Writing Tips: Writer’s block and how to unblock it before you give up and go get a job as an accountant.

Being able to get the stuff running through my head keeping me awake onto paper or into a word document is not always easy. Sometimes it’s just words floating round the skull, escorted by disjointed witty phrases that don’t make much sense. I have got small notebooks filled with such words, ideas and phrases. I don't look through them much ever since I found out that my writer's block does not come from lack of ideas. It is mainly external.

Other times there is nothing there so I have to get it elsewhere.

 Pack up and Go

 I have researched  my family history and found out that, my great great great grand mothers were nomads. That being the case, I have inherited restlessness. I get tired of being in one place. I get needles and pins in my legs and I just have to wrap it up all and find a different land to pitch my tent. 

I only need one luggage

If I am on one place for a long time, I stop writing. Which is bad for me.  I get moody and can be worse than a wire brush. A change of environment is good for a writer. You get to interact with different people, face different challenges and write from a different perspective.

Go to the park and stare blankly into space

 I like quiet. And big open spaces.  When I go to the park, I don’t write anything on location. But what being there staring blankly at the sky does to my mind is it links up the ideas. All the zigzag lines straighten up and I can’t wait to get home to have all the ideas down on paper.

-Staring blankly into space- is best practiced in the park, when no one is looking.

 My mother, when she found me staring blankly into space at 18 was convinced that my mind was getting slower. It worried her. She said I would become foolish.

But how to explain to someone that your brain is not in a coma, it is working harder than when you look alert. Stare blankly into space away from the human population.

Go to the Gallery

 I used to spend a lot of time in galleries and art exhibitions. Now I don’t have the time. 

That statement is only half true. I lack proper organisation and the internet has made me lazy.

 I now only stalk artists online. Especially sketch artists. Something about raw pencil drawings inspires me, how a piece of art appears before it  has been clothed in color or ink. The thing with art is, once you become used to a particular artist, you get to learn what their style is and can tell when they have changed it, improved it, and it makes you want to improve your own.

my friend Aaron does beautiful brush lettering

Do something different

Something you would never do on your own initiative. Like going for a photo shoot. If you have the energy. 

 or take a hike

I went for a photo shoot last month and had much fun the first hour, but two hours later I was finished, done, ready to go home and sleep for the next two days. I now know why there is an age limit to models.

I like pictures, but not posing for them, so such an arrangement is really trying. But there is art behind the process of making a picture outdoors. When they set up their gadgets, and try to work with the sun to make the lighting just right. And seeing models pose in ways you only see in the magazines, how they can hold a pose for as long as the photographer wants, and seeing the result of the hard work later.

Get on a bus

And eavesdrop. I get such satisfaction when I get into a matatu and everybody is talking to each other, or someone is on a long phone call talking to their bff about their mother-in-law. Try this, when you get on the bus, sit near the front. There is always conversation going on between one front passenger and the driver, the conductor and the driver, or the conductor and a passenger who is riding for free because he is a driver on another bus but is going to town today for the safaricom open day to buy his daughter a smart phone. If there is a traffic policeman getting a ride there will be conversation, Sometimes I get home very amused. I still have one conversation I listened to in 2004, scripted.

why so serious lah?

 It is also on the bus you get characters for your stories. Sit at the back and observe. Bus rides will never be boring again, even in traffic.

Commuter Train Route # 8hours plus- How I slept in the bus

I don’t , well, hardly ever sleep in the bus. I don’t like to talk either, I prefer to stare into the dark and and wonder how many more books I will get to read before I’m 45 at this rate.

So when I got on the bus last week, going on a 8 hour trip, I was ready to zoom out. I didn’t have the window seat so I would make the best out of it by just breathing.

 But the woman behind me wanted to talk.
She claimed she had long legs and needed more space and can I stop acting like I paid Sh 1500 while the rest of them paid Sh 950. I ignored her. She started to hit my chair saying I would not sleep unless she was comfortable. The woman opposite said to her- “please, just lean back your chair as well, that’s how the seats are meant to be.”

She said she was pregnant.

My seat mate stood up to look, and seeing no stomach put back her seat belt and slept.

I said to the  drama queen to go and report to the conductor, coz really, there was nothing for me to do.

 She stood up and went  to the front in a huff.

 I’m told the conductor ignored her.

 She came back and hit on my chair again. 

She was hurling insults and saying this world is full of selfish people. 

 

I wanted to stand up and tell her what I had in my mind.

Which was, I had murdering cramps. My hormones were all over the place and if she thought being pregnant was a bother, she needed to take a look at my face. I had had a long, stressful day and would have preferred to be in my bed with a hot water bottle on my back.

Her traveling companions asked her to change seats and she refused.

‘ I paid for this seat, I will sit here!’

They were feeling embarrassed for the scene she was causing.

She said she was tall. I thought to myself, 'I am a tall girl too.'

I didn’t see her point at all. When you have periods you only see the sharp points bursting on the bridge of your nose like it's Diwali.

I could also have challenged her to a fight coz my Testerone levels were quite high.

But I  closed my eyes and decided to do nothing at all. Until another self respecting woman, came and kindly asked me if I could level up my seat a bit. I did and went back to pretending I was asleep, until I fell asleep. 

Then got up many hours later to rummage through my bag for panadols. One of them rolled on the floor of the bus.
I slept again until I was awaken at the destination.

This chic: Regular conversations about regular guys

“So what kind of a guy do you like?” She asks me and I only have two seconds to decide if it’s the truth or the story.

"if he isn't wearing socks, his feet can't be that bad to look at"

‘Um,,, I used to like tall dark and handsome, now I am not sure. Wait, I like… no. I guess I need to know someone first then I decide if I like the way he looks or not.’

“Eh? Ama it’s coz you are older now?”

‘I think so.’ (and I am scrolling down my ‘guys folder’ to point out a specific feature I like in a guy. Nothing comes up)

“Me,I like well groomed nails, she smiles. It’s the first thing I notice in guys.”

I laugh and she continues.

“Then I like guys who make their presence felt.  Not rude guys, guys who will not let people poke fun at me when we are walking in the street. You know they are some guys you can be walking together and you meet a group of roughies and you are the one telling them- keep off? The chances of being beaten up, both of you is very high.”

‘I know what you mean.’

‘Tell me about your recent crush, how does he look like?’’

(oh no, I am not ready to confess.  This topic is getting out of hand)

‘What he looks like or what I like about him?’ I buy time.

“How does he look like?”

‘He is a kawaida guy. Not tall.’

“You mean he’s short?”

‘Not very short.’

“Like Mark’s height?”

‘Mark is tall.’

“Gosh Cecilia, that means he’s shorter than you are.”

‘Yes.’

“And you don’t mind that?”

‘Haha, It never occurred to me. He also doesn’t have much hair.’

 “You mean he’s bald!?”

‘Not bald, just he doesn’t have much hair on him.’

“Kwani he’s like how old? Over 50?”

(this is the nearest I will come to confessing.)

‘If I tell you he is younger than me will you think I like younger men?’

“He is not even twenty seven and is balding? That is, sooo, weird.”

‘I think it’s because I have too much hair on me and when I don’t shave my legs I look like a very hairy goat. I think I have enough hair for both of us.’

“I like hair on a man’s arms. But I hate when a guy doesn’t wear a vest and then a button opens and then it’s as if he was hiding an animal under his shirt.” she says meditatively and gives me a few examples. I call her weird.

‘He doesn’t wear socks.’ I hear myself say.

 “What? Why?”

(why did I have to say that! Now I have to explain) “I mean, like if  it's a casual do and he's got on his, Hush puppies or Clarks he just throws on a sweater and no socks.”

“So you mean to say, when you meet a guy for the first time, there is nothing that strikes you about them until you know them?”

‘Not always, but I need to talk to them first. He could be the darkest shade of night but if he has no content I won’t think much of him.’

“Wait, you like very dark guys?”

‘Yup.’

“Dark like K’Ogelo or South Sudan?”

‘K’ Ogelo.’

“You don’t like white guys then?”

‘Ok. It depends. Can he hold a conversation without reverting to the race issue? I’m black you are white, it’s a fact now can we move on to other interests?’

“How about light guys?”

“Light guys like Musila yes. Lighter. No.”

“Why?” She is clearly shocked.

‘Don’t say I said this but, light guys I have met, have the same attitude as light skinned chics who have always been told they are the most beautiful girl in the village.’

“I also prefer dark guys, if they are black”

 We laugh and take a sip of the bone soup they gave us for 10 O’clock tea, and get back to sorting the onions.

pictures borrowed. and here are two regular songs, about regular relationships.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKr9m7-MyLE
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65RGzDyTHFc

Finding God- That time I got saved

I was always curious about getting saved and being able to say bwana asifiwe (praise the lord) to people. So one time while visiting relatives in the city, I walked to a church that preached in Kikuyu. 

The preacher called out for all that wanted to make Jesus their personal saviour to come to the front.

I walked to the platform.  All my relatives were Catholic so no one would recognise me I was sure. I had hoped to get a convulsion when the preacher laid hands on me, that would have been epic. I didn’t, but another woman who had accepted the Lord to take control of her life started to pray out loud and clap. The preacher was pleased and while he turned his attention to her, I walked back to my seat.

When I got home I told one of  the house-help ladies that I was now saved. She wasn’t catholic , she stroked my cheeck and said – Kaniso, you are now forgiven, you have made Jesus very happy.

The man of the house heard and he wondered out loud what a standard five child knew about salvation.

I was pissed. 

I was angry for his judgement of me. I had made a step closer to God, and he was saying it didn’t matter? I was sure he was wrong.

children know more than they let out, actually.

The whole of me was trembling. I had got up the courage to walk in front of a church full of strangers, and confess that I was a sinner and hoped to be forgiven and make reforms in my life, and here was an adult weighing my actions on his little  palm and trashing them? I had proof that God knew I existed and cared about children. When I was little my granny and uncle would sing to me.

(Little children of long ago were brought to Jesus

But his disciples stopped them

Then Jesus said don’t stop them

And he told their mothers,

Let the children come to me

Because all children are loved by Jesus.)

I didn’t tell anybody at home that I was now saved. But I tried very much to read the Bible, say prayers and sing. I had decided my affair with God was my own business, and I would be in charge.