Words create the anatomy of a story, but within that story there are openings that can’t be closed.
The Sorrows of an American by Siri Hustvedt
Category: Insight
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Ruth was the kind of person whose voice you had to mine before you heard it.
I asked her, “Tell me what happened.”
She said, “Do you really want to know?”
“No, but some selfish part of me wants you to hear yourself talk about it.”
My demons like me alone. They come to me sometimes at 2A.M. or 4A.M. They don’t come empty handed. They always bring gifts. Hansel’s smiles. Shouts. Broken glass. Screeching tyres and blood. They always bring me blood and it’s everywhere. On the seat, on my lips, on my face, and he’s gone.
My demons like me alone. I think, I like them too, at least he’s still alive when they visit. So, I unwrap each gift as time goes on.
She left just like she’d come, but with each step she took, I knew she’d never stop. You cannot cage the wind. I have tried. I am still foolish to believe that I can. When the text came this morning, my knees touched the floor and for the first time in my life, I knew it to be true…you cannot cage the wind, it destroys you if you try.
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I met him, last year, on a day such as this.
He was seated at the corner,his eyes met mine then went back to his phone. Samsung.
Blue jeans, green t-shirt, slender long fingers like Harith Salim’s. The NTV News presenter. The kind of guy I’d buy chapo beans and watch him tear it into pieces, dip it into the beans and lick his fingers after. I love slender fingers, philosophical fingers,the kind that I can watch in action. I am attracted to eyes, and I smiled at him.
I activated the WiFi on my phone and set it aside. I ordered house coffee,single,and a muffin. I looked at him. I’m a coffee kinda girl; black, with sugar. He oozed caramel. A combination of come have a look and how about a taste. He caught me staring and I smiled again. I waited for the third time, the charm, right?
My friend Eve,walked in, all smiles and we started talking about work. When the waiter approached our table, I managed to look towards the corner, there on the table was an empty glass. I turned to Eve, to normalcy, but there’s nothing like love at first sight in September.It’s all about falling leaves and thirty days of yearning for sunsets. I’ll stay indoors this September, dream of the guy with slender fingers and honey brown eyes. I’ll dream enough to keep me awake for thirty days and then call him just to remind him, “Do you remember how we first met?” and,watch him squirm because he forgot our anniversary.
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And when the world lies on your shoulder,
When you desire your actions to be bolder,
Love.
Love your smile, your wit, your pain,
Love for it flows inside you,
But radiates on the outside.
When it seems like there is nothing great about you,
Remember, love.
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You come neat
Two cubes of ice, straight
Slow burn
Sweet silky fire,
Complete.
A sip, a lingering
Hot coal dancing on my tongue.
Bourbon
Dashing
Smoldering
A yearning.
A slight twist up north,and you’d be Whisky.
Straight.
Your arms linger,halfway between my neck and my chin,
A slow burn
I cannot run,
So, do your worst
Two cubes of ice.
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It is of words,
‘Fine,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘Thank you.’
I dream of leaving,
One foot in front of the other,
One word in place of another.
‘Unhappy,’ ‘I’m glad,’ ‘No, thanks.’
So, when I close my eyes
I dream of chapels and labels.
I hear bells,
I dream of leaving,
I work on staying.
And when I dream…it is of what of could be,
Could it be you?
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I’m in trouble.
Well, it’s not the kind that warrants a search team, but it goes beyond what anyone could imagine. My story idea has run its course. You know the way you sit on that matatu and start talking to a stranger and then after the fare, the traffic, the music, the bore of city life- you run out of stories and small talk suddenly comes to an end with plugged in earphones? Well, something like that, but I am a Writer, I am never short of ideas, right? WRONG.
Okay, I did not mean to defy grammar back there, but you know sometimes writing in Caps is like venting all that anger on a screen? Man, I love CAPS. So, where was I, yes, the lazy writer’s guide on how to know an idea has run it’s course.
My Mentor has not received any drafts from me in four months and his text this morning read: You are becoming a lazy Writer. Send me a manuscript, a poem, anything, just write it! I thought:
Writers have lots of ideas and once you have published a book, the question everyone asks is ‘when is the next book coming out?’ You know, like it is locked in your house and one day it will be free to roam the world. But, some ideas are just that, ideas, and when it comes to plots, most stories never make it to the finished book. There is a reason we have texts, blog posts, articles, pamphlets, novellas, and then novels.
So,how do you tell that an idea has run its course or that story you are working on will never go far?
Here’s what this lady thinks:
- You can’t write anything else. You have gotten to the point where you cannot find the words to continue the story.
- You wake up and do other stuff and only come to write when you feel like it. You cannot seem to force yourself to get the words out.
- You cannot help the frustration. When you start to feel as though you could strangle the words you have written for causing you so much misery- abort the mission. Earth to Writer, abort! Abort! Your imagination is far more important than your stress levels!
- The characters are the same. There is no change on them or the cause they are fighting for. If you have ten typed pages and nothing changes in the characters, please set it aside.
If you look closely you will notice two things with what I have shared: frustration and being stuck. Those two do not have mercy on writing and more so the writer.
So, what do you do when it seems like the story was so great in your head but in paper it’s ashes?
- Set it aside.
- Do not, and for the sake of the life of words, do not trash what you have written. Back up everything you have written, however awful, it might just make it into your next book or story.
- Go out, watch a movie, sing along to a song on the radio, take awkward selfies, read a book. There’s more to life outside your mind.
And then when you are ready, you can come back to it or move on to the next idea that comes, but if there’s one thing I have learned it’s that having a folder of story ideas, always comes in handy when an idea fizzles out.
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When we were kids we would climb all types of trees to get the fruits we wanted. Guava tree. Mango tree. Lemon tree. Pawpaw tree.
We got the lemons while they were green and now the sun has been with us for more than three weeks and suddenly they have turned yellow.
Worry not, The Forty Days, series will continue from this evening at 4 P.M.
Have a lovely day.
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Nothing beats reading a good romance novel.
I tell you, even The Beast fell for Belle and Prince Eric got Ariel without singing (thank you Disney, Prince Eric is the only Prince in the fairy tales who doesn’t sing,saves the spotlight for that crab, Sebastian,under the sea )
Have you ever had someone reading over your shoulder? I don’t know about which location you are in as you read this,but in Kenya it happens. Someone stretches their neck towards that paper you are reading in a matatu or that woman seated next to you looks as you answer a text. Seriously, why is it always old women who help you read and answer chat messages in matatus?
I was reading this steamy romance:
Now, Jackie Ashenden tells a wicked story about a dictator of a Sheikh,named Zakir who comes across this woman, Felicity, her company develops and sells software. He kidnaps her mistaking her vehicle for another one belonging to a Princess and what results is a passion like no other. It made me burn onions the first time I read it and the second time I missed my stop while in the matatu. But, I’m getting to that, settle in your seat peaches!
So, I get into a matatu at rounda just near the Jomo Kenyatta Sports Grounds in Kisumu and sit by the window. I take out my tab and scroll through my carousel of ebooks and settle on this book. I take out twenty shillings and hand it to the tout just in case I forget and get cosy to this book. 5% into the book, I hear a snort, more like a suppressed bout of either scornful remarks or anger. I turn and catch the eyes of a man. Dark, an eighty percent chance of sideburns that need a trim,his eyes are sinking into mine but he cranes his neck towards my tablet and smiles. Clean teeth. Neatly arranged like he bought his dentist a plot, but he says “niaje,” in a mild voice like he broke it last decade, he’s still refining it. That or he has a cold.
“Poa,” I croak out. Two frogs have met.
“Naona unasoma romance, so what is it with ma kina Danielle Steel na Sidney Sheldon that madame who like? Kwanza that Sheikh is rude to that Chile mbona anamgive time yake?”
Pause. Place a bookmark. Breathe in. Indulge a muggle.
I think of how to answer him, he must be in his late twenties because they are the people who know about Danielle Steel and Sidney Sheldon. I am about to tell him that those are not the only romance writers in the world. I am about to toot my horn and ask if he’s heard of me, but neither introductions nor marketing are needed here. He stretches out his hand and says “James, nice to meet you, so you are romantic?”
I am a hopeless romantic, you have no idea! But before I croak out another response the matatu comes to a stop, a lady alights outside Kisumu Girls High school and he steps down and takes the seat beside me. “So, nashuka kondele, how does that story end?”
“Nashuka karibu but we can read now that umejua story, or I can tell you the title uende ukajisomee.”
“Sina tablet.”
“No, you don’t need one, with Amazon Kindle you just need an email address and uko sorted. You can read it on your phone or PC bila stress.”
“Ni sawa,I don’t read books sana.”
“But you were just reading what I am reading?”
“Yes, and trust me, I never do such a thing! It’s like it just happened plus I saw this shirtless jamaa and it’s good to know what ladies dig. Dating game ni noma kiasi.”
I shake my head and continue reading with the tablet between us. When I lift my head we are driving past Jalaram hospital and I think,we just passed my stop! Now I will have to alight at Kibuye. I reach out and tap the tout, “kibuye!”I say and he nods and I turn to meet James’ eyes again. ” Unashuka?”
“Ehe,Kibuye.”
“Ni sawa but does the guy get the girl?”
“He does, most romance novels have happy endings.”
” Hiyo ni poa, otherwise thanks. Siku ingine.” The matatu comes to a stop at Kibuye and I alight. James waves at me and the tout smiles as the car drives off. I look at the stretch ahead of me and think of just how much I’d give to have those Ice za five five! A cold block of colored water to chill my insides. Even as I wonder about all the stuff that have happened to me in a matatu, I cannot help but wonder just how taken I was by Ashenden’s book.
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When Jeremy dropped me off, I realized two things; I talked more about myself with him and I had no control of the project. It was nine o’clock. My neighbor, Suzie, was coming down the stairs in her black knee high boots and red bare back dress. She pulled me into a quick hug and smiled at Jeremy then took to those stairs like a swan. Jeremy shook his head and tucked his tongue into his mouth.
I held out my hand and thanked him for a wonderful evening and took those stairs two floors up to my apartment.
Two things needed my attention: Nicole’s two timing face and Jeremy’s stubbornness.
If I was lucky, then I would find a way to deal with both issues without breaking a sweat even if it meant not talking to Nicole over those lunch breaks.
nilichoandika 