Saturday, 17 June 2017

Philando Castile

Just finished watching the Wild Thoughts video for the third time and as I am watching I was thinking that Philando Castile will never get to watch this. He'll never get to gawk at Rihanna', bosom. He'll never get to wonder if he hates it or likes it. He'll never get to turn to his wife and ask her what she thinks.

Or wake his daughter up for school. Or call his mother.
He doesn't get to do all these things ever again.
Because he's dead.
His death was recorded live on Facebook by his wife while her daughter sat in the back and a policeman continued to point a gun at him.
 It was a slow death.
I watched it because I didn't think it would end that way. I thought emergency services would come and take him to the hospital like on Third Watch or Rescue Me. I thought the cop would drop the gun and try to perform CPR. I guess that's what happens when you confuse TV for real life.

I just happened to be online and she was filming and broadcasting every movement so the cop wouldn't shoot her too. She had to put her hands on the dash. She couldn't reach over to feel Philando's pulse or try to stop the bleeding. She had to stay still because it could become a bloodbath in there. There was a child in the car.
But the cop is the one who felt unsafe.
He's the one who felt like his life was in danger.
He's the one who gets to go home and watch Wild Thoughts like he didn't end a man's life in cold blood.
My soul is crying.
It's crying for justice.
I only had to watch that video and I feel like somebody should compensate me for the trauma.
How must it be to live it, day in, day out?
I feel that the juries in two cases, Philando Castile's murderer, and George Zimmerman's, have earned a special place in hell. In this place, they get to watch their loved ones shot in the heart, then slowly bleed out in front of them. Nobody calls emergency services. Nobody tries to help. Their hands are tied, they can't help either. Once every single one of their family members is dead, they get to be on the jury of the killer. And they get to return a NOT GUILTY verdict to that killer. A
And this goes on in a loop, over and over like that Tuesday on Supernatural.
As for the cops who go around murdering people like they have a license to kill, I curse you to come back in the next life as a black man. Good luck with that.

Friday, 16 June 2017


This has been that week...
Where everyone I know seems to be having a problem or two with the men in their lives.
And coming to me, a single woman, for advice.

It made me have a lot of thinky thoughts as I am wont to do when trying to solve a problem. And I came to some conclusions which I'd like to share with you.

1. We are not all at the same stage of evolution.
You know how we interact with people and expect them to behave a certain way? Believe certain things automatically? Have a certain standard of intelligence?
Then we just absolutely cannot understand why it doesn't happen that way? Well let me tell you a story and then  we can draw a conclusion.
Yesterday I'm in the matatu going to work and I'm sitting at the seat nearest the door. Now the conductor tells a kid who is sitting on a seat to stand up so an adult can take the seat. He then proceeds to lift the kid and put him in my lap...

I didn't say a word but my face must have said it all because the driver turns around and laughs like 'he put a kid in your lap' har har de har...
I did not say anything because;
- Anyone at my stage of evolution would at least have asked if I minded having a random child dumped in my lap.
- I had just been thinking about how tired I was scrolling down twitter and seeing angry black women angry at stuff men do; I always felt like these men cannot understand you anyway, so who are you ranting to?
- and thirdly the realization in two above let me know that I was dealing with exactly that situation. Men who were at a lower stage of evolution than me (I estimate Cro-Magnon) and even if I complained, they wouldn't get it anyway.
- I didn't really mind the kid on my lap. It's just good manner to ask.
Well anyway, the point I am making is, ensure that you're dealing with someone at the same stage of evolution as you before you proceed to be angry at them for things their minds ain't prepared for.

As if to illustrate my point about different stages of evolution, someone just commented beneath a link to my fanfiction about how the picture illustrates 'homosexuality' which 'we' don't approve of. Anyone who hides behind the collective mind is somewhere around the homo whatever with the club above, so they are not ready to appreciate complex thought processes. But me, being the 'benefit of the doubt' type person, I asked, "We, who?"
What did I get in reply? The name of my story. It's like I'm speaking French and she's still learning the alphabet. We cannot communicate.
So why try?
So if you have a man, who is at a different point of evolution from you; you have two options.
1. Dump his ass and find someone with whom you can connect.
2. Accept your situation and don't complain.
Drink to That.

p.s. Wild Thoughts is out and so are my books.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

Writing Sex Scenes

How have you all been?
My literati group and I try to do this thing where we report in each day on our state of mental, physical, emotional and psychological health. It's very helpful especially when you're having a bad day. Y'all should try it.
I've been swamped with work and that's why I've been kind of MIA but I will try to do better.
Today I want to talk about writing sex scenes.
What is the most favorite sex scene you've ever read or watched or written?
For me, both reading and watching? The wedding night scene between Jamie and Claire is my number one. Slow burn, minimal description of the mechanics, just putting the reader in Claire's head and making you feel like you were right there with her.
Seeing what she sees.
Hearing what she hears.
Feeling what she feels.
That's what a good sex scene is about to me.I've been reading a lot of fanfiction lately because it's usually less than 10k words that I can read on the matatu or on my work breaks or in between prescribing drugs at my locum (I todja, I been busy). So the nature of fan fiction being what it is, there is usually a lot of sex between the characters because apparently when 'fans' see actors fighting on TV what they visualize is them having sex with each other. My tendency to be judgemental aside, the point is that I've read plenty of sex scenes. The thing is, mostly I just skim through it because this is how most people write:
His leg moved up and circled around his partner's neck as his partner leaned in and licked his penis. He gasped and his partner stopped, glancing up at him with a smirk.
"You're just a slut for it right? You love it when I fuck you. Slut."
And he shuddered with ecstasy at being called a slut and got even wetter and couldn't wait for his partner to breach him and fuck him into the mattress twenty times.

What is this fixation with calling people you're having sex with 'slut'? It's not realistic. Do YOU like being called a slut in the middle of sex? It's just stupid, puritan bullshit that is now spreading like wildfire and infecting other people. Hi, Amerikkka.
In order to understand the purpose of a sex scene, it's imperative to know why sex scenes are written or portrayed.
1. To advance the story.
This is of course, the most compelling reason to write a sex scene. For example, Child of Destiny begins with a sex scene of dubious consent. This act sets up a domino effect for the rest of the book. I wrote it from both the point of view of the guy and the girl. Here's an excerpt:

Her lips are so soft. He wasn’t expecting that; almost unconsciously, his lips pressed down on hers. Now their tongues were intertwined, it was difficult to know whose tongue was whose.
She felt dizzy with shock and dismay like all the blood had left her head; she leaned into him to keep some sort of balance and her breast pressed against his chest.
Bigger than they look…was his incoherent thought as his hands rose of their own accord and circled her surprisingly tiny waist. Apparently underneath all the grandma sweaters was the body of a seventeen-year-old girl.
A hot seventeen-year-old girl’
The blood in his body was pooling a little lower than his head as he sank his teeth gently into her lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking with lips gone suddenly hot. “I want her! “ He thought with surprise.’ how did that happen?’

‘This is crazy’ was her last coherent thought before she was surrounded by madness. She felt a sudden draft across her chest and realized that her dress was unbuttoned all the way down to the waist and Leo’s hands were everywhere – touching, caressing, squeezing, and pinching. Her nipples were painfully erect and seemed to cry out for his mouth without bothering to consult her. As if he heard their silent cry, his lips moved from hers and fastened themselves on her left breast. She felt dizzy and confused, as she pressed his head tight to her breast. She tried to control her breathing but it was impossible, and she was gasping like there was not enough oxygen in the whole world for a fortifying breath. Leo was making a low growling sound deep in his throat like a cat purring over a succulent piece of meat. Suddenly he picked her up and threw her onto her bed. A few seconds later, she was divested of her dress and the covering that her embarrassingly huge granny panties had afforded her vagina was replaced by his hot mouth. She froze in shock at the action and the sensation. She was torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him even deeper into her. She compromised by moaning out loud.

The point is to follow the feelings and not the mechanics of sex. Because the mechanics are always the same. Point A goes in slot B. The rest is semantics. So to keep your reader engaged it's necessary to give them something more.

2. Gratuitous Gratification a.k.a porn without plot or PWP
Ah, erotica....what would we do without it? Men watch porn, women read erotica. So the purpose of writing this type of sex scene is to get people as hot and bothered as possible. Some do that by using explicit language.
Not only that but by describing privates in a barbified, fantastical manner.
"His huge dick."
"Her wet warm pussy."
"His raging cock rammed into her warm wet center."
Describing sensation; taste, hearing, touch, sound, sight. Make the reader feel every thrust.
Sometimes you're writing about a sex scenario which the reader cannot relate to.
For example, the dom/sub scenario might be incomprehensible to some (me) and if you manage to describe what the participants are going through in a way that will make me 'get it' then you can tick the 'expert' box on the writing sex scenes questionnaire. Haven't yet come across a writer who has done that but maybe that is because y'all don't get that we don't need to know that 'he whipped her thirty times until the welts were apparent on her skin and she was wet and ready for him.'
Okay then...
This is what I visualize when I read that stuff.
Other people prefer euphemisms to describe sex.
He touched her centre of venus with his strobe of fire and she felt her whole body yield to his onslaught. Sounds vaguely historian or British but it gets enough panties wet to be persistently popular. I'm pretty sure it's - again - the puritan crowd that influences this style of writing.

Personally I like to try this new thing where the description of sex scenes is based on reality where the sounds aren't always sexy, sometimes someone farts...the bodies aren't perfect and neither are the people involved. However, the feelings are real as fuck.

Whatever reason that you're writing your sex scene, you have to remember that the emotional connection is the key. Whether it's love, hate, lust, desire, neediness...You need to find a way to bring that out. Make your audience feel that connection, and get invested in it. That's how you draw them in.

Speaking of fanfiction, I just recently finished the third part of my War of the Winchesters fanfic. I'm so proud of how it turned out. Exceeded all my expectations. Go read it.

Wednesday, 3 May 2017

Meeting Those Writing Deadlines

I'm trying to finish up a 70k screenplay to novel assignment. It's a super boring book and I think I'm more than halfway through and I can't tell you what it's about.
But that's not my job though, in this case at least. I'm just adapting the damned thing.
Deadline's comin' up.
I watch +Supernatural as I type and I'm watching the season finale of season three right now.
And I was thinking that looming deadlines feel just like when your demon deal is up and the hell hounds are coming to get you.

And you begin to hallucinate as the deadline approaches and you're just waiting for that 'how far have you reached?' email.
And you're just trying your best to get as far as possible even though you know you won't finish on time.
And your muscles are aching, you're sleepy as fuck, you have no inspiration or motivation. Your fanfic is calling to you, you haven't had any time to do any marketing for your books, your life is basically at a standstill just tryna get through this damned assignment. And it's not even the only work you have.
So what is a girl to do?
I guess the only thing left is to go to hell like Dean Winchester did.
I have no answers. Only work, tiredness and franticness.

Saturday, 22 April 2017

Rihanna and Lupita Movie

So this picture came back from the archives and caused some excitement on twitter:
it was captioned: One for the History Books

p.s. My faves slay your faves.

And then somebody retweeted the tweet with this caption;
"Rihanna looks like she scams rich white men and Lupita is the computer smart best friend that helps plan the scans."
*scams I guess.
So of course Twitter jumped on that shit like Chris Brown on every song he can and it just started to snowball from there. Issa Rae offered to write it, Ava Duvernay to direct it, I saw someone else was down to produce it. Lupita was down to star in it if +Rihanna was. As of going to press, we still waiting to see if Rihanna is down.
So anyway, @XLNB wrote a dummy script for the 'movie' where Rihanna falls in love with the mark blah blah but they still steal his money. I was like, ugh, really? That script has been done 5769765431346476 times. I have another idea.
Wanna hear it?
Well you're going to hear it, whether you like it or not.
And +Rihanna if you're reading this, here are my references.
So here's my rendition of the Rihanna-Lupita movie.

Rain-check on the Last Dance

Rihanna is walking slowly, smoking a blunt lost in thought. She's just used up the last of her savings from the last job she had. Since President Trump took over the country it's been hard for an undocumented immigrant from Haiti to find work. She couldn't go home. There was nothing there for her. All her family died in the earthquake. She can't face her own country. If she's gonna die, she'd rather do it here, in New York.

She hears a sound behind her and looks back, hand on the switchblade she keeps strapped to her thigh. She hears a scream, high pitched, scared but angry too. It's coming from the other end of the alley and she creeps cautiously forward to peer into the pitch dark.
There is a group of people massed together from what she can see. They seem to be agitated, moving around and struggling.
"Leave me alone you bastards!" a female voice screams from the thick of the group of people and Rihanna can't help herself. She steps forward. Coming closer, she can see that it's a group of five men, and one girl. 
Three guesses what they're trying to do to her.
Rihanna fishes out the 9mm she keeps in her bra and points it in the air.
"Leave her alone!" she shouted and let off a shot.
The cowardly men took off, leaving a small shape huddled on the floor. Rihanna stared at her.
"You okay?" she asked taking a step back.
The girl looked up at her with the most luminous big eyes Rihanna had ever seen, "I'm fine." She said, "Thank you."
Rihanna reversed direction stepping forward and reaching her hand down, "I'm Rihanna" she said.
"Lupita" the girl replied.
"Pleasure" Rihanna said helping her to her feet.
"Yeah, very glad to meet you as well."

Eventually the girls exchange stories; Lupita tells Rihanna about getting thrown out of home when her mother walked in on her passionately kissing her best friend...Amanda. Rihanna tells Lupita about stowing away on a red cross boat after the earthquake in Haiti and ending up in New Orleans. How she'd come to New York for a job but once Trump took over, the owner had tried to blackmail her into having sex with him in return for not reporting her to the authorities.
They live together, survive together; coming up with more and more creative ways to make money. As they manage to stop living from hand to mouth, they move up from petty theft, to breaking and entering, to scam artistes. Lupita is a whiz with a computer and Rihanna can talk anyone into anything. They make a fantastic team.
As their hit list gets bigger and bigger and several big shots are affected, a task force is formed to catch them because how dare the poor rob the rich. One of their targets, Anders McCaulicolkin, turns out to be a police plant. He was sent to entrap them.

Rihanna was really excited about this mark because unlike their average idiot, this one was bloody good lookin'. She approaches him at a party, gets his number and they begin the dance of seduction and manipulation. Lupita is inexplicably hostile to this guy. She doesn't like how much Rihanna is enjoying the job. Rihanna tries to find out what's bugging her partner but she won't say. Lupita channels her feelings into finding out more background on Anders and just after rihanna finishes clearing his account out and transferring the money to their holding account in the Caribbean island of Barbados...Lupita discovers that he's a plant.
She frantically tries to get hold of Rihanna but she's already left for the rendezvous point. If the money is tagged like Lupita suspects it is, it means one of their accounts is blown, and Rihanna is exposed.
Lupita always stays in the background but she breaks her cover to get to Rihanna before the cops do.
"Lupita this isn't the plan!" Rihanna tries to exclaim as she follows Lupita at a dead run through the maze of streets she's leading her through.
"Yeah well..." Lupita said, "If they caught you..."

"If they caught me what Lupita? We would follow the protocol" Rihanna complained.
"I couldn't let that happen" Lupita breathed as she rounded the corner to the garage which housed one of their cars.
"Why not Lupita?" Rihanna demanded getting in her face, "At least one of us coulda gotten away cle-"
Her words were stopped by Lupita kissing her, very hard. The darker girl moved back.
"I can't live without you Rihanna. Better to die together than-"
"Rihanna covered her lips with her hand before she could say it, "Don't even think it" she said her heart pounding, "Let's go."
They get in the car and drive. But the police find them and chase them over three states. Eventually they get to Texas and drive with everything they have, heading for the border. The police cut them off. They veer off and find themselves over the canyon with Trump's border wall dividing the river beneath into Mexico and USA.
Lupita and Rihanna look at each other, breathing hard.
Rihanna reaches for Lupita's hand. She takes it. Rihanna's foot bears down on the accelerator as the cops array behind them and they drive off the cliff.
But the car has undergone certain modifications....
Rihanna presses a button and voila, a parachute opens.
The car rises above the wall and goes over it.
They're in Mexico.
They set the car down on the other side of the wall and drive until they run out of fuel. Then they hitch hike their way to the very tip of south America where they live in a house on the beach in a non-extradition country. Slowly, they begin to siphon their money out of their accounts and redistribute it to others. They also contribute to local charities, planned parenthood and Chance the Rapper's bid for Chicago Mayor.
The movie ends with them holding hands as they walk into a fertility clinic where they intend to have a baby together using Jesse William's sperm.
And they lived happily ever after with their seed. Doing good and repelling evil with the power of their brains and their beauty.

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Challenges of Ghost Writing and Other Stories

Ghost writing is hard.
Don't let anyone tell you different.
People approach me to 'show them how to freelance' all the time because they think that it's something you can just whip up in your spare time for some extra coins. But really, it's hard.
First of all you have to be self-motivated; there's nobody looking over your shoulder to make sure you're actually working so it's all up to you.
Of course deadlines help.
At least they help me; I hear some people feel nothing for them. More power to them.
But mostly the thing with ghost writing which sticks in my craw is the lack of freedom to take a story where it wants to go.
I miss my old client.
He used to ask me to propose a storyline, and then write it. No trying to control the narrative except for certain rules like, "Make it BBW" or 'It's a billionaire romance" but otherwise, knock yourself out. And still, it was stifling.
But now I have two separate stories to write; one involves converting a screenplay into a novel. Yeah I wrote that the right way around. Trust me it's a little bit of hell. Especially since the screenplay is superboring. I have to take that, make a story out of it and of course the deadline is tight as fuck.
The second one is a super hero story about a fifteen year old deaf Ethiopian girl. It might sound fun, but it's really not. Plus the client wants to control every single detail. It's making the inside of my brain itch.
The things we do for money.
 It also brings about the most severe case of procrastination I've ever had. I have to force myself to write 400 words; and that can take me all day. It's way below my usual daily word count.I can't seem to slap out of it.
Meanwhile, my own stories are languishing, neglected; while I get all these calls for submissions in my email. I haven't updated any of my stories since February and it makes me want to cry real tears.
Like from my eyes.
I feel like I'm just the worst organizer in the world. I feel like I should be able to do it all if I was a better time manager. I know I would be able to get at least some things done if I was. And I know, I know, time management is something you can learn; hone with practice...blah blah meh.

Eddie Murphy's brother died yesterday. His name was Charlie Murphy and he was a comedian too. How did I not know that? I remember him from that "Salute to Eddie Murphy" event when he said that he grew up with Eddie not knowing he would be the GOAT of comedians but that he should have realised when Eddie told him that his nose looked like 'A Black Power Salute'. Me and my son laughed for ten minutes straight because yeah, his nose did kinda look like that.
I didn't realize he was in the comedy business too.
Anyway, he died yesterday.
Of Leukaemia.
He was 57.
He's actually the handsome brother.
Another person who is quite well known in the Kenyan public died last week of cancer as well.
Janet Kanini Ikua.
She was a TV presenter of this show a while back, called Out and About. In it, she visited various tourist destinations in Kenya. I visited vicariously with her on every episode. Then when she got cancer, she was this huge inspiration for survival. She was declared cancer free at some point and then suddenly she was dead.
She was just 39.
Her sister and I were in the same class in primary school and she and my sister were in the same class. It kind of hit me in a personal way because of that; how short life is. But I already know how short life is so I was also like, typical, of course she died. I only knew her in passing but I remember that she always had a smile for everyone. I guess that's just how life goes.
Remember that there's no time for existing. You better be living.

 Well today is the day that I stop procrastinating and get some work done. So Imma do that.
In a minute.
Y'all going to see Fast 8 this weekend? My son and I have seen every movie since the first so that's a yes from us. Life is too short not to enjoy it while you can.

Thursday, 6 April 2017

When They Ask Why You're Single

Man: Women only want a man because of his money. (This is an actual Twitter update).

Me: I'm not interested in your money, what else you got?

Man: ......

Me: Okay let's start small, you got good hygiene?

Man: Umm, I brush my teeth once a month. Shower maybe...once in two months?

Me: Uhh, yeah okay how about your looks, rate yourself?

Man: I'm a solid 4 and a half.

Me: Personality?

Man: What?

Me: You an intelligent dude?

Man: I can discuss Man-U scores like all day dewwd.

Me: How about jokes? You got jokes? I'll take jokes?

Man: Uhhh....

Me: How's the dick? Is it bomb?

Man: It's aight.

Me: According to who?

Man: Me.

Me: Can you at least kiss well?

Man: Kissing for what?

Me: hmmm, okay then...Imma go now.

Man: Women are such man-hating bitches!

Now go read Maureen's post.