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
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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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September is pretty low key for me seeing as I’ve not bought any new books, but with a few still on my to-read list,I am hopeful. I’d be reading The Fountainhead for the eighth time because I am embarking on a solo project and need Roark’s guts.
Which books are you looking forward to reading this month? Any recommendations? -
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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When I stopped, the sun was in the sky and the lights in the Priest’s house had just come on. You were still sleeping, sucking your thumb, unaware of the arms that held you. Your mother’s cheeks and hands were all I saw when I looked at you.
“What is the child’s name?”
“Maria.”
“Come inside and we can talk as I prepare for the morning mass.”
If that Priest were to tell me to walk backwards today I would, for he looked at me and prayed for me that morning and simply said, “Even Abraham had to leave his home for a land he did not know. Bless you my Son.” He was the third person to see the good in me my child and never ever forget this. You can forget me, or your parents, or your home, but never forget this man Maria. As I say this, I know that it was not easy staying with him, but he gave me a chance and whenever it felt too much for me he encouraged me to keep on. Wait, I seem to be running and squatting, but there is something about being rained on till your body grows warm that I am aware of.
An excerpt of “After the Ashes,” something I’m currently working on.
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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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If anyone told me that Sunday afternoon that I would be at the office going through proposals with Martin trying to save my job, I would have laughed at them and probably searched for contacts to Mathare Mental Assylum. I know Mathare would have been the stronger thought, but as it is no one tells you when you are about to served a good one.
No one also tells you that the person you get along with at the office is the one who wants you out because your department is a liability. The proposal Nicole wrote was based on the never ending war between Human Resources and Public Relations. It was a case of I can do what you do, and can even do it better. Reading her work was like walking on coals trying to strangle your master who was seated at the end watching you with a smirk on his face. For someone whose job was to be aware of my job description, Nicole was clearly off the mark. Even as I read through her working drafts and reviews of the contributions made by the PR department, I found myself torn between dealing with the matter professionally and pushing her down a flight of stairs.
The spreadsheet detailing the funds set aside for the project I was assigned was attached to the proposal together with a reviewed version she had in mind.
“This is outrageous!” I said.
“What? the fact that she stole the document you accused me of stealing, or that you were having the last supper with your friend?”
“Martin, do you know what this means?”
“What? The proposal or the impending apology from you?”
“Look, now is not the time to play games Martin. I understand that the HR department has the right to look into appraisals and make amendments on certain issues, but this is not just a forty percent slash, it is more like a sixty percent slash because there will be no funds for the marketing department to follow up on the project I was assigned. She is…”
“Saying to hell with your project!”
“Exactly and”
“It is making you mad.”
“Yes, but…”
“That is not all, she is doing this and has got Lillian backing her up, an epic case of HR versus PR with the Board of Directors as an audience.”
“Exactly and would you”
“Stop interrupting you!’
“Yes!”
“Well, I am hungry and the food we ordered is cold. We cannot warm it up because the microwave is in the kitchenette and we do not have those keys.”
“I carried my keys. There is a microwave in my office, but there is a way we can save face because I mean that’s what we do. We make other people look good for a living, so here are some notes I took as I was going through the proposal. Read them and let me warm the food you bought.”
“Yes Boss.”
“Martin, please don’t call me Boss.”
“For as long as you keep dishing out orders, Boss it is, now what duty did you assign me?”
“Please, just take a look at what I noted down, some are weak points in the proposal and they can be sued to make a counter proposal. Others are just ideas I guess, I would love to know what you think.”
“Now did it hurt you to have started with that Marjorie?”
“Whatever, just read them, I will be right back, I am hungry just going back and forth with you.”
“I know, right?”
I was about to add a sly remark but he smiled. He looked better without those brown sweaters.
nilichoandika 