Tag: on writing

Updates on Writing and Reading

June 9th, 2018
It’s been a week since I got home. However, the truth is, it’s been one month and one week since I wrote anything. When I say ‘anything’ here, I mean, writing to advance a plot or story that I have been working on. I am not bothered by the pace…I should be, but I’m not in the frame of mind to write and I knew I did the right thing by halting the release of Sifuna on May 26th.

What a way to start a post!

Well, have you ever made a decision that you were solely proud of?

I’ve never taken such a long time writing, editing and releasing a book as much as I have with this book. First, I had an idea, I tossed it about for three months, wrote a chapter or two and deleted it and had so many eBook cover changes that I finally decided to let it breathe!

On reading: I got down to Ready Player One by Ernest Cline because of this awesome conversation-> here. I’ll watch the movie!

I read the book in one sitting. Yes, not because it was as remarkable as the star ratings on Amazon, but because I found the 80’s reference too much to my liking and the writing faltered between utter fascination with unnecessary detailed descriptions. I’ll admit that I’m not a Gamer, so the fascination is lost on me, there were some parts where the writing seemed rather clumsy to me. So, here’s the deal…Spielberg’s got reigns of the movie and I am watching it! Ochieng…let’s toast to this “the movie’s gotta be way better than the book!”

I am still reading The Queen’s Fool by Philippa Gregory and cannot wait to finish reading it and get started on these titles!
- Teen Trailblazers by Jennifer Clavert.
- Priceless by Zygmunt Miloszeweski
So, there you have it…I’ll spend my Saturday reading and maybe drinking tea as I wait for my clothes to dry…I might pick up my pen and go over my drafts sometime next week and see where I go with writing.

Have a great weekend!
Memories

March 24th, 2018

I am falling. No, it’s neither in love nor asleep, but into a black hole. I have always known that I would have to write about myself.

Now that I have to, I fear that whatever it is I write, nothing may be as virtual as I would like it to be.

Someone once said that there is no line between fiction and non-fiction, the only difference is three letters ‘non.’ I have thought about this for twelve years. Truth is when I write it is never for anyone, but myself. Some stories have been to free myself of a guilty conscience while others to free others of theirs.

In essence it all boils down to me. I choose who lives and who dies, not when but just how. I leave the ‘why’ to you who’s reading this right now. So, if you could meet me for coffee and ask me one question, what would it be? What would you want to know about me? On the other hand, if I were to meet you for coffee and ask you one question, it would be ‘would you like to go for a walk with me?’ I learned this from my Grandmother. She told me, anyone willing to walk with you is worthy of your time. I did not understand the depth of her wisdom then. A friend once told me that life is never ending. He said this at his grand father’s funeral where we stood by him lulled by the wailing and the eulogies. He smiled and said he was glad the old man got some rest because dialysis was killing him. The thought that tubes went in and out of him broke his spirit more than the fact that the process was extending his life. He just stood there and said that life never ended. He said that one is born out of two people, lives, dies and moves onto the after-life.

What he could not bring himself to admit was that life only ended if whoever died never created any memories with those he/she left behind. And that’s why I want to live, such that generations to come will know about me, and I am glad that in Kenya, generations name their newborn after those who are long gone. Talk of a sure way to ensure reincarnation, and Romeo had the audacity to ask “what’s in a name?” And there are some things that I will never say, not out loud, and not even at my deathbed. The moment you think, ‘I have to share this with someone,’ it becomes a confession- words spoken in the hope of being understood and forgiven, but none of it makes sense.

Truth is most of them are memories they wish to realize again and again.

Excerpt from Memories. Published on August 29, 2013 on Smashwords.
On Writing

February 12th, 2018

A friend asked me “How do you find time to read a book, let alone write a book with the kind of world we are living in?”

Some people would echo her sentiments, others would echo mine and a few would echo those of the written word. You are all right. So, I took my time and thought this through, and then asked her “how do you find time to scroll through your facebook feed and post selfie updates on instagram?”

She sat back in her seat and put her phone on the table. See, we were on tea break and she was scrolling through her phone, answering whatsapp texts and I was reading a book. It was a thirty minute break spent differently by two different people.

credit: stocksnap.io

I then asked her how long it takes her to get to work and what she does while in traffic. She just shook her head and concluded the conversation by saying “you’re just special.” I did not utter a word in response even though I had a ten minute speech to prove that her tone suggested I was far from special.

However, there is still an aspect that I struggle with and that’s writing and not just sneaking in an hour or two or taking notes but full on writing. I am talking about sitting before a computer for four hours straight and just typing words that contribute to a story!

I’m working on it and now that I am feeling much better and the temperature in Kisumu is a solid 34 degrees Celsius, I’ll go drink some water and keep writing, guess that’s all I had to say on writing.
On Writing

October 8th, 2017

I have been held captive for years in my writing. There is always this burning desire to achieve literary merit. I want to write a storm, to unravel a mystery using twenty six letters of an alphabet that I was taught for sixteen years. Fifty thousand words, a cover image, immense praise and mega sales of a bunch of twenty six letters.

I have been here long enough.

I do not hold a candle to Mandela but all these years have me coming back to the same place that torments me; constantly telling me that I am not good enough or African enough.

Isn’t it sad that humans struggle to be enough when they are more than enough?

Maybe I could relocate to another country, write about my experience there and then it’d be this African author in a foreign country, but I am too proud to attempt that. I’ll miss royco, trips to Kibuye market, matatu rides and being around people of the same skin color as me. I’d give a lot for great and fast internet connection, no pot-holes, concerts but then I’d miss out on never having to be the object of stares, and frankly speaking, Fanta Orange tastes awesome only in Kenya. I tried that and it back fired so I’ll build a fortress here and use the words I know, the lyrics that come close to my heart to keep these prison walls from closing in.

I am half in, half out.

Every time a story unravels in me, I return to this prison, these walls choke me into either misery or bliss depending on which path I choose. They close in and when I come up for air. A star is enough to send me back under, five stars, a mile high up.

I am half out today. I need to see the world beyond these walls that I’ve built for myself and in so doing, I’ll admit that I am a repeat offender because come dusk, I’ll be back within these walls wondering if my stories are African enough…and the best part is knowing that I am both the prisoner, the warden and the law…I only have to embrace one role.
Writing, reading and updates on this week

October 7th, 2017
I did not get a good night’s rest because I took my worries to bed. They got so comfortable that I found myself sitting on the cold floor listening to Sam Smith’s In the Lonely Hour album. How’s your week been? What did you learn, fret about or simply put enjoy this week? On writing: I am still working on Ushanga. I have got a few chapters and phrases to work on. On reading: I have read some awesome books and right now my attention is on Ice Homme (Book 3, Valdaar’s Fist Series) by Vance Pumphrey. I also tend to read two or more books at a time when I am faced with an intense work of fiction. Sometimes the kind of breather I take from such intensity comes from reading a romance novel or short story. I have covered a chapter or two into these three books, but it’s safe to say that I look forward to reading these three to the end.

Other updates:
1. I tried a detox plan this week and failed the first day by taking a cup of coffee.
2. It seems as though my kinky hair will be free from braids for another week. 🙂 I don’t know what I’d do without conditioner. I took to my friend’s advice, got an avocado and some natural yoghurt to make some treatment paste.
3. I ate the avocado.
4. I will use the yoghurt to make a chilli paste because today is bhajia Saturday!
5. Started out my Monday by visiting a close friend, babysitting and running back home to avoid clashing with demonstrators on the streets.
6. Received news from YALI stating that the program I was looking forward to had been postponed to June next year. I sank in my chair, reached out for some tea and just sat there wondering why of all that is good and evil, such a thing could come to pass!
7. It’s taking me a while to get better for I’d struck a nerve when I stepped on Bonnie’s bone and so I have days when I can walk with ease and those days when I have to set an ice pack on the sole of my foot for ten minutes and follow it up with pain killers.
Have a lovely weekend.
On Writing

August 3rd, 2016

Writing turns you into somebody who’s always wrong.

The illusion that you may get it right someday is the perversity that draws you on.

A view shared on American Pastoral, a novel by Phillip Roth.