Day 3

I just finished typing the story I wrote on Sunday for a children’s book. It’s not proof read or punctuated, that will come later. Typing it out is always the harder part.
The idea is to type them all out and edit later. I’m not putting any deadlines on this one, but I have a goal in mind. The publisher got back to me, said he will read my e-mail, so I’m waiting. My agent is not very enthusiastic but I’m sure he’ll come through at some point.
I’m I a fool for trying to publish? Earn a living from writing stories? Maybe. Story tellers have to be a bit foolish in the mind to make stories happen. Maybe not. I’ve not pushed this hard before, it’s worth a try, and I’ll have nothing to lose.
I know my mistakes;
1. I can be very lazy. I have very many half length stories
2. I get distracted easily
3. Sometimes I cannot control the thoughts running across my
mind like two toddlers high on sugar
4. I don’t like to proof read my own writing- honestly
5. I’m afraid of criticism. So I hide most of my work form other’s eyes

Day 2

The first call this morning was from school. It was a reminder that they are going to cancel my student Visa and I ‘have to go back wherever.’ I wanted to go right back to bead. But The second call, from Sharon,(Sharon represents Gary’s family from England) she wanted me to go over for dinner. I said yes right away. She makes the best lasagna. I was staring at my notebook to write things to do, but couldn’t figure out what to do when I received a text from Taha(Taha is from Yemen, we go back a long way and whenever I’m in trouble he says, don’t worry, I help you.) And that’s what he did. I told him my Visa situation. He took the buses-4 and came to see me, and he had a solution.
So now I need to write a letter begging them to please not send me back, because I don’t even have money for a ticket and I doubt I can hitch a ride from the boats.
My reasons:
1. I’m a good student, yes I am, I enjoy my course and stopping now will
be a neat blow across my face.
2. I’m a published writer. They can publish me and use the money for my
fees.I was published straight from high school, I’ve got better with
time.I just need the papers and I’ll be out of their face.
3.Honestly, I only came here coz I wish to see my grandmother stop digging .

It makes her knees and ankles and back and eyes pain. And the sun makes her look really old. I hate it. I cannot tell her to stop. If she stops then what? I’m I going to feed her. I can’t even feed myself.

So we went for Sharon’s dinner and had a loud swim after, yeah, it was great and the laughs went right into the bone marrow. At the end of the day, I haven’t written everything creative, but I thought up a poem which I’ll write as soon as my mind settles.
Yesterday I typed one chapter of my new children’s story. That’s counts.
I’ll take 8 buses to school and back tomorrow. That is enough creative time.

The first day of 6 months.

DAY 1.

I’m currently living in uncertainty. I might as well be a vagabond .
To change my situation, I’ll finish one thing
For the next 6 months. I will try to get my books published.
If by the end of the 6 months nothing has happened towards my goal, I’ll try again.
What do I have today:
1. A complete novel
2. 3 complete Poetry Collections
3. 3 children stories
4. Life from my creator

What I don’t have.
1. Most of it still needs to be typed
2. Money to pay the illustrators, the designers



What I need:
1. An audience to urge me on
2. Ideas



Let’s do this.

Cecilia Gathoni, my granny ,My Hero

According to her, she was born in 1942. 15 years later,
she married the cool 17 year old Munyeki, whose untiring pleads for her hand in
marriage finally bore fruits. My grandmother. A forceful ,one woman symbol of strength.
Munyeki died early, at the age of 38. My grandmother was heart broken but she was determined to go on with life. Her selflessness and daring power in her heart helped her go through the crisis . Her eager children, 7 in number acquired a fearlessness to face any situation.
A forceful trait that has been passed on to my generation.
On any day,I just need to hear her voice or think about her and anything seems possible.

I wrote this for a timed English proficiency test

I had a strange thought yesterday.
Not the one about potatoes and not about my secret desire to go and live in Hargeisa. Stranger.
It snuck up on me as I was getting ready for my Wednesday meeting. Just after I wet my hair to make it manageable.
I looked into the mirror to see if that was my thought.
It was, installed in my mind but moving deeper into the tendons.
I wanted to open it, explore it, see if it was a serious thought or just one of the many passing thoughts which sometimes will turn into a story.
Others, when said aloud reconfirm my- travels along my own orbit- to whoever heard it. Sometimes, it’s a serious one hat reminds me of my values my goals and responsibility kind of thought, rare though. On ordinary days, the thoughts are simply an in built entertainment system and are not to be taken seriously.
So this thought, not falling into either of the usual categories worried me, a little.
It was like a headmaster who came in and said- hey watch it and didn’t say what why.
It wasn’t a warning thought. It was more like and idea, a suggestion, a dare.
Then it left, leaving me wondering- should I shouldn’t I?
Now it’s gone and I’m not sure where to follow it or wait for it to come back. With a challenge, with persuasion, or with disappointment that I never asked questions.

a poem

Trickle, trickle,

Trickle the raindrops,

Trickling down to fill up a stream.

Trickle, trickle a big river runs,

From the mountains down the desert,

Trickle, trickle down the river.

Falling leaves and small bugs join up,

Into the river and wave goodbye,

Ready for a ride.

Inside the trickling river that sparkles,

Curve and bend, when a ridge emerges,

Small bumps and swirls to greet the bridge,

Hold your breath, here comes the fall,

Sigh then scream we made it fine.

Trickle, trickle down the big river,

Bless the trees the dark clouds too,

Here at last, our mother sits,

She’s waving and cooing ,

To the stream that came home,

To the bit ocean let’s now run.

picture courtesy of www. kaichang.net

Life expectances

I’m 25 this year. That makes my childhood playmates- SG and SN - 30. That’s really old. That was my uncle’s age a few years ago and I thought- this guy is age mates with Noah.

When I was 16 and knew everything, I thought at 23 I’d have progressed to speaking bulleted points with every word that came out of my mouth.

A 22, I had my doubts and eventually I realised that I was a blithering idiot.

I also thought at 24 I’d know things, like how to deal with people, keep a job, cook properly. I still cannot, so maybe push the goal to 28?

One thing I can confidently say I am capable of handling is money. It becomes quite easy when you mainly deal in coins. For things like rent and bills and rent I think you just pray.

25 is a great year I must say. I’ve promised myself years of beauty sleep seeing as I expect wrinkles to start showing anytime, but I have a few things to settle.

Like the admission that I am not as smart in the head as I’ve always presumed, so there’s nothing to be proud of and I have to open my mind to learn new things and to accept correction, like when I say hotel when I mean restaurant because in my mind it’s hotel for restaurant and big hotel for hotel.

I’ve also been able to determine that I can only do a bit each day, so I’ll have no pain killing myself with putting up pictures on google earth to show the world where Nanyuki is, someone else will do it.

Also no point in trying to learn Tamil and Chinese alphabets when I’m still struggling with Bahasa Malay, and even if I don’t perfect Bahasa Malay so what, I never perfected sheng and survived Nairobi with Swaenglish.

But above all, I’ve learnt that the basic human has a cord which anyone can reach if they try hard enough. So it’s not weakness in my part to apply persistence with humility because on sticking that cord, impending doors can easily open.

My face will soon turn leathery, and my teeth fillings and masking will fall out.

Last year I pointed out to my friend that I really felt like I had matured in to an adult. After a nice laugh he said- I don’t think so-

This took me back.

Then he said

-You could say you’ve grown more into a woman but grown up? Artists don’t grow up-.

So that’s it, perpetual childlike existence. Every day.

This world is a huge place for just that

(picture by Aobakwe Moeti)