Interlude

While posting that last bit, it suddenly struck me all this happened 20 years ago. Of course I was conscious of that little fact beforehand. I'm not entirely senile yet. But seeing the date in black and white, seeing it posted on a blog, no less, is something else altogether. We didn't even have blogs back then.
Twenty years gone, seemingly in an eyeblink. Yet it's not so much the passing of time that strikes such a chord, as the 'otherness' of it all. The Millers Flat (indeed, the New Zealand) of yesterday seems, in many ways, like a foreign land now. For better and worse. Just as the younger me seems like a stranger. Also for better and worse.
It also strikes me that I initially wrote the preceding pages some 13 years ago. It was my third attempt at writing a publishable book. To 'become' a writer. Obviously, it wasn't published, though I did get a nice phone call from Canterbury University Press to let me down gently. My fingers have typed a lot of words since then, wearing out four computers, three printers, five keyboards and seven mouses in the process, as well as filling several boxes with drafts and manuscripts. (Sorry trees!) It's nice to realise I don't miss the writer I was all those years ago. I've definitely gotten better. Long may it continue.
In a way, it's rather ironic I've 'become' a writer. My father's single, defining rule in life has always been - 'Don't stand out'. (Which is possibly why he felt so at home in the Police Force.) It took me over 30 years to drag myself out of it's stifling shadow and realise that just being yourself means you're inevitably going to stand out. Being a writer (or any artist, for that matter) means standing out in CAPITAL LETTERS.
So the journey continues. It's not the road less travelled. It's just one of many possible roads. My road. Every road is unique, untrammeled by anyone's feet but our own. I don't know about you, but personally, I just happen to prefer the scenic route ... and to leave as many footprints as I can along the way.