Merry Christmas From Benny Sip: Two New Book Releases

Hello and happy holidays! It’s been a minute since I last sent you all a message. If you've just been added to the list, welcome. I’m writing to you today from frozen-cold, white, wintry Minnesnowtah — surrounded by family, friends, pets, and whānau. How good it feels to be home — all the nostalgia: snowmen, frozen lakes, pond hockey rinks in the neighbourhood, ice fishing, cutting down little pine trees, stocking caps, mittens (leather choppers), long johns, and warm puffy coats and pants. I hope you, too, are surrounded by those who make you feel warm and most loved at this time of year.

Over the past year, since you last heard from me, I’ve been writing. I’m excited to share that I’ve recently revamped bennysip.com and just self-published two new books. I’d love for you to check them out — and hey, right in time for Christmas! If you’re anything like me, you’ve still got a few gifts left to purchase, and at $8.00–$12.00 NZD ($4.60 - $6.90 USD) a pop (the cost of a snooty Starbucks Xmas coffee), why not give a Benny Sip original or two to your favourite family member, best friend, or — better yet — your beautiful bloody self?

A River Runs: Reduxed, Rewritten
This is the original book that so many of you loved — rewritten, refined, and expanded with a bunch of new additions. I think — I know — you’ll like this version even better than before. 

Butterfly
An adult children’s book (yes, that’s a thing) for grown-ups who still believe in becoming something brand new. Think The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse — but Benny Sip style.

As much as I’d love to have physical books to sell, these are currently available in electronic format only on my website. It’s a lot easier this way for the time being — and let’s be honest, most of us have a Kindle, Remarkable tablet, iPad, smart phone, or some handy contraption we can easily download and read e-books (glorified PDF's) on.

These books — full of proems (prose poems) — are the greatest gifts I could ever give, and it would be an amazing exchange (and mean so much to me) if you purchased one or both of them. Also, if you know someone who would love one of these, please feel free to forward this email along (or buy them a gift card) — or pass on their contact details so I can add them to this list.

Only love, and wishing you happy holidays, 

Benny Sip

P.S. I’d genuinely love to hear from you — especially if we haven’t seen or spoken to one another in years.

You've Got To Be Your Own Agent

This line keeps coming back to me — You’ve got to be your own agent.”

I’ve spent a lifetime as a creative. Actually, every one of us has — spent a lifetime as a creative. Living, being human, is an inherently creative endeavour. By virtue of being human, we are all, in fact, creatives. Creativity is in our DNA. Creativity is not necessarily what we believe or have been taught it to be: writing poetry, painting, dancing, singing, playing guitar. Yes, of course, those are all creative endeavours, but so is building a home, taking care of someone you love, starting a family, giving to someone in need, planting a garden in the backyard, establishing a career. Everything takes creativity. Perhaps, better said, we create the lives we live.

Yes, some of us exercise our divine creative right more than others. In this way, creativity is unlimited. It works across all landscapes and engages with every domain. One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone says, “I’m not creative,” or “I don’t have a creative bone in my body.” That’s simply untrue. Perhaps your creative bone is just a bit skewed, or you’ve fallen victim to a lifetime of conditioning telling you that your inherent creativity doesn’t matter, it’s not worth pursuing, it won’t make you any money, it is worthless.

If you can be guaranteed of anything in this life, it’s that this world will attempt to steal your creativity — stomp it out of you, squash it at every twist, bend, and turn of your long, cold, wet, winding journey. If you’re not convinced about this, all you’ve got to do is watch the spaghetti towers experiment. It is also possible that you’ve defined creativity in a limited way — placing limitations on the infinite possibilities for your life. Sometimes we must redefine the words in our lives — change their definitions. It’s also possible you’ve simply lost touch with your beautiful imagination, that genius thing we all once had, every single one of us, as children. But the wonderful thing is — something lost only waits to be found again.

“Imagination is not the same as creativity. Creativity takes the process of imagination to another level. Creativity is a step beyond imagination because it requires that you actually do something rather than lie around thinking about it.”

— Ken Robinson

Over the past decade or so, I’ve worked with a lot of young people — creatives. Whether they are ambitious young poets and future writers of the world, professional or aspiring athletes (yes, sport is most definitely a creative pursuit), or even hunters and fly fishermen. My message is almost always the same: if you want your creativity to get out into the big wide world, you’ve got to be your own agent.

What does it mean to be your own agent?

1. You’ve got to believe in you more than anyone else in the world.

If not you, then who will give you permission to pursue what, deep down, you know you were born to? That’s a poem. It’s also a truth. You must first give yourself permission to believe you are capable of doing and accomplishing exactly what your heart desires. No matter who you are, how old you are, or what you have or have not accomplished yet, it’s never too late to begin believing in yourself.

After all, there are people out there right now doing exactly what you want to do — already living the life of your dreams — and if not exactly, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say someone has already laid a similar creative path. You might not know the way to your life’s greatest dream yet. The beauty is that someone out there has already taken all of the steps. Look out for them. Learn from them. Listen to them. And then act in the way that only you can. As I once said to my best friend: There are people out there living extraordinary lives — why can’t we be one of them? These people are not special. Perhaps what they have is exceptional belief in themselves and their ability to take actionable steps each and every day toward their life’s great dream. They are, well and truly, on the path.

That does not mean they don’t experience obstacles in the way of externalities, self-doubt, imposter syndrome — that little, often much-too-paid-attention-to voice telling them they can’t. I call them the dangerous uglies. We all experience and feel them. It’s an exercise in self-awareness: recognising the dangerous uglies and then sticking them where they belong — way in the back seat, somewhere near the trunk, down by the spare tyre. Otherwise the dangerous uglies can become the driver of our life’s automobile. You’ve got to take back the wheel, put the pedal to the metal, tap back into joy, excitement, passion, and love — and put fear in its place.

2. Never assume anyone else is going to do the work for you.

Even if you have an agent, you’ve still got to set the meeting, pick up the phone, and set your intentions. Let the people around you know what you want — and be clear. We can never assume that the people who represent us, or who hold the keys to the gates of our dreams, know what we want. Most people are busy, wrapped up in their own lives, worrying about, chasing after, or calling in their life’s own great big dream.

One of my favourite lines: If not you, then who? If not now, then when? If not here, then where?

“Without ambition one starts nothing. Without work one finishes nothing. The prize will not be sent to you. You have to win it.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

As both Ralph Waldo and Sir Ken Robinson put it — and I paraphrase — your dreams won’t just land in your hands. You’ve got to get deliberate and act. You’ve got to get clear on what you most desire and then put in the work. It’s a simple equation. Know what you want + act. And yes, it helps to pray, meditate, or call on whichever god you believe in, even if that means sending your intentions out into the universe. And the universe, in my experience, always delivers — to those whose intentions are sincere and pure.

Start by leveraging your current connections. Tap into your most trusted networks. Learn to lean on those who have supported you the most in times of adversity. You’ll find that most people are willing to help — but again, it helps to ask.

I will always try to help the people I work with and for, but how can I know what you want or need if you don’t first bring it to my attention? Ultimately, we all hold the keys to our greatest dreams. This is called agency — and sometimes that just means dropping your bloody ego and asking for help.

3. Yes, you might have to drop your ego and ask for help.

I once had an actual agent. He didn’t do anything for me. He was purely transactional — and that’s okay. I assumed that because he got a slice of my very minimal paycheck, that alone would be an impetus for his action. I was a young, naïve professional athlete. I didn’t understand this transaction. It was also super cool to tell everyone that I had an agent, even if was all smoke and mirrors. It definitely fed my athlete’s ego, which was only ever a castle in the sand.

I learned fast that I had to drop my ego at the door, stop telling people I had an agent, and become an agent of change for myself. Most real agents are transactional in nature. Find an agent who works transformationally — someone who wants to give for the sake of giving. These people are out there, and they are gifts.

“Awareness is the greatest agent for change.”

— Eckhart Tolle

Over the years, I’ve learned to be more clear about what I want, and I’m still learning how to best ask for help. Everyone needs help — and that’s okay. As a writer, this might mean you have to set up your own website, start a blog, ask people to read, review, and refer your work, pay for an editor, or even self-publish your own bloody books. Sound familiar?

As always, I’ll leave you with a poem.

Gorse Bush

Imagine if all that was holding you back

was just that: a thought,

or the definition of a word you made up

when you were eleven years old.

A small seed someone —

a parent, coach, teacher, or mean bully —

planted between your ears, that, left unchecked,

grew into a hillside of prickly yellow weeds,

and for years has been stealing

the sunlight from your native species.

A Poetry Competition of My Very Own: Men Into Monsters

I wrote the following poem for the Telegraph’s 2026 Poetry Competition. The theme of this year’s competition is “mothers.” After writing the poem, I realised I couldn’t submit it, because I’m not a resident of the UK, the Channel Islands, or the Isle of Man.

Anyhow, I think poetry competitions are a bit dumb anyway. Who decides if a poem is any good—let alone better than another?

If you are British, Channel Islandish, or Isle of Manish, feel free to steal the below poem and claim it as your very own. Who knows, maybe you’ll even take away top prize?

Men Into Monsters

A baby boy — toddler — trips and falls
on a marble airport floor, and then gets up,
and runs — collapsing — into his mother’s open arms.

She consoles him, wiping the tears that spill down his cheeks
with the cuff of her sleeve pulled over her palm.
The mother — she smiles at me.

And I wonder, how is it that loving mothers
raise baby boys that turn into men
that become monsters?

A River Runs: Finished is Better than Perfect

“What makes people beautiful is not that we get everything right — it’s that we get many things wrong. And what makes us fall in love is not the person who is perfect; it’s the person who accepts our imperfections. And we know when we are in love when we learn to accept theirs, not learn to want to.”

— Simon Sinek

A few years back, 2020, I self-published my first book titled A River Runs. The deadline for this book was a release in time for Simone and I’s wedding in Wānaka, New Zealand, January 4th, 2020. I published A River Runs in a blitz — the impetus to finish: having it completed in time for the arrival of our guests, the whānau, family, and friends that would come from all over the globe to celebrate our special day. We sold the book at the wedding — 1 for $25, 2 for $100. We asked people not to bring gifts and instead to buy a book, preferably two, to help us cover costs. Each guest received an individualised poem gently cut out of the book as their very own when they sat down at reception, coupled with a personalised letter from Sip and Sim.

It’s funny looking back — I published that book without a care in the world, no fear. It was then quickly featured in 1964 Mountain Culture Journal. It received some incredible reviews from noteworthy readers (you were all noteworthy!) and fly anglers. Apparently, it even made its way into the palms of a man named Yvon.

I was invited on a South Island book tour by Petronella’s Bookstore in Tekapo, where I was asked to do a reading of A River Runs in a country bar. We had boxes and boxes of the book stowed away in our closets. I would send copies around the world and lose fifteen bucks on every sale due to the cost of shipping books from Aotearoa to the United States, Canada, Sweden, Finland, Great Britain, India — you name it. I was just happy people wanted to read it. Someone even placed an order for 100 books ($2,500 deposited into our bank account in an instant) so they could give them away as gifts to family and friends. We sold every single book. 2,000 copies.

Now, when I read A River Runs back, I cringe — like a visceral, squeamish cringe — at an artist’s early attempts, akin to the drawing of a kindergartner. But the funny (as in peculiar) thing is: that book’s imperfections are probably why people became so quickly endeared to it. There was no punctuation, hardly any capital letters, a rough draft of sorts. I didn’t hire anyone to design it. No editor, aside from Sim. A friend quickly threw it together on InDesign or Canva — I can’t quite remember. The book was printed in black and white, no complicated cover images. A little stock image of a flying fish as its emblem. Bare minimal. And people loved it… or so they say.

More people want it, but I’ve refused to buy any more stock (buy e-version here). I still get emails about the impact A River Runs had on people’s lives. Some readers tell me they carry it with them as a little bible/reminder of sorts. I encouraged people to doodle, draw, write all over it, stick it in their back pocket, rip out their favourite poems and pin them to their fridge, or use it as kindling after a walk into a DOC backcountry hut.

It reminds me of the Salvador Dalí quote: “Have no fear of perfectionism — you’ll never reach it.” What that book taught me was that starting a creative project is hard, but finishing — tougher yet. And that finished is better than perfect. But at the time, finishing A River Runs wasn’t hard because my cause to finish it in time for our wedding was greater than any resistance. I was also filled with youthful exuberance, a bit of naïveté, and I didn’t give a rip about the opinions and perceptions of others once the book was released into the wilderness. That’s probably why the book was such a hit.

What’s the lesson here? Your early creative endeavours will be cringeworthy for sure. Maybe to you. But to them, they may be one of the coolest, most beautiful, and treasured gifts on earth. Like how, even after all these years, your mom still hung on to that “amazing” drawing you did as a kid. We are all making the best art right now with the tools we currently have on hand. If we could do better, well then, we’d do better.

“The more important an activity is to your soul's evolution, the more resistance you will feel to it — the more fear you will feel.”

— Steven Pressfield

Over the past few years, I’ve been writing every single day, often in the very early hours of the morning — sometimes three or four books on the trot — and I haven’t quite found the equation for finishing. Time and again, I’ve been right at the end and then thrown the whole thing in the bin — even once lit it on fire. My fear of perfectionism — this resistance — has stopped any sort of book release since A River Runs. No doubt, in that time, I’ve become a better writer. I’ve spent years behind the scenes honing my craft in preparation for the next release. I’ve also been more doubt-filled and self-conscious than ever.

So, I’ll end with a word of encouragement and a poem below:

Keep writing, keep playing, keep doing whatever it is you do that brings any bit of joy to your heart and soul. It’s never too late to begin, so long as you’re still here. Have no fear of perfectionism — it’s a myth; it doesn’t exist. Perfectionism is simply the mind’s trick of creating resistance to action and finishing. As Simon Sinek says of the Japanese design concept wabi-sabi — beauty in that which is temporary or imperfect — imperfections are actually where the magic happens.

Book Release

I could have tinkered with you
for a lifetime,

or so it seemed,
but for both our sakes —

yours and mine —
I decided to let you go.

Releasing you into the wilderness
was scary as.

But not as much as
the thought

of holding onto
you forever.