed a copy from one of my Mum’s friends – gleefully announcing which page I was up to at silent reading time “page 1015 today Miss” (yes I was ‘that’ kid).

I pinched my Dad’s copy of Jaws (sorry Dad!) when I was about 10 or 11 because word around the school was that it had rude bits in it. I wasn’t particularly interested in the book but I got kudos from some of the standard 4 boys for having a copy. In the end I ended up secretly reading the whole thing and rather enjoyed it (and didn’t really understand the rude bits anyway).

Of course libraries and librarians have changed a lot now. They are still careful about what they lend to who but they are realists and their main goal is to encourage reading. As a school librarian said on Radio New Zealand’s Morning Report yesterday there are books available in school libraries that have much dodgier content – The Game of Thrones series for a start – good luck getting that banned!

I have read the supposedly dodgy bits of Into the River and didn’t find them terribly shocking. I had read much worse myself as a teen. In fact one of the scenes refers to a girl ‘floating away on a Lilo of pleasure’ which just made me giggle and want to go for a swim.

Funnily enough, despite the mind polluting material I read as a teen, when it came to writing my own book I ended up censoring myself. I wrote a chapter about utterly losing it around half way to Tonga and originally used the phrase “I want off this effing boat!” My editor came back with a simple suggestion – “why don’t you just say fuck?”. I was a little taken aback, but he had a point. At that point of the story, I was really really upset. There was no point in beating about the bush. Because there weren’t a lot of swears in the book when they did appear it gave the scene that much more impact. We weren’t going for shock value. It was a way of illustrating that something was really scary or frustrating.

Today a group of like-minded book lovers (including the fabulous NZ writer Elizabeth Knox) demonstrated the ridiculousness of the situation by holding a silent reading of Into the River in protest outside Wellington’s Unity Books . The books had to be read outside the store or the shop could be considered to be ‘displaying’ them and risk a fine. Those tempted to let somebody read their copy over their shoulder were also technically in the gun for $10,000.

Kiwi writer Elizabeth Knox takes a stand against censorship
Kiwi writer Elizabeth Knox takes a stand against censorship
Brown paper packaging - Sarah and Steph from the NZ Book Council smuggle in their own banned books
Brown paper packaging – Sarah and Steph from the NZ Book Council smuggle in their own banned books

It was great to see such a good turn out on a grey Wellington day, fighting censorship and supporting a Kiwi writer.

Civil disobedience through reading is awesome.

Discovery through reading is awesome.

Reading is awesome.

And as far as I am concerned anyone who tries to fetter access to that is the enemy.

It’s ALIVE!!!

For those of you who haven’t been following my excited Twitter and Facebook squawking – the author’s copy of Which Way is Starboard Again? has finally arrived.

In the flesh
In the flesh

 

It’s gorgeous! It has chapters and pictures and pages and an ISBN number and, and, it’s an actual book! I can’t stop staring at it and I am carting about in my handbag everywhere I go like some kind of tragic proud book mummy.

Innards
Innards
Spine
Spine

It’s publication date isn’t actually until April 1 (April Fools!) so this copy is just a part of a small run to go out to journalists and the like.

The April Fools publication date is actually kind of apt (though I can assure it won’t turn into a whoopee cushion if you buy it!)

You see it still feels like a bit of a trick. I’m holding this thing in my hands, flicking through the pages and I still can’t quite believe it’s there.

When my publisher sent me the author’s copy she said “So do you feel like a real author now?” and the honest answer is actually, “no, I don’t”.

I feel like a fake author. Like somehow this whole process of getting a book deal and getting published was actually some kind of fluke and that any day now people will realise I Don’t Actually Know What I’m Doing.

Deep down I know that’s a load of rubbish but I still feel like an utter fraud. Like someone playing pretend at being a writer.

Despite the fact I’m loud and bolshy and not exactly shy, I’m really nervous about promoting this thing. Most probably wouldn’t believe it, but I am much better at writing about myself than talking about myself. Essentially this is a book about me and my experiences, but I would much rather someone else do the talking.

I’m used to being the person behind the notepad and camera or the person advising others how to work with those people. Now I have a publicist writing press releases for me.

I struggled with that for a bit since I do that for a living and I did have to nix the line “an inspirational tale of love, travel and overcoming the odds” (after Paddy and I spent a good while laughing). But at the end of the day I figure I’m never going to like something someone else writes about me so I might as well just go with it.

To help get over my self promotion fears I have also employed an unofficial ‘spokesMuppet’ (though I haven’t quite told the publicist about him yet…)

Paddy got me the best Christmas present ever last year (with a little bit of suggestion from myself) – a Muppet Whatnot (basically a design-your-own Muppet) a proper Jim Henson number.

Gus Transom Muppet (Gus as a nod to my asparaGus farming roots and Transom being the arse end of a boat, as well as sounding kind of fancy) is a devilishly handsome orange tropical Muppet. He has a stylish Hawaiian shirt, fabulous fuchsia hair and makes everyone around him smile.

Gus Transom Muppet
Gus Transom Muppet

 

Roadtrip!
On the road

I love the fact that even people who profess to hate puppets will answer him rather than me when he speaks, looking straight into his big googly eyes. With that kind of people power I figure he’d be a great spokesMuppet for the book so I have helped him set up his own Twitter account.

@GusTheMuppet
@GusTheMuppet

So if you are on Twitter then feel free to follow @GusTheMuppet (or if Muppets aren’t your thing you can follow me on @SeaMunchkin). I have also set up a bit of a Facebook promo page for those on there https://www.facebook.com/whichwayisstarboardagain?

He stole it from my handbag
He stole it from my handbag
Mup reviewer
Mup reviewer

So from Gus and Me and our brand new book – happy 2015, we’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a good one!

Gus and I

A year in captivity

We hurtled headlong past a milestone last week and I didn’t even notice – I was too busy being busy.

Paddy was the one who worked out we had been back in civilisation for a year. Fittingly it was a text message from our celphone provider that tipped him off –  thanking us for a year of our custom.

A year.

A year of celphones and emails, alarm clocks and meetings.  A year of job hunting and job finding  (Paddy), flat hunting and job renewing (me). A year of wondering where on earth the year had gone.

A year ago I had returned from paradise wondering how I would ever be able to fit into society again.

A year ago I had a tan – now my pasty white legs are safely hidden from sight by brightly coloured tights.

A year ago the prospect of not having to do laundry in a bucket anymore still excited me.

I thought I had returned a changed person. That the challenges we faced, the people we met, the fear and the excitement would make me look at the world in a very different way – and for a while it did. But I have slotted in as though I never left.

When we got back had a lot to catch up on – the tailend of the election campaign and the colossal mess that was the Rena disaster being the most apparent. We’d also missed all the internet memes. It was as though the entire country was talking gibberish. We had no idea what a ‘nek minnit’ or a ghost chip was. Now I check my twitter feed every five seconds to make sure I haven’t missed any breaking news and I am Grumpy Cat’s biggest Kiwi cheerleader (though I still don’t really get Gangnam style).

In some of the more isolated spots we visited I found myself fantasising about things that I once took for granted – ground that didn’t move, shops that stocked what you were looking for, being able to give a friend a call and meet them for a coffee.

Now I’m getting irritated by the little things – long queues in the supermarket, busses running late, people who don’t answer their emails. I’ve had a lot less coffees with friends than I planned. I have been too busy being busy.

Don’t get me wrong – being back has been great. I’ve caught up with much missed family and friends, I have custody of my fur-child again, I’ve remembered how important it is to have a job that you really enjoy. I’m getting fitter, I’ve lost a bit of weight and I’ve even started riding a bike again for the first time since I was a teenager. I’m not unhappy. I’m just shocked, really shocked, at how fast the year has gone.

In the book I am writing there is a chapter called The Time Bomb (and yes, the book is still happening – that’s the subject of a different blog, which I guess means I am officially blogging again).

It describes the battle Paddy and I had with suddenly having to deal with time. Not island time, which we all know is a pretty fluid concept, or weather time, which nobody can argue with, but ‘real world’ time. And we really did struggle. The plan was that we would get back, fix the things on the boat the needed to be fixed, get out on the water more so I could keep practising and getting more confident, and finish the damned book.

Instead, Paddy went from nautical Mr Fixit to corporate Mr Fixit, I got embroiled in politics and education and come the end of the week our brains were frazzled and we’d sleep all weekend. We began to get frustrated and began to second-guess ourselves. We’d had all this time and now we had none. What had we done with it? Had we wasted it? Could we have done things better?

I took us a while to get out of that slump – a year to be precise.

The boat hasn’t moved for a year, not really. There is a terrible looking green sludge growing on the fenders. The dinghy was practically growing a forest below it had moved so little (except for that time someone took a joyride in it and the police found it – yet another subject for another blog). But the weather is warming and so are we.

We had a big springclean on the boat before our annual Guy Fawkes party (they light the fireworks on the Wellington waterfront so we get the best view in the house), Paddy has a new boom he wants to attach, I’ve started sending material to publishers and I’m blogging again for the first time since July. I’m happy to be writing again. I get twitchy when I don’t write.

I’m going to get out sailing casually with the guys at the Evans Bay yacht club (my new flat is far too conveniently close to their bar!) and now that the weather starting to warm I’m going to rejoin the local dive club – because I haven’t done that for a year either. I am a little nervous about the latter though, since the last time I was in the ocean the water was about 26 degrees! We’re also planning on taking the boat out for a decent trip somewhere in February, which I am quite looking forward to.

Now I find myself standing in supermarket queues fantasising about a tiny little store in the middle of nowhere where you can’t find anything you want and half a cabbage costs $20. I want the ground to be moving again. I miss the sea and the sand and the people and thinking about seeing them again makes me smile.

We’re coming out of hibernation, stretching and yawning and sniffing the air, and it feels good.

And on that note – here’s some explosives.

Smoooooooke on the waaaaaateeeer….
Kabooom!
Noah’s Ark next door
Double Kaboom!
Ooooooh! Aaaaaaah! Captain Paddy keeps an eye on things
‘Splosives showing the scaffolding of the old overseas terminal development
Lots of kabooms!

Reality and punk cabaret

The boaties among you will be wondering what on earth punk cabaret has to do with sailing, and those of you reading this because I posted it up on a punk cabaret forum will be wondering the exact opposite – but bear with me, the twain shall meet, honest!

So after spending the best part of last year sailing around the South Pacific, reality has come crashing in with a loud and rather inconsiderate thud. I am back home, back at work and back to the world as I once knew it.

It’s been great – it’s been wonderful to see the family and friends I have missed so much, to catch up with my workmates and to see my cat again, but it hasn’t been easy.

Once the novelty of not having to do laundry in a bucket or ration your showers wore off, I was faced with a stark reality – the world was the same, I was not. I’m a lot better now but when I first got back I was a complete insomniac. I’d gone from being out in the middle of nowhere with sporadic communication (other than radio and the odd burst of internet or celphone reception if you were lucky) to constant connectivity – celphones, blackberries, emails that can reach you wherever you are, television, radio, advertisements, planes, trains and automobiles. And when I went to bed I just didn’t know how to switch off anymore. I would lie there staring at the ceiling with stupid radio jingles, work emails, TV cop shows and what was trending on Twitter that day whirling around in my head. It was clearly a case of over-stimulation, I just didn’t know how to turn my brain off.

The other thing that is different about cruising is the way that you look at the world. The things that are important when you are sailing are much different from the things that are important in the ‘real world”. When you are sailing the decisions you make are simpler but the ramifications much bigger. When you are sailing the decisions often boil down to where and when you are going and how you are going to get there. They are simple decisions but ones that potentially, if you screw them up, can kill you or somebody else on the water. You don’t really have time for the nuances, it’s ‘pull this rope right bloody now before we lose a sail”, obey the collision avoidance rules or you could smash into somebody else’s boat, plan and look where you’re going or you could run smack into a reef – there isn’t really much time for interpretation. Interpersonal politics, other people’s agendas and whether or not you might have offended someone kind of takes a back seat.

For some of the people we met on the islands it was even more black and white – grow, catch and find food or you starve, look out for your family and your village or you won’t have a world. If you have books to read or pens to write with, you treasure them. It’s hard to go from that mindset to “he said this, she did that” and öh my god I missed my bus and I have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one!” A lot of the crap that I used to give myself an ulcer stressing over just doesn’t seem so important anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the details aren’t important. I know that the minutiae behind the decisions that are made can have massive “consequences. I know that the political arguments and intrigues are deeply important (nowhere is that more apparent than in places like mainland Fiji which is so politically screwed up it’s beyond words) – I just need to get my brain working back on that level again. I can do it if I concentrate, but it’s not natural like it used to be.

So where does the punk cabaret come in? Well I decided I needed something to bridge the gap, something creative (other than writing), that no-one was paying me to do, and something that wouldn’t be the end of the world if I screwed up.

So when I heard that ticket sales for punk cabaret duo The Dresden Dolls weren’t going so well in New Zealand and they were looking for street teams to poster and get the word out, I jumped at the opportunity.

Listening to the Dolls on my i-Pod helped heaps during my first few night-watches at sea. They are so punchy and anarchic and joyful that it’s almost impossible to be scared when  you are listening to them.

This song was a particular favourite:

The Dresden Dolls – Sing

Those of you who are masochistic enough to have been with me from the beginning may remember this blog I wrote before we left:

And I never lose my wallet

The Amanda Palmer who wrote that particular song is one half of the Dresden Dolls, so I figured it was worth a repost

They are not everyone’s cup of tea, and definitely not Paddy’s (he is more of a Tom Petty man – who I also think is awesome). But I figure if we can survive eight months at sea without killing each other then we can cope with having different tastes in music. Though when admitted he didn’t particularly like my one true obsession – David Bowie – it did nearly end in mutiny. It kind of put me in mind of a song by a lady called Eileen Quinn called “”If I killed the Captain” – A sample of the lyricS:

But if I killed the captain – really, who would know?

We’re two weeks out of port, we’ve got one more week to go,

And all that it would take,

Would be a timely little shove… whoops!”

For some reason this is a favourite song among many women cruisers! She’s a little bit country and not my normal style, but the lyrics are brilliant and I’ve developed rather a weakness!

So anyway, I’ve been spending my evenings going around Wellington putting up posters in strange places, playing with glitter pens and fraggles – and it has been damned therapeutic! It’s helping me find the other Anna again. She was always there, but she’d just taken a back seat for a bit. Punk Cabaret Therapy might not work for everyone, but it certainly has for me!

So the Wellington Gig is this Saturday at the Opera House and the details for that and the Christchurch and Auckland gigs are here:

Upcoming shows

If you want to come along I am pretty sure it will be awesome!

In a nutshell yeah, I’m a different person – I’ve done some things that scared the hell out of me, I’ve stuffed up some things but was lucky enough  to be able to learn from my mistakes. I found things about myself I didn’t really like very much and things that I am extremely proud of – and I am sure I will be able to find a way to channel that into my life back home.

In the meantime – thanks to punk cabaret, I am starting to appreciated the stimulation again – bring the noise!

When disaster hits home (and the power of Twitter)

I was planning to blog on the huge amount of work required to get the boat up to Category 1 standard so we can leave the country. I was going to write about my insecurities about getting everything organised and my worries about the time that is so rapidly ticking by.

But yesterday threw all that sharply into perspective.

I am from Christchurch. My family and friends are in Christchurch – I lived and worked and partied in places that are now rubble.

I can’t stop staring at the television. I keep recognising places where friends and I lived, loved, ate and drank too much, listened to bands, op-shopped and held meetings that were going to save the world. Places where people I know still do these things.

I managed to contact my parents shortly after the quake happened and nearly cried with relief when I heard  Mum’s voice on the other end of the phone. They were shaken, but okay. Another big aftershock struck while I was talking to Dad – I could hear it through the phone. I heard Mum cry out in the background and then the phone went dead. The few seconds it took for me to reestablish contact after that felt like years. It was so scary. But they are okay. They are strong, amazing, wonderful people – and I know they will be fine (but it doesn’t stop me wanting to shovel them on to a plane and get their arses up to Wellington!)

I have also managed to track down a lot of my friends – mostly through twitter and facebook, and I have a whole new respect for social networking. I only begrudgingly set up a twitter account for work purposes, so I can keep an eye on what’s trending in the education sector. But I gradually started to find interesting people to follow and began to embrace it more. Yesterday however I saw it in a whole different light – not just because it was a fantastic way of finding out what was happening as it was happening, but because of the way it brought people together. I have already heard of several people who found out that loved ones were okay because a complete stranger tweeted the name of the person sitting next to them and that information was retweeted and retweeted until it reached the person it needed to. People have also been tweeting the locations of people they are concerned about and people in those areas have looked out for them – complete strangers helping people who were too far away to offer any practical assistance.

I’m not going to beatify Christchurch – it would be hypocritical. I have done my fair share of pissing and moaning about its clique-iness, how judgemental people could be, how the most important thing seemed to be what school you went to and woe betide you if you wanted to dress or act a little bit differently. But, just as they say you can’t pick your family, you can’t pick the town you are born in either and, despite its foibles, you  also can’t help  loving it. It’s home.

I’ve had some shitty times in Christchurch and I have had some great times and met some beautiful people – and it is those people that are coming to the fore in this crisis. People helping eachother out, looking after eachother.

I feel helpless here. I want to be down in ChCh pulling bricks out of buildings. I couldn’t even donate blood because the bloodbanks here have been inundated with offers (which is wonderful!)

All I can do is donate some money and offer my love and support – through, twitter, through facebook, through this blog – to all of those who have lost loved ones, to those who are still waiting to hear from people, to those who are picking up their lives and soldiering on. I wish I could do more.

For those of you wanting to donate to the people of Christchurch there are a number of ways to do it

The Salvation Army is running an appeal – you can donate online, through their Westpac account 03 0207 0617331 00 or call 0800 0207 0617331 00

You can donate to the Red Cross at www.redcross.org.nz/donate or send a cheque to: New Zealand Red Cross 2011 Earthquake Appeal, Freepost 232690, PO Box 12140, Thorndon, Wellington 6144or you can donate to their Kiwibank account 38-9009-0759479-00 or direct credit transfer to their special appeals banks account –  ASB 12-3192-0015998-02 at any branch of the PostShop Kiwibank, ASB and ANZ

You can also donate to the collections that I am sure are springing up all around the country. I am going to a quiz night tonight at the Mighty Mighty, by way of distraction – they will be collecting money there.

I will write the category 1 blog – but now is not the time. It’s tough and it’s tiring, but I know we will get through it, and there are so many others who need our thoughts and words right now.