Ten things I have stopped doing

Someone on Quora asked for a list of ten things I’ve stopped doing in life. This is mine. Yes, there are ten. I can count.

The world is in turmoil (May the turmoil cause long-lasting change for the better!), my editing is dragging along (May the editing also cause change for the better!), and it’s kinda cold (So, log fire, yay!).

Also, I’m getting older. Don’t be smug–you’re getting older too.

I didn’t have a topic to blog about today, so I thought I’d go to Quora and answer some questions. The first question I found was so good I reduced “questions” to “question”.

Here it is: What 10 things have you stopped doing in your life?

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The glorious driveway from hell strikes again

I explain why for three months I’ve been walking nearly a km between my house and my car each day. The driveway did it.

November was an exciting month.

An electrical storm knocked out our power for two days, broke our internet for a month, and washed out our driveway.

You remember the driveway. Eight hundred metres winding up a hill through native bush, home to quail, glow worms, New Zealand freshwater crayfish, and a rabbit called Nicholas Augustus.

But I was talking about November.

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The glorious and sad saga of the driveway from hell

I think my driveway is glorious, but many people hate it. Read for yourself and decide who’s right.

The driveway from the road runs along a valley, winds around a hill, climbs steeply past the orchard and chook house, and finally drops to my house. It’s 800 metres long. (I’ll tell you how I know this shortly.)

It’s home to an unreliable rabbit named Nicholas Augustus, several families of quail that appear each year with their puffball babies, and occasionally a mysterious cat (probably hunting the quail).

Taxi drivers vs the driveway from hell

I travel to Auckland quite often, and the taxi drivers who arrive at the house at 5:30am to pick me up inevitably have one of two reactions:

Reaction 1: What a terrifying driveway! I almost didn’t make it here. Do you actually drive up and down it?

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A happy story about a chicken called Sarah

Sarah the chicken overcomes her emotional wounds and finds happiness eating chook food with her friends near the house.

Sarah the black hen came to live in her new home as a pullet (young hen) with her speckled brown friend, Clementine.

Clementine got a fancy name because the people who sold her to us assured us she would lay blue eggs, though she was too young to lay at the time. Sarah, on the other hand, got a dull name because she was expected to lay white eggs.

As it turned out, both Clementine and Sarah lay slightly bluish eggs, but not blue enough for me to definitively convince myself that they’re not white. Perhaps the two hens split the difference.

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One of those days

A post about nothing at all. Plus a little writing inspiration.

I ran a Twitter poll recently asking if you wanted more or fewer book not-reviews.

The results were:

11% think I post too many not-reviews

19% think I post just enough reviews

11% think I should post more reviews

and 59% want chocolate.

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