I closed my last blog with the famous words of Meri Ngāroto of Te Aupōuri: ‘He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata he tangata he tangata!’
I find myself ruminating on those words once again as I consider: this is my final official Te Papa Tupu blog post. Out of all the things I could talk about, I just want to talk about the importance of people.
Next week, my cohort meets for the final workshop. It’s strange to think that we met not even half a year ago for the first time, and yet I feel so much belonging with them. One member (you know who you are) said they didn’t recognise me at first as I wasn’t nearly as sassy in person as I looked in my picture. But it just took time. Like all good things. I needed to know I was safe and welcome. And in real time, it didn’t take that long, did it? For me, it feels like we’ve gone through at least a semester together, when really, the six of us have met only a handful of times.
There’s a power to knowing that others are going through the same struggles as you. In the past, my instincts might have been to shy away, lick my wounds in private. I don’t like to whinge and moan. But it turns out, that has its place. Talking over the difficult patches in writing and revising, especially when you’ve sought a solution yourself but can’t find it, leads to answers. Really good ones, actually. Many times you do need to seek those answers yourself first. The advice of others can steer you wrong if you are too impressionable, if you aren’t able to see the heart of what it is you’re aiming at clearly enough. But if you’ve put in the work to know what it is you’re driving towards, then advice either comes just when you needed it, or rolls off your back if it was wrong for you.
I hope I’ve helped the others as much as they’ve helped me.
There will always be a special bond between us, I’m sure. When I run into them at festivals, when I see their names come up in publications, the little kid in me will be pointing and waving and jumping up and down. Me on the outside, I’ll be a little more discreet than that.
Only just.
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Coming out of a dark time for me in 2021, I knew one thing. I had always believed, from an early age, that one day my name would be on a book in a bookstore. But what adult me knew different from child me was that I’d actually have to put in some work to get there. It wasn’t just going to magically happen.
There was still a long way to go. I had a lot of misconceptions that still lingered, undefeated.
I used to be a complete lone wolf. Often, that’s what media portrays authors as. A lonely, isolated genius transmits words from their room, their inner sanctum where the muse speaks to them, and those words somehow know the way on their own, heat-seeking arrows to pierce the hearts of the readers who need them most.
It’s not true. I had to learn that the hard way, toiling for so long unseen.
Thankfully, I had some contacts who knocked some sense into me. Mihi to Dave Agnew, who pointed me in the direction of SFWA, and creative mentor Felicity Letcher, who pointed me in the direction of Kathryn Burnett, who in turn pointed me in many more directions. From there, it built and built like one of those cartoon snowballs. I was making connections, I was… shudder… ‘networking’.
And of course, speaking of making connections, one day I put my application in to Te Papa Tupu, and here I am now.
Since 2021, I put in the mahi of breaking past my anxiety to actually talk to people. I was always shy of talking about my creative work with others. I felt like if I talked about something but then never followed through, I’d look like a flake. But eventually I worked out that wasn’t the point of those conversations. The point was to ask questions, to learn, to test what they said against my values or my practices and see what fit.
I’m still learning to ask the right questions. I’m still learning to listen. But I feel as if I at least know some of the right direction now, rather than fumbling around in the dark.
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Earlier this month I started a ‘tag prompt’ on the social media platform Bluesky. The tag is #pretendpanel. I put it together to get some practice thinking about what I would say when I appear on a couple of panels next month. I offered it up to other writers too as a way of creating community and starting a conversation. Since I did that, #pretendpanel has ballooned to almost unmanageable proportions. Every day I’m getting upwards of eighty replies or reposts with writers around the (Anglophone, mostly) world. They’re answering questions about their projects, their process, their aspirations, their struggles. It’s beautiful, the outpouring of genuine humanity and creative soul I get to see every day on my feed. It’s even overshot the digital garden wall of Bluesky and landed in Tiktok’s backyard too. At least one author on there name-dropping me each time he answers a #pretendpanel question in video format.
I bring it up for this reason: in those replies, I see other writers talking to each other, making connections, encouraging each other, helping to overcome struggles. So much for the lone wolves. This journey is so much sweeter when its being shared. Whether it’s online and worldwide, or the tiny group of us in the hyper-specific context of Te Papa Tupu 2024-25, time and time again I’ve been struck by that serendipitous feeling: I’m hearing the thing I most needed to hear, right now, because I’m here. Because I’m actually out here, unchained from my solo desk, listening, sharing, engaging.
This goes past writing, I’m certain. It applies to all of life, in ways we’ve seen this past year in the political realm right here in Aotearoa, and in ways we will come to see increasingly in helping one another around the global challenges ahead.
If there’s something you can’t figure out, no matter what it is; if you’ve put in the mahi yourself but there is still no answer; I think you need to seek people. Sometimes we can’t see things clearly when we’re too close to them. We need perspective, and that comes through other people.
We need to lift one another up. I’m kinda starting to think it’s what we’re here for, eh?
It took me ages looking for the whakataukī I wanted to close with, because there are so many about working together. But it was this one:
“Nāu te rourou, nāku te rourou, ka ora ai te iwi.”
I feel silly looking back and thinking there was ever a time I didn’t understand or live by these words. I offer them to you now, in case you need them, or in case you or I ever need reminding.
Ngā mihi nui,
Claire Hiria
