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    November 26th, 2019

    I know a couple of things about you,

    The kind of things you wish the world never knew,

    The ones that make you smile, that make you say “I’m fine,” when you are not.

    I know a couple of things about you,

    The kind of things I wish I never knew,

    Like how you smile in between kisses,

    Like how you cannot part with a cigarette, not even to share a puff with a stranger.

    Like how you wish your Mother stayed a little longer, loved you a little harder,

    Like how you see the world in numbers, and yes, you can multiply complex numbers without using a calculator.

    Men's Black Framed Eyeglasses
    pexels.com

     

    I know a couple of things about you,

    The kind of things we wish the world never knew,

    Like how many times you’ve wounded me,

    Like how easy it is for you to find warmth in another, yet your heart beats only for me…

    An addiction for the feminine body is what you called it,

    Stardust, how easy it is for you to self-destruct, my love.

    I know a couple of things about you,

    The kind of things that only my soul can speak of, a galaxy of its own, an ember unknown.

    I know a couple of things about you Stardust and I won’t wait for my being to define it, so I’ll leave this here…another breadcrumb which I hope you’ll nibble on as you make your way home.

    Come home, Stardust.

  • Night Lights

    November 21st, 2019

    “Would you leave the light on?”

    You ask and I know I nod because this is where we are right now…we sit in our silence, talk in our anguish, arise in our fear.

    It’s one of those days, I know.

    You are six hours away and your heart wants to know it’s always welcome home.

    You say I’m home and sometimes…like right now, it feels exactly like it.

    So, hurry up  Stardust and come home.

    High Rise Buildings during Night Time Photo
    pexels.com
  • Why do you write and other questions I can’t answer with a straight face

    November 19th, 2019

    It’s a Tuesday and I am preparing my third cup of tea as I write this. No, I just poured water into an electric kettle and switched it on- the tea will come as a result of dipping a teabag into the hot water for a few seconds and adding sugar to it.

    I’m a Writer. I write.

    I have my days and in saying so I mean days when I am excited about writing and can write continuously and then those days when the sight of a blank page makes me want to curse my ancestors.

    It’s been three weeks since I published and received copies of my latest work, Sifuna, and with this there have been questions that I’ll admit I never answered with a straight face, not because they were neither funny nor annoying, rather, they were questions I didn’t expect to hear.

    First things first, have you seen the cover I designed for Sifuna?

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    I’ve received positive reviews so far and I am glad that I got to print copies here in Kenya and with this it’s easier to order copies and ensure readers in the country get first access. I’m yet to liaise with bookstores to expand distribution and this thought takes me right into the questions I’ve been asked so far:

    Why Sifuna?

    Em…I like the symbolism in the name Sifuna. It’s a name given to a male child among the Luhya community, and it means “harvest.”

    Which bookstore has copies of your book?

    None so far.

    Why? How do you expect readers to get your book?

    I am more open to having readers contact me to get a book, like you did, is there a bookstore you would recommend that I could approach and engage in discussion on marketing and distribution of my book?

    How much is a copy?

    Kshs 700, this includes delivery charges via Easy Coach courier services.

    Why do you write?

    I wish I had a definite answer, it would satisfy you, when I’m specific however, with writing, nothing is cast in stone, except for the fact that writers write and that’s it. Sometimes I do it for the power, because hey, I can kill a character using words, embedding them in a story or I could draft my Ex like a drunk, piece of chair, a urinal…in a story, who knows? It’s very satisfying, that kind of power, it’s like being high…does that answer your question?

    When’s your next book coming out?

    Whenever it is ready.

    What will it be about? This one is political and stuff, what of the next?

    I don’t know, it will be what it is…a story, and whoever reads it can choose to assign it to the genre they feel is most appropriate for them.

    Wow! You must be rich! How much money have you made so far?

    I’m rich, I mean, I sat down and wrote over forty thousand words- trimmed it to what you have in Sifuna, so yes, I am a notch above today.

    What advice would you give to an aspiring Writer?

    The difference between an aspiring writer and a writer is action. Write and write and read as widely as you can.

    Do you think Kenyans love to read?

    It’s 2019, are we still asking this question? Okay…no worries, let me try and put it this way, I’m a Kenyan and I love to read…so when you choose to ask about “Kenyans” that leaves more than forty million plus people and yes, Kenyans love to read the question is what do they love to read and how do they consume the content they read? Now, those are questions that can keep us here for years.

    I just finished reading Sifuna- and Baoya’s a fool, like how did you even think of someone like him? How can someone be so naive?

    Great! I’m glad you finished reading Sifuna. Well, you talk of two things being a fool and being naive. The two may share a fence but they are not the same. Baoya’s naivety creates room for Sifuna’s callousness to announce itself…and there are people like both Baoya and Sifuna, have you looked around?


    I’ve had two cups of tea already, I’ll go to bed now and start brooding over the next story.

    Have a wonderful week!

    PS: I’m into 40,000 words for NanoWrimo this week and my mind’s a mess.

     

     

  • Flowers for Christmas

    November 16th, 2019

    “What should I get you this Christmas?” you ask, and in between puffs, I compose myself. I collect my thoughts and sort them out as one would rice.

    Lately, I seem to stumble upon my words, as I gaze into your eyes.

    It must be the haircut.

    Or is it that you seem vibrant, radiating an aura of sheer joy…or content, I don’t know. I never know how long your bliss lasts. I’ve never cared much about prolonging them.

    “Get me whatever you decide upon, I’m not so big on Christmas,” and I lie back, my eyes roaming the ceiling as you puff your thoughts away…how is it that you take a long drag when you are afraid of speaking your mind? I keep my eyes on you and you smile.

    white comforter
    unsplash.com

    “You have a certain power over me and you act like you don’t know you do, and that smile right there, that one…where your right cheek bulges and your eyes twinkle, it’s the best look you can ever wear.”

    “What’s on your mind?”

    “I don’t know, maybe I do, but sometimes like right before you looked my way I was thinking, why is it that hearts can break in more than one way yet they have to heal in the same way?”

    “And…”

    “You know what I am talking about Love, you may smile now, laugh now, or better yet, talk to me now, yet there are times when a slice of pain brushes your heart and I get a glimpse of it in your eyes, that stuff scares me. To know that I did that…is it worth it love, being here and now, back in my arms, is it worth it? Can I get you flowers for Christmas?”

    I look into your eyes and instead of the black pool I always get engulfed in, I find myself thinking of yellow flowers and my head throbs…this is how I’ve learned to stay, apologies, moments where you’re remorseful and unlike you, I devour pain.

    I let the hurt simmer and serve it chilled in words.

    How is that we take one step forward and galaxies back, Stardust, did you know that a cage is still a cage, it matters not whether it’s in gentle hands or not.

    I look at you and to stop the throbbing in my head say, “I want you to hold my hand this Christmas…” you smile and before I know it, I am in your arms, right where I should have been before you started all this talk of Christmas.

     

  • Silence

    November 10th, 2019

    It’s you…Stardust.

    It’s always been you.

    I don’t know what to make of these thoughts, that stir my mind, set it ablaze you’d say.

    For a soul so unknown, you love fire, like the air you breathe.

    It will be ten o’clock in fifty-eight minutes.

    I’ve had a cup of tea for supper and you are probably watching National Geographic, stretched out like a big cat on that brown couch you have.

    You’ve had a cigarette for supper, but you will fix yourself something to eat, because you know how to whip up a meal when you’re motivated, and nothing motivates you like hunger.

    I keep talking to myself, my words bounce back to me, these four walls know more about my emotions than I do.

    So, I’ll write you another letter before I go to bed tonight.

    And it will be something like this, “Dear Stardust…silence.”

    Person Lying on Bed Holding Blanket
    pexels.com
  • Music

    November 4th, 2019

    I struck a chord.

    I sang from the depths of my soul,

    and you…Stardust, listened.

    Not to the words, not to the tune…but simply to what my soul sang.

    So, you say that I’m like a melody,

    Beautiful but nostalgic,

    Sweet but unforgettable.

    So, you say that I’m like a chord,

    once struck, the action cannot be undone.

    Silhouette Photo of Person Carrying Guitar
    Clement Eastwood took this photo/www.pexels.com

    I toss and turn until I cannot bear it anymore and I ask, “what about harmony?”

    You laugh…I miss these easy laughs,

    The reckless abandon with which your vocals vibrate to show amusement.

    I could lie here forever Stardust,

    You and I, right here, right now…let’s make music.

     

  • Updates on the Writing life

    November 1st, 2019

    Hello November!

    It’s been a while since you came around and the leaves are falling, it is chilly and in most parts of Kenya, we have heavy rainfall and everyone is wondering how they made it through the year. It’s good that you are here November, I kinda missed you, not that you are important as such…it’s just that you come with a worldwide challenge that I like to participate in.

    I love a challenge, sometimes…not all times, so how about writing 50,000 words in 30 days? Eh, sounds like fun, right?

    So, here’s my way of saying welcome November and I really hope I get some writing done, so I have improved focus and better writing skills at the end of the month.


    Have a wonderful month!

    Be kind.

    Live. Love and laugh…

  • Drowning

    October 26th, 2019

    “Have you ever felt scared while on a boat on the lake?” you ask.

    It is four o’clock in the evening. I am in bed, trying to regain my composure from the nap I was taking. How is it that you still have my phone number?

    How is it that even when I have been miles away from you I can tell exactly what it is that you are doing?

    So, I stretch out on the bed, sit up- look at my hair that’s half undone…braids on the right side neatly done, on the left, a chunk of hair to be braided by dawn.

    I do not wish to talk Stardust.

    I do not wish to welcome or relish the silence we create between your questions and my answers.

    It’s been happening…and my mind wanders even as you hold, waiting for a response.

    I do not know what scares me Stardust…not anymore.

    You sigh, let out another easy laugh and say “I feel like I am drowning every time I think about you. Do not immortalize me Love, I do not deserve it, have you ever wondered how many kids we’d have by now? I mean, if I wasn’t such a jerk, we would have two…maybe a girl who looks like you, and loves me more or a boy, who walked like me…I don’t know, these post on facebook of parents congratulating their toddlers on graduating just got to me. What’s so epic about graduating from kindergarten? It sucks that parents pay thousands to get their kids a good foundation and then they go to public school and suddenly the parents can’t even fork up motivation fee for the teachers, saying that the government offers free primary education, how messed up is that?”

    You light a cigarette…I can feel it, miles away.

    man sitting smoking cigarette
    unsplash.com

    I look at the time, walk to the next room to turn on the kettle. A cup of tea could do me good, ease my nerves…and I want to cry Stardust. You don’t know this because you talk about your dreams and I sit on the floor hoping the cold would numb my sorrows.

    I want to hold it all in Stardust, because you have turned me into your Therapist, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like I am drowning, so who will save me Stardust when I cannot even save myself from your memories?

     

  • Just a little bit…

    October 22nd, 2019

    “Do you trust me?”

    You ask…four words, yet upon them hang the weight of a memory, a single occurrence, a thought.

    Silhouette of Man
    pexels.com

    I do what I do best…I smile and shrug my shoulders and look away.

    We’ve been here Stardust.

    You seek atonement, I seek freedom.

    Release me Stardust, and, you may just find yourself.

    The waiter sets a glass of milkshake before me and a cup of black coffee before you.

    How is it that you stir your coffee anti-clockwise?

    I am here Stardust. I see you and I love this new found space, this new understanding of how flawed you are and that you are embracing every bit of it.

    You are wounded Stardust.

    I do not care, not particularly. I am astounded at how you choose to beat yourself up for being human…so I am not angry anymore, anger is expensive.

    I am serene, Stardust.

    At least I think I am…just a little bit.

  • Why it took me so long to write this

    October 18th, 2019

    I am seated on the floor in this house I’ve rented somewhere in Mbita town. I am listening to King of Kings by Hillsong and sipping coffee, hoping to diffuse some warmth in me, given that it rained all night through to 9am today.

    If you’ve read my most recent posts, you may be able to tell that I am stalling, and bear with me because speaking of this hurts me more than I thought it would.

    I am finally going to sell copies of my latest book, Sifuna, in Kenya this coming November.

    I worked on this and got it down to 115 pages (I’m not so great at writing more than 200 pages).

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    About the book: It’s been 22 years since his Father was assassinated. Baoya, now in his mid-thirties decides to vie for a Senatorial position in the upcoming elections in his county. His decision and plan of action is backed by his childhood friend Sifuna. Baoya’s led a peaceful life and his actions spur a media frenzy on speculations as to what led to his Father’s assassination.

    Challenged by the desire to find the truth behind this intrusion into his life and the desire to maintain the sense of calm he’s had in his life, Baoya finds himself being swept downstream…will he find the answers he seeks and if so, at what cost?


    So, you may be wondering where I am going with this, and I can talk of why it took me so long to write this:

    1. I have been afraid that this book would not influence anyone who read it. It may sound a bit far-fetched, because I started writing this late last year and with every edition, I kept editing and changing the narrative arc so much so that at some point I set it aside and cried. It wasn’t right.
    2. Taking up a new job, relocating to a new town and just making time for this book has been a challenge.
    3. I’m scared of negative reviews. Now, here I am getting people to buy a book and then they’ll feel like they wasted their money on it- that hurts and this point should probably be number one. I’d love to give people value for their money. As a Reader too, I get it, I do not always react the same way to all books- and some books have grown on me, just because I read them at different points in my life, so if people love or hate this book, it is not a direct hit at me as a human being- it’s just the work. Question is, how do I separate myself from my work?
    4. I wasn’t sure where I was going with this book and after sending it out to fellow writers whose works I’ve read and loved, I finally got feedback and could figure out how to focus my writing.
    5. Finances. I self-publish and every time I’d want to work on this, some pressing matters would arise and I’d focus my finances on those- not my writing.
    6. At the beginning of the year, I promised myself that I would write and publish at least three books and the weight of fulfilling that promise has been like a dark cloud hanging over my head- trying to steer me in a different direction. 

    All these “what ifs?” held me back and even as I write this, I am still afraid, the only difference today is that a part of me is done holding onto this story and wants to release it to the world. This part is forever asking me “so what?” and pushing me to just put it out there, and as such set my mind free so I can start writing something else.

    So why did it take me so long to write this? Fear.

    I am learning that it’s good to be afraid, and it’s even better to just step out into the world and say “why not?”

     

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