On the weekend I went with my girlfriend (!! still feels so nice to say those two words, my girlfriend !!) to an exhibition called The Thread of Hīnātore. I stumbled in on her recommendation alone, knowing it had something to do with science as well as art, but not really knowing much more about it. What a treat, then, to get there and discover it was an exhibition of bioluminescent life forms bringing five works of art to life with their inherent natural glow. This was possible for only a few hours that day. A single day exhibition. What a lot of work for just a single day.

… what a strange thought, to be so fixated on time.

I have been thinking about effort and longevity a lot lately in these terms. I have just come out of a two-and-a-half month season of rehearsals and performances of a childrens play that I wrote and directed. This is work I used to do with great joy, and for little or no financial recourse. There was always a sense, for me, that it was a waste of time to do too short a season. I always wanted to do two week seasons or more. After all, why put all that effort into rehearsing for weeks or months to only present something for such a short time? 

(Though honestly with how tired the process made me, I am glad we only did a week of shows. Two shows each day though, 13 shows in total, so it was as much as a regular two or three week season!)

Perhaps it was inevitable, with this attitude, that I turned to prose. I always wanted to write novels, but when I was younger it was much easier to write shorter works like plays, short stories, even video games, self-contained things which I could look over and still see the forest for the trees and not be too overwhelmed. It took some time and life experience for me to develop the patience for the novel as a form, but once I did I found myself obsessed with the longevity of the form once again. See, a novel? That lasts forever.

… don’t they?

I mean, I guess not. There are millions of books in thousands of bookstores, libraries, and bookshelves the world over, and only a select few of those are treasured and remembered in any great number. A great many are forgotten in time. What are the chances of mine making a connection with any one person, let alone a group of people, to cut through all that noise?

And more importantly, why this need to live forever through art? I get it though. I think it’s quite human of us to worry about legacy when perhaps our time would be better spent on other pursuits. Certainly I feel it would be healthier.

The more I expose myself to disposable and/or temporary/temporal art, the more I feel something peeling away from me. This need to persist beyond my own demise, to matter, to live in many minds and thus achieve some kind of transcendence. It’s a goal that’s driven me to unhealthy behaviours in my creative career, and I’m glad that the older I get, the more it’s floating away from me. It’s okay to just exist in a specific time.

Last week I saw a play, Constellations by Nick Payne, adapted by Nī Dekkers-Reihana, in which one main character, a physicist, has a line about there being no “more time” and no “less time”; time just is. I’m butchering it in paraphrasing, but it made a lot of sense to me where I am in my life. Time just is, and in most cases there’s no one to argue, bargain or beg for more of it.

And you know what? In a certain sense, even art that exists for hundreds and thousands of years doesn’t actually exist forever.

Huh?

Look. All art forms are temporary, actually. The exhibition that lasts a single day, the performance that runs for only a week, the novel that you can pick off your shelf at any time. The thing about them all that we sometimes forget: we bring one other ingredient to each of these, and it is an ingredient that expires as soon as it meets the text—ourselves in that moment in our lives. You see, even if someone were to mount that exhibition again, I would be a different person seeing it next time. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as good as the first time, and I wouldn’t be seeing it with the same wonder I met it with originally. If my play were to go on stage again, it might be with a different cast, a different venue, so many different factors, but I would be bringing a different me back to it too; one who might cringe at a joke I’d mercifully forgotten, or judge an actor’s performance as better or worse than the original staging. 

And same too with the novel. Even in the writing of them. I am a different person now revising my novel than I was when I first wrote it. 

So all this to say, I’m going to stop worrying about time so much, and find some other immutable aspect of life to fixate on instead. (What’s your philosophical hangup?)

What’s Up At Hook and Quill Press?

Want destined teens railing against their fate while trapped by a large institution with many, many problems? How about beautifully rich world building with a hint of tragedy to come (what? No, never, everything’s fine!)? Dive into The Gods of Atalantis by Emily Klotz.

Emily’s book will be available real soon on the physical plane, but for now you can read it on your digital device of choice!

Or what would you say to some coming of age going a bit wrong in a town that’s not quite right somehow? Join completely normal Edie Grayson in the completely normal seaside town of Bludeye Beach, the debut folk horror novel from Eliwood S. Gheist.

Eliwood’s book is available in both digital and physical forms.

Furthermore! Eliwood has been making appearances: at WriteHive Virtual Conference, as well as podcasts Atomic Authors for the Plot and The Deep List.

And they have been making big progress on Return to Bludeye Beach. They hope to have it to you next year.

What’s next for us in novel-length releases? Very excited for this: our very own Samantha Breaux is working away at Thief of Death, coming later this year. I’m proofreading it right now, and friends, you are in for a treat! If a quippy roguish heroine and a perfect (if morbid) gentleman getting up to some light skulduggery sounds like your cup of tea, this is one to grab up.

Did you know we also have zines? Our debut zine can be found here, featuring works by Eliwood, Samantha, Emily and myself. We have poems, short stories, and some charming illustrations for you.

And coming very soon is our Pride zine (what? We’re allowed to be late to the party!) 

Where in the World is Quillbert?

It’s a bit chilly and wet down here in Aotearoa but Quillbert popped down for a visit with me during a dry spell. Where is he? Climbing in a children’s playground, or trapped in an eldritch tree prison? Will Quillbert make it out alive? Stay tuned for our next installment…