Bloodlines is about to have its place in the sun, again.

It will feature in the top 50 books for 2010 in this week's Listener. Great stuff and am very pleased.

But, me? I'm doing anything but writing. I've mowed the lawns (twice). I've baked muffins and made dinner many nights. I have wiped down the surrounds of the door to the bathroom ( sheesh, no one else notices).
But, most of all, I have been shepherding my two daughters and myself and hubby through the terrible grief which has washed over us re the Pike River Mine disaster.
Big questions: why does God…?
And there in lies the issue. My thoughts are that God does not do but God has established rules – natural and corporal and has given mankind freedom of will. He is not to be blamed for this terrible result but I am certain the heart of God is grieved by the loss of life.
It sucks – majorly. It has been so awful that I have had to turn off radio and telly and I will not read the paper because my heart cannot bare the grief. I am so thankful for our poets and our commentators who are putting the stake in the ground. And, yay for U2 for their acknowledgement.
I will pick up my ‘digitised’ pen soon but I have given myself permission to sit and weep for the stupid loss of life and ache for the mothers and wives who will never see their men again. I hugged my man tonight when I got home from school. We stood there, both of us, silent and that hug and silence meant so much especially as he had just had a victim support callout to a suicide of a mother just up the road from where we live.
It might seem trite to say this but because our family have had its fair share of pain and suffering this past year or so, I get the question: why? And, sorry to say, the answer is, mostly 'cos shit happens' and we're not talking about dropping our buttered bread.

Rachel's question as to the why at the start of Bloodlines, I think, echos what most of us are feeling at this time. Maybe we try to categorise the 'value' of the men who died. The young Joesph Dundar who is the subject of Gary McCormick's poem; Mary Mccullum's stark poem reminded me that, despite the media, we are talking about 29 individuals, 29 men whose faces are now public when we never knew them before.

My personal view is this:I would like God to interfer and stop people dying like this. Me and God have an appointment to discuss such matters but at the moment I'm not ready for such a meeting.
We weep with the people of Greymouth.