Have a Very Very Merry Freaking Christmas

Hi guys. How are you doing? Are you well? I know for some (like the Smiths) Christmas is a joyful time, but for others, it's stressful as hell. I just want to remind you of one thing. You matter, self-care matters. On this day when love was allegedly born, remember to love yourself first. So whether you are in the thick of family drama or drowning in a love fest, take care of number one.
Don't you forget, okay?
So, on to the purpose of this post.
Allow me to use pictures because they're worth a thousand words.

Yay! Yes, your time has come. If you were waiting for books to be discounted before you buy, this is your chance. Four books, each 99cents. Is there anything better you could get for Christmas? I think TF not!
Which books you ask? Well, first off the block, we have my postapocalyptic, gay, African romance, In Search of Paradise! *boxing announcer voice*

If you click on the link TOMORROW, it will be 99c. I mean...is that a steal or what?
Next up, my literary masterpiece. My infidelity romance. My young adult erotica. My nineties nostalgia story. Child of Destiny defies description.

Hol' up, hol' up...we're still rolling. The goodies don't stop there. The first in series. The ghost romance to end all ghost romances. The one you just can't predict or won't expect non' of what you read. The masterpiece - according to my editor. In the Shadow of the Styx.
You know what this means right? You don't? Okay, let me tell you. It means that for Christmas and Boxing Day, the Child of Destiny boxset is only FOUR FREAKING DOLLARS. Oh my! *clutches pearls* Can this really be?
Yes, yes it can. So exciting I might need a cup of tea to survive it.

Aaaannnndddd....finally. Last but not least. The Stepchild. The one that gets ignored. The emotional terrorism known as Single Mumhood Unplugged. Read at your own risk.

Are these not sufficient gifts to end 2018 with? Okay then, bonus.
New Release Announcement!
Cinderella By Any Other Name will be available to you, Valentine's Day, 2019. You can preorder it now on my book page at a reduced price.

That's all folks! Have a Blessed Holiday.

Points On Forgiveness to Ponder

My son isn't speaking to me right now. 

I forgot to mail success cards to his girlfriends so now he says they're not speaking to him - so he's not speaking to me. I don't know if I can say I forgot so much as I just didn't find the time or energy to do it.

I don't see what the big deal is; I still have the cards - he can just give them to them...but he's never stopped speaking to me before so I guess it is a big deal to him. 

It's all relative right?

I did tender my sincere apologies and then proceeded to troll him on Instagram to get him to talk to me. He's not very good at this 'not speaking to you' thing because he keeps replying to my posts with things like 'no' and 'I'm not watching this'.I'm enjoying this a little too much.

But I am sorry. 

Sincerely.

And I said so.

Just watched the Facebook Live of this week's Red Table Talk; the topic, forgiveness (and yes, I did slide into my son's DMs with the link)and I love to read the comments on any post that covers a topic close to my heart. They are generally disappointing but the RTT really makes people open their hearts and they outline some situations they're going through that make you just go 'ack'. 

Y'know?

"How can I forgive my father for abusing me for years? and he's still doing it?"

"How do I forgive my husband for continuously cheating on me?"

And sometimes I want to reply with things like, "Leave. him." But if RTT has taught me anything is that everyone has their own journey and you have to do what feels right for you.

Anyway, I was pondering on the relativity of hurt and forgiveness and forgiving others and the Grace that makes that possible. I think the one thing that did not come up in the discussions was how forgiveness, like grief, is a never-ending process because emotions are versatile things.

 The best example I have to explain that is actually from a fictional work - the Outlander Series. Jamie Fraser was raped by Black Jack Randall in a way that destroyed not just his body but almost destroyed his spirit and left him with little will to live.

With time, he got over it and moved on with his life. About three or four books later, his daughter was raped and she came to him to ask him if killing the guy would make it better. She was having a hard time forgiving herself for 'letting it happen' especially since she was pregnant with maybe his baby.

So...that of course brought his own situation back to swirling life and in order to help his daughter, he had to deal with his own feelings. He had to forgive Black Jack Randall all over again. 

And he prayed for the Grace to do that and he received it when he remembered Black Jack's grief at the deathbed of his brother. 

He did it by reducing the monster in his mind to a mere man. 

He did it by being able to see that man in the fullness of his flaws and failings. 

To realize that the shadow of an evil, monstrous, giant that the abuse Jamie was subjected to had made Black Jack Randall into, was actually a small, damaged thing deserving of pity but certainly not fear or anger.

In my own life, I have used this method in order to let go of anger and bitterness and live in a more positive space. For the sake of my sanity, I had to. 

The best way to illustrate this is Donald Trump and his army of white supremacist weirdos. They use fear as a weapon to hide their own. 

They are cavalier with black lives and use the police to intimidate. They use every institution to instill in the black psyche that they/we are less than. Because they are afraid.

I say 'we' because it's the same method colonialists used/are still using to pillage our resources while we clap for them. Some colonialists are not even foreign.

Did you see the video of Meek Mill on CNN talking about how he did not know any better? That he accepted the false charges the police put on him when he was nineteen because that's normalized, that's just every day in America. 

Police will arrest you and charge you for shit you didn't do. You will watch at least one of your friends die violently and very young because that's just life.

No honey, it's not.

But you're indoctrinated into believing that that's how life is and you should accept it. Unless you're Will Smith who decided that the only way out was to become so famous that he moved from the back to the front of the line. That if something happened to him, those institutions would hasten to his aid rather than let him die. 

But we can't all be Will Smith, right?

And so people are walking around with this cloud of inevitability, of the non-sanctity of their own existence. Of the evil monstrous white supremacists looming like a shadow over every aspect of their lives. They use the word nigger as the trigger to remind you that you are nothing.

Here's a reminder; You're not nothing.

But if you stop a minute and really study these people you realize just how small and pathetic and quaking with fear they are. They cling to these false beliefs they have so tightly in an effort not to face themselves and what they have done. 

I'm not even talking about slavery here. I'm talking lynchings and false arrests and false accusations and petty little everyday shit that they do so they can tell themselves they're top dawg. 

It's pathetic.

It's sad.

They have nothing but this. Absolutely nothing. Look at Donald Trump; he's an idiot. That's their savior. That's the best they can do. There's nothing to be scared of. They are relying on your own lack of self-worth to keep them right where they are.

If everyone truly woke up and saw them for what they were, they would not survive for very long.

This past weekend, the world was in South Africa celebrating 100 years of Mandela. And I saw a lot of talk on Instagram about how 'Africa is changing'.

Not really.

The perception to Africa is changing but we been here; grinding, working, freeing our minds from colonialism, having ideas and innovating in our small ways. We been living...

The difference is that the world is now aware of it. I blame Wakanda. And Instagram.

Okay but really, I think that Africans in the diaspora have reached a critical mass now that they can't be ignored; and they are impacting the world in positive ways. 

People from Barack Obama (yes, he is half-Kenyan by blood, accept it) Lupita Nyong'o and her academy award, but more importantly her eloquence and black (dark) African beautiful excellence, Danai Ngurira, all these Nigerians taking over the world from Idris Elba to Jidenna to Wizkid; The Shaderoom is owned by a Nigerian; and let's face it, they're the premier source of news for black people worldwide and other gossip sites (be they black or white-centric) tend to be two or three days behind them with news. 

It's difficult to ignore that there's a lot more to us than hunger and disease. Hell the entire French National Football  Team is made up of Africans. They won the World Cup this year.

Trevor Noah said a very deep thing during his stand up special Son of Patricia. 

By the way, if my son ever speaks about me the way Trevor speaks about his mother, I shall know that I succeeded in raising him right.

He said that his mother was crazy but also he understood what she meant when he became an adult and she said that when someone comes at you with racism, the thing to do is mix it up with the blood of Jesus* (*insert whatever religion you follow here*) and give it back to them. 

And the words they use will lose their power. 

To me, 'mixing it up with the blood of Jesus' means looking at the person abusing you and seeing their inner pain, fear, and anger; and knowing that it's not about you - it's about them. That's how you find the Grace to not only forgive them but feel compassion for their patheticness. In that way, they can't infect you with their unhappiness. Who knows, you might be the one to infect them with your joy.

Guard your joy with everything you have. Don't go giving people the power to take it away from you. Right now, my son wants to take away my joy with his 'silent treatment' but I'm mixing it up with the blood of Jesus and sending it right back to him with trolling.

Have a joyous day, won't you?

Oh and...

Visit my Author Page

Be Happy, Don't Worry

You know for a person like me who suffers from anxiety disorder, doing as the title says is easier said than done. I shouldn't say I suffer from anxiety disorder; I haven't been diagnosed by a shrink. I'm gonna say I'm a terribly anxious worrier type person instead.
Ugh, such a rabbit hole, can we get back to the topic?
Okay so as I was saying, I'm like a dog with bone when it comes to anxiety, just worrying it and worrying it and worrying it...whether my issues are legit or not.

So today it hit me, after blowing off work all day and just having some 'me time' that I was doing life wrong. I mean, look at me; I am living my dream life (except that I don't have a horticulture farm which was a completely unrealistic dream considering the total absence of a green thumb that I have). Hell, some things I never thought to dream of; who could have imagined I'd have authored eight books under my own name (actually make that ten, Cinderella by Any Other Name is finished as is a short story in the In Search of Paradise Universe) in my lifetime? Who'd a thought I'd make a living writing books for other people?
Not me.
Yet here I am.
I live in the house. The one I always wanted; yeah it's not mine but it's mine y'know? My son turned eighteen this year. I have managed to grow him to adulthood without irreparably damaging him.
I legit have not searched for new clients since September. They all are looking for me now.
Life is GoodT.
*spits, knocks on wood, throws salt over my shoulder and all other superstitious nonsense*

So why do I wake up worried, spend my days anxious and go to sleep worried? It's such nonsense. Today I just stopped. No actually it started yesterday. I was so tired after my locum at a hospital pharmacy that I stopped at a fast food shop to eat dinner so I could go straight to bed as soon as I reached home. (Yeah at seven pm, what of it?) And she knows me so the cashier asks if I'll have a warm apple juice since there are no cold ones. And I was just like FUCK IT, give me a fanta.
Do you know the last time I drank a fanta?
Yeah, neither do I.
Everywhere people always posting about how bad soda is for you blah blah blah. I grew up drinking fanta. It never made me sick. I stopped because well, peer pressure.
Fuck peer pressure.
Fuck worrying about mythical health problems I might get.
Imma enjoy my fanta.
I didn't finish it because well, sugar is not my friend these days but I enjoyed it. I even enjoyed the little sore throat I got afterwards because Freedom bitches!

Anyways so this morning I woke up with that anxious "OhgodIhavesomuchworktodowillIfinisitontimeImalreadylate" mantra going through my head coupled with "shitIneedtofinisthisgotbillstopay" that accompanies it. But I was still reeling from the weekend. So I said, hey, let me take some time to just be. I'll get back to work. But first, breathe.
And I did.
Imagine the world didn't end.
Yeah, mind boggling, I know.
But I really have to get back to work now; the difference is, I'm looking forward to it. I love writing, I love stories. I get to write stories for a living. Imma enjoy it.
And for you other writers who seem to live under the illusion that you HAVE to think your writing sucks in order to be a "legitimate" writer; and also you have to post about how much you suck on social media...man, look...if that is supposed to get me interested in your work, it doesn't. If you don't love what you write, why should I?
I love my stories. I think they're epic. I think they convey important messages without being weighed down by too much seriousness. Average Joe can enjoy them and they would still make her think. You have to be careful of that negative self talk. If you tell yourself you suck enough times, you start to believe that shit.
It's up to you if you want to be Cardi B or Azaelia Banks.
Rihanna isn't my fave just because of the songs...when it's 3am and I'm flagging, I tell myself that Rihanna's day isn't over yet either and she's much richer than me. Whatever you need to tell yourself to keep going.
Anyways, for real, gotta get to work.
The rent is always muh'fuckin due.

Of Clouds and Silver Linings

I think my Instagram is seeing all the action my blog should be.
I'm sorry, but when I'm writing in the moment, Instagram is faster. And sometimes, I even get comments *side eyes all of you*.
How are you doing? How have you been? Are you practicing self-care? Are you asking for help when you need it? It's not a crime to ask for help. It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't mean you're failing.

but I'm asleep tho...

I just read the interview Oprah did with Michelle Obama about her book, Becoming. It really gave me insight into something I've never understood. How fatalistic African-Americans are and how sure they are that everything is NOT going to be alright. Why they only think they can succeed as entertainers or sportsmen. Why the majority of black NFL players do NOT kneel.
It's an insidious thing that American society does.
It's easy for me in my majority black country to judge and say, 'why do you not have the self-worth to fight for yourself?'
But wow, it's complicated.
The American mid-term elections were just carried out and wow, they really took a page from the Kenyan election when it came to rigging. Can I ask politicians a favor? Could you at least try to pretend that you're not totally stealing votes? Like, try to make it less obvious, please. It's insulting to the inelligence of voters. People keep asking why white women keep voting against their interests. The truth is that there are interests and there are INTERESTS. And making sure white supremacy remains the status quo is an INTEREST. Just like Kikuyus do in Kenya. When people have been on the top of the totem pole, they will literally cut off their own feet just to remain there. It's stupid, but apparently, its human nature.

Anyways I'm not going to go and on about it because this post isn't about wallowing in the things we cannot change. It's about figuring shit out.
I've kind of dropped off the face of the planet because thanks to my Upwork score shooting up to almost perfect, I have suddenly become very popular with employers. You'd think it'd make me happy but no, I'm salty because I was this same person when my score was 82% but now, suddenly, I'm a valuable commodity. I'm salty because I'm tired of things that are circumstantial defining who we are; who I am. I use the same samples, I have the same profile, I deliver the same level of service but thanks to a circumstance over whose control I had little, I am now an MVP rather than that chick from Africa who might not even know how to write in English.
So anyway, my scope of job offers has widened, as has the challenge of successful completion. Two weeks ago, I got invited to bid for a regency romance. Now I've never written Regency books before mainly because I've never been shortlisted before. The amount of history you have to study is crazy and the word choices you have to use are a challenge. You have to check that the words you're using were in use at that time and the context was the same.

it was a circle of hell

I prepared by listening to an audiobook while I washed dishes, letting the words permeate my subconscious. I also read a bit but time was an issue; I had seven days to produce twenty thousand words of story.
I thought many times of just throwing in the towel. For the first time in my writing time I thought to myself, "Maybe I can't do this."
Then into day five of my seven day Odyssey, my arms went on strike. They were like, "We are not the ones. You will not do this to us." They do that sometimes when I push them too hard. Nobody tells you how taxing typing is. The pain gets so bad, is unrelieved by painkillers and makes you want to cry because a. I can't work and b. it hurts.
So I couldn't type and I was floundering and I was behind deadline. I've tried to use voice typing before, in genres I'm actually familiar with. It didn't work. The words don't arrange themselves the way they were supposed to. The poetry disappears.
But I was down to the wire and there was no other choice. So I closed my eyes, thought of what I wanted to say, constructed a sentence in my mind and then spoke it aloud. Even that way, it was still faster than typing. My hands were grateful.
It got easier.
I finished behind deadline. By twenty-one minutes. Unfortunately, my client and I are on the same time zone if very many miles apart.
Still.
I did it!
I got the job done.
I figured it out.

Now as I await the verdict; did I succeed in creating a story worth pursuing? did I fail?
I am still changed forever. Because I did something I didn't' think I could. And to be honest, in my humble opinion, I did a good job.
The other thing that resonated with me about Michelle's interview was being a 'box checker'. For sure any African with parents will tell you it's all about the box checking. Go to school, excel, find a job, get married.
Unlike Michelle's, my life didn't follow the script. I was flailing like Barrack. I feel like flailing enables you to really find out who you are if it doesn't destroy you.  Basically, I can't wait to read the memoir.
While we're on the topic of reading, have you visited my author page yet?

All or Nothing

Undoubtedly you've seen the new episode of Red Table Talk. Its probably gonna be the most watched episode of the series simply because people love mucene (gossip). Any chance to get into people's business right?

I wasn't intending on watching it because there is such a thing as knowing too much about a bunch of essentially strangers. But my friend texted me about it and I saw that Colton Haynes tweeted about it; how helpful it was to him etc and the cat of my curiosity was definitely dead.

So I watched it.

And then I read the comments because I am addicted to reading how brain dead people can be. I long ago gave up on ever seeing a comment I could nod at and say 'how insightful.' People are just so caught up in their own heads and their worldview that they can't see in an objective way; they can only subjectively twist what they see to fit their own fears and issues. 

For me, what I saw, was that it is possible.

I have long harbored this concept of what I would like in a relationship. The kind of communion and honesty and total giving and acceptance. I called it all or nothing. 

I have long been resigned to nothing because finding 'all' has seemed all but impossible beyond fictional characters like Jamie and Claire.

But Will and Jada found it.

Granted it took twenty years and a whole hell of a lot of pain and suffering but they did it. And even with those twenty years it took, there was still a commitment to and value for the relationship.

In my experience, I can't even date someone without them already trying to change who I am.

"Oh, Annemarie you read too much."

"Stop working so much and cook me food."

"You can keep your dreadlocks but only because they look nice."

"You shouldn't dress like that at your age."

And on. and on. and on. 

I just want to be free to be me and accepted as such. No, not just accepted, loved for it.

Even my son who should know better tries to tell me to tone it down, make other people comfortable in my presence. I told him to take me or leave me, I'm not changing for him or anybody.

You see, I scare people sometimes. Too bold, too blunt, too outspoken. I tried for many years to cover up that part of me. To only show the amiable, smiling, harmless me. But then as the fucks I gave slowly dissipated and my need to be liked disappeared, I found that I was not ready to give up any part of me. 

I think this is the beginning of self-actualization.

The relationships that I write about, all have some aspect of this idea - take me as I am. And that's why the characters are flawed and yet the love is true. I'm a secret romantic.

So what I learned from that episode is what I already knew; the only way to be happy in a relationship is to know and accept yourself and be willing to know and accept the other person, just as they are. And if you know you can't do it, just say so and leave.

So if there is someone out there, who relates to this message and feels ready to embark on that journey with me...well...

Just remember its all or nothing.

Oh So You WRITING Writing?

Heyyy!
It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you...
Sorry, sorry. I have my own mirror bitch. She sneaks into my writing sometimes.
Undoubtedly this sounds like gibberish to you if you don't watch Insecure. So let me explain; mirror bitch is your reflection with whom you share all sorts of affirmations including rapping if that's your thing. Usually, mine consists of lectures and dancing.

Well, anyway...
I haven't just been ignoring you out of laziness or meanness or neglect. I have actually been super-focused on several kinds of writing; which made finding the mental energy to write you the kind of blog posts you deserve, hard. I'm gonna tell you all about them and maybe they will help you on your own writing journeys if you have one, or your life journeys as well. Those are important too.
First of all, it was my birthday last week. I'm now officially forty-four.
Yes.
You read right.
I'm 44.
I'm writing it many times so I can begin to believe it.
I don't know what I thought 44 would feel like but I know this ain't it. For one thing, aside from the maybe increase in aches, pains, and that I can actually see grey hairs on my head; I feel just the same as I did when I was 24. And by just the same, I mean I don't feel like an adult yet...
Yeah, it's true. I'm middle-aged and still struggling to adult. I was going to write that my outlook is the same, and I don't feel wiser but that's not true. I can look back and see my journey and it's progression.
When I was younger, I was in a lot of pain, all the time.
Emotional pain, not the annoying, inexplicable physical pains I experience now.
I was angry at how 'the world had treated me'. All I wanted to do was be left alone and just get on with it and raise my child. I didn't understand why bad things kept happening to me. A lot of that is chronicled in Single Motherhood Unplugged and if you read that you know it's a river of pain and horror.
I read it the other day/year/whatever when I was transferring my titles to a new home and I was so glad that I didn't even recognize that girl that used to be me. I'm grateful to her though. Without her, I would not be.
So yeah, there has been growth.
There has been development.
Yet I still feel that I am just on the cusp of understanding who I am. Of getting to know who is the real me.
Do you watch Red Table Talk? Jada Pinkett Smith has become my guru on how to listen to yourself and navigate this thing called life. And as I listen to her realize things, I, in turn, come to realize that I am in a better place than even she is in some ways. Not all mind you, she's taught me a lot that I still hadn't grasped. Especially when it comes to sons and their mothers and their stepmothers.
It's a bit mind-boggling to tell you the truth. I read through the comments after each episode and come to realize how much a lot of people are still in that place that I have put behind me. It makes me so thankful...and also a bit smug.

Gratitude, honesty and not suffering fools gladly is the mantra that I live by.
Moving on swiftly...
I've been looking more and more into other markets for writing. It's great, putting out your work on ebook retail sites and waiting for readers to find them.
Really great.
Especially with Amazon's ever-changing algorithms and other shady practices that keep being exposed. In spite of how great it is, I thought that I would expand my out-of-the-box thinking to include things inside-the-box such as answering calls for submission. From flash fiction to niche stories, I've been compiling and submitting to magazines et al, because getting an entity to pay for your story is good for your street cred. It's also another source of income which I never sneeze at. Having good street cred is good for ALL your stories and so that's what I'm cultivating now.
I actually finished Cinderella By Any Other Name.
Yeah! Imagine.
It's so good. It made me cry. I was triggeredT. I submitted it to a magazine so we'll see how that goes. Fingers crossed for me?
A blog named Worthing is going to publish Sixes of One next month. I will be sure to link you on the day.
I also participated in this year's Wincest Big Bang for the Supernatural fandom for the first time. It was a weird experience in that I was probably the only black person there and very definitely the only African. I could see how different they treated me like maybe I was a lost chimpanzee that needed to be protected but obviously had no clue what was for its own good. I don't even think they realized their little patronizings.
The mod was very nice to me. Nice like you treat the 'special' kid in class. I thought that I just might be seeing what I expected to see - given twitter - but I was also doing a Malec Big Bang and a Malec Xmas anthology at the same time. The Shadowhunters fandom is a little more multifaceted, with people really from everywhere on earth.
There was such a hugely tangible difference in the dynamic.
I was just another person in the group. One or two were interested in coming to Kenya and asked me some questions but otherwise, just...general camaraderie. Anyway, I rolled my eyes and kept it moving.
Both of my Big Bangs are now up. You can read the Wincest here and Malec here.

I also entered my book In Search of Paradise for a novel contest on inkitt. You can read the story here and then leave a review. Honeypies, darlings, sweethearts, I'm asking, in honor of me birfday and turning FORTY-FOUR, please go leave me a review?
Thank you, here's a chocolate.
Muah.

Lastly, I want to end this post with gratitude. Thank you for reading all the way to the end, you're truly the best and I appreciate you. Have a good day.

May I Have Some More?

People can compliment you on your cooking, your writing; whatever creations you make. They can say things like:
"Wow, you're talented."
"That was really good."
"I really enjoyed that."
And they mean it, and they're sincere and you probably believe them half the time. But you know what the greatest compliment a person can give your work is?
"Can I have more?"
It's true for food, movie sequels, and sex. It is most definitely true for stories.
And because a lovely young lady on Facebook asked me this week if I have more of the Ben and Zawadi story (that's what she called it) here is an outtake.
Enjoy.

"Zawadiiii!"
Anders startled awake at the sound of their mother shouting. He blinked a few times, trying to acclimatize to the brightness of the sun, shining through his yellow curtains. There was no response from Zawadi's room, just across from his, and he sighed, slipping out of bed to go shake her awake before their mother decided to do it.
If their mother had to come and find Zawadi, the day would not begin well. He trudged across the darkened hallway and banged on his sister's door.
"Z! Unaitwa," he shouted, telling her she was being called.
He heard some muffled groaning from the other side of the door but not much else.
"Zawadi eh!" his mother called sounding much nearer, "Kuja unisaidie." (come help me)
Anders sighed, deciding to just go down himself and help his mother before everybody's day was ruined. Ever since her father had left, Zawadi had been cold and distant with both of them.
But especially Anders.
She blamed him for their mother throwing her father out.
Thirteen years of doing nothing but drinking mnazi and spending their mother's hard earned money all the while insulting her first born child could not be it. Oh no, it was Anders who made mama chase her baba away!
Anders sighed, shaking his head as dismissed those thoughts. He took a step out the front door to find his mother with her basket of curios, ready to go to the market. He picked up a bag and put it on his head, and gripped another in his hand.
He walked slowly and silently behind his mother as they made their way to the matatu stage. She didn't ask where Zawadi was and he didn't volunteer. They both knew that only time could heal that wound.
They reached the bus stop, Anders' arms aching from the weight of the baskets. He put them both down, standing with his mother as they waited for a matatu to come.
"When you grow up and have your own children," his mother said suddenly, "make sure you will stay with their mother and support her until they grow up."
Anders nodded, his face troubled. He knew his father had gone back to Scandinavia long ago. Now Zawadi's father had left. But...he didn't think he could stay with a woman forever. His eyes slid to his right, where the Akasha boys were hanging out outside their shop like they did every day. There was one, in particular, he was tall and lanky, with light brown eyes and curly soft hair. Anders couldn't help staring every time he passed them. He didn't think he had ever seen anyone so beautiful.
He looked up at his mother, brow furrowed, wondering what she would think if she knew.
Not that he would ever tell her.
Never in a million years.

So in this book, I try to capture the local flavor of life as a Kenyan; although that is not a homogenous experience at all so it's just my interpretation. So there's some Kiswahili mixed in (all of which gets translated if only in the footnotes) and Kenyanisms that other people might wonder at (also check footnotes. My beta was an American so she was really helpful in pointing things out other people might not understand). Yeah, so do get back to me and tell me how I did. I would love to know.
Also, I entered this book in a book contest on inkitt if you wanna like go there and show In Search of Paradise some love.

Trust

A few weeks ago, I decided I needed a new carpet because my old one was getting a little raggedy. I thought about various strategies to get one including fundraising. In fact, that's how I came across the idea of starting a ko-fi page. Nobody wants to give something for nothing huh?
Anyway today, I got a new carpet. Well, not new, new. Just new to me - and all I paid for it was transportation costs.
I put something out there into the universe, believed that I had already received it, and then let it go. Yesterday my sister writes in the group chat, "Anyone who wants a carpet, come collect it."
And I have a carpet.
My next project is, I need a new sofa.
I've followed a few furniture accounts on Instagram, spend some time every day looking at the sofa I want (yeah, it looks like the picture below) and believing that I have already received it. I also updated my ko-fi with my new goal.
I have faith that sooner or later, I shall have my sofa.

Remember that I told you about how things unfold the way they should if you're paying attention? Today was that kind of day. I decided to use a bus instead of a minivan to go to town and they turned into Mbagathi road, the direction I was going, instead of going down Nairobi West like they usually do. It's rare for transport to turn into Mbagathi road after 11am in the morning and it was going on 3pm. So that really made me feel like I should update my bio to Maker of Good Decisions.
Then after I got the carpet, my sister called me a taxify (which is like Uber but allegedly cheaper) but it broke down somewhere along the way so the driver put me in a matatu (PSV) with my carpet and I just like propped it in front of me. My seatmates were very accommodating of me (which is kind of par for the course in my neighborhood but still).
The matatu dropped us off at a petrol station rather than the bus stage and so I dragged my carpet over to the adjoining Pizza Inn and had myself some lunch while I pondered my next move. Just as I was done and searching, a motorcycle (known as a boda-boda) drove in and was filling up his tank. I asked him if he was working and he said yeah. I was thinking that I would ask him to take me to the bus stage but he asked where I live and told me the rate for taking me all the way. Now I've been spilled by a motorbike twice this year but for some reason, I was like, "he looks competent enough."
So I let him take me all the way and we rode up and down these hills with the sun going down and got to witness the most magnificent sunset, with the wind whipping past at speed and nothing between me and the view. Scary and beautiful to say the least.
So I got home, minimal expenditure (except for lunch - but it was clearly part of the process) and a new carpet!

The main point of taking you through my tedious ass story about a carpet is to show you how the universe works to guide you if you let it. We work so hard sometimes, overthinking everything and not really getting anywhere. Worrying ourselves into high blood pressure or ulcers, maybe worse. Yet if we just let go and trust the process, we might find that we get where we need to be by the most scenic, interesting route that can be devised for us. At the end of the day, we would have to declare that, "That was quite a ride!"
It's difficult I know, to let go and let God. It mostly feels like stupidity to trust that all will be well when there's no evidence that this is the case. Hell, my own son has made fun of me for having this attitude. My sisters tell me I live on the edge.
I really don't.
I have come to a place where I have seen over and again that the universe comes through. I have come to a place of trust. I trust myself, I trust that my belief is not misplaced, I trust the process. It seems easy but it's the most difficult thing I've ever learned.

My son is eighteen this year and I can say with utmost truthfulness that he is alive, healthy and well because the universe has watched out for him. So many times I was without recourse; I had no way out. But a way was found. And my work is almost done. So when people ask me, "How can you just trust with no evidence that the universe will come through?"

I point to my living breathing child.

There's the evidence.

This post has been uncommonly heavy I know but I wanted you to know that even when everyone abandons you, you are not alone. So reach out, help is just waiting to take your hand and lead you home. 

Trust and believe my brothers and sisters.

This sermon has been brought to you by Pastor Annamaria. The collection box is to your right. 

Keep that Same Energy, September

September is wildin' out! It's not even a quarter done and already so much shit has happened it's hard to keep track.
I mean not for me personally. My life is puttering along in the most mundane fashion. If I wasn't addicted to Twitter, I would be having a fairly boring existence right now.
Or maybe work-productive. I might have finished my current 4.5k assignment on Perfect Exposure by now. I might have finished part three of my sci-fi story assignment (doubtful). I might have finished editing the Harlequin Romance I'm writing. Or even the wincest big bang...
Social Media is the devil.

So first things first, Cardi B threw a shoe at Nicki Minaj during a fashion week party. It all started long ago when Cardi started breaking records Nicki has never touched and Nicki began subbing her on twitter, liking tweets shading Cardi B and her family, even her daughter (I am always bemused that someone who's brother is a convicted pedophile rapist can have anything bad to say about anyone else's children but here we are).
Now Nicki is a talented rapper but her personality is all passive aggressive, negative, small-minded bullshit. Cardi B is an okay rapper, but her personality is big-hearted, genuine, shoot from the hip type of person. What you see is what you get. So when she saw Nicki at this party, all the resentment she'd been holding back, all the little stings...well, let's say all the chickens came home to roost. Her shiny red heel came off and went flying across the room...at Nicki.

I see posts on twitter from minds still colonized wondering what 'all those white designers will think' now.
Who cares?
It really upsets me when people miss the pertinent things about a story and just go straight to the bullshit. Nicki Minaj has a history of harassment and bullying of anyone she considers to be competition. She and Safaree were truly a match made in heaven with their subbing and passive aggression and underhanded tactics.
Soulmates.
Cardi B is just out here trying to live.
Bullying is not okay. Worrying about 'what people - especially white people - will think is so 1958. Vilifying someone for fighting back when they are bullied is not okay. I don't agree with how she decided to fight back, but I do acknowledge that for Americans, violence is the go-to solution for all their problems.
If it was me and I intended to do physical bodily harm to someone, I would not broadcast it by coming in all brandishing my shoe. Nope, slow and careful, smiling. Then when I'm up close, bitch slap.

Of course, I much prefer to solve my problems with words. Lotsa words. I know a lot of them. And I'm good at using them. But we all play to our strengths right?
Speaking of playing your strengths, the legend that is Serena Williams lost the US Open finals today. It was a fraught time for us all. I didn't watch the match but by all accounts, Naomi Osaka played well.
She might have won anyway, I don't know.
But thanks to a stupid ass umpire, the focus is all on the controversy rather than the match. I don't usually approve of trolling but if I had Carlos Ramos' twitter name, I would so write him a think piece thread about how not to umpire a match.
Just with everything that's been happening in Tennis lately - with the Serena catsuit situation, the French chick penalized for turning her shirt the right way round, and now this - I think the sport is long overdue for an overhaul. Women need to take over management positions, umpires, the works.
The game is biased.
Biased against women.
Biased against women of color.
Biased against Serena Williams specifically...
Fair.
Fairness.
Equity.
Men do not seem to understand the meanings of these words!
Gosh, I am so irked.

Also happening in September, Mac Miller OD'd - may he rest in peace - and people are blaming Ariana for it. I think we have reached a point in society where when something happens we immediately just look for the nearest person to get angry at.
Except for that umpire at the USopen, because that was totally his fault.
It isn't Ariana's fault that Mac Miller is dead. He was taking life-threatening drugs before Ariana met him and she left him because of his addiction. You cannot save people. The only person who can save you is you. So blaming Ariana is not only stupid, it's ignorant and sexist. I don't see y'all trolling Bobby Brown because Whitney died.
Oh, also Bobby Brown's life story came out. I haven't seen it. I watched it on twitter which I suspect was far more entertaining than watching the actual program. Apparently, he was Janet Jackson's side piece. And he married the woman who talked him out of chickening out of marrying Whitney.
oops.
Did I forget to say spoilers?

On the local front, our most revered and wise president decided to add 16% VAT on fuel to pay for all his Chinese loans, and now nothing is affordable. Hustling has consequently been revved up times a thousand since we still have needs. So in addition to everything else, you'll see a blue widget inviting you to buy me a ko-fi on this site. If you enjoy my writing and wish to say "thanks for brightening my day Annemarie," that's how you can do it. No pressure though. I still love you all for reading.

I almost forgot the most important thing that happened this September!
Colin Kaepernick was announced as the face of Nike.
Now I've been with Kap from day one but many of you can only jump on the bandwagon because of corporate endorsement - or is it white people endorsement?
Anyways, this news fills me with so much happiness I can't even tell you. The ad is so inspiring I downloaded it to my phone so I can watch it anytime I'm feeling uninspired or the world becomes particularly ugly.
And y'all do get ugly.
I saw a post reporting that a whole entire Mayor had banned the employees of his local parks and rec from buying or wearing Nike products. It's difficult for me to comprehend that level of...just wrong. So I tried to equate it to the dark days before the post-election crisis and what lengths Kikuyus would go to, to run from the poison of their stance vis a vis the rest of the country. It starts with leadership.
It's people like Colin who shine a little light and provide a direction for anyone seeking not to drown in malevolence.
I salute him.
I salute all you keepers of the light.

Kamikaze

First of all, I loved Revival. Let's just start there. I don't care how many albums it sold. Sometimes people don't appreciate greatness. Doesn't make it any less great.
The thing with Eminem though, you can't listen to him when you have a stick up your ass. You gotta extract that stick, sit back, relax and just...listen.
This is a review of Eminem's surprise album, Kamikaze.

I've been reading some reviews on the blogs versus Twitter. The latter are clearly fans while the former are the stick-up-the-ass people. Imagine complaining about Eminem using non-politically correct language. When has he ever been politically correct?
Never.
That's the correct answer.
But it's 2018 and we're searching desperately every day for something to get upset about. Because that's who we are now.
Eminem is very freeing. He doesn't care about your feelings. Fuck your feelings.

The whole Eminem brand is about being disrespectful.
But that's not all it is. No, not by a long shot. Eminem is about saying it like he sees it. It's about uncomfortable truth. Noone is safe. Not even Eminem.
You might know that I have a hard-on for honesty so naturally, Eminem is really up there in my top five faves. I cannot recommend this album enough. It's classic Eminem. Slim Shady in the house. If you're old enough to understand the jokes, it's also really funny. So you can listen to it for the music, or the lyrics, or the sheer entertainment value of shading everyone.
I like to multitask so I listen for all of the above.
Also, that DYSFUNCTIONAL relationship he has with his wife/girlfriend is always fun to hear/scary as fuck. They are so white trash. No other rapper goes there, just lets you into how crazy a girl can make a guy. But Eminem does - he gives a window into the crazy of what relationships are REALLY like out here in these skreets.
"I love you but I hope you fucking die though," is a lyric that I think we can all relate to.

I had to write this because...well I had to. If you haven't yet listened to Kamikaze, I cannot recommend it enough. Especially if you have some mental health challenge like I do. It's made for us crazies. Hit play and find out that you're not alone.
Have you visited my author page yet?
Why not?
There's the link, click on it.

Stories from Twitter

I have to put my phone in a drawer sometimes because I am easily distracted. I write two lines of work and then I get some notification or decide to check if I have mail or just see if there's a follow-up tweet to some mess on Twitter...I asked myself why I am so much slower now than I used to be at finishing assignments and I realized that it's my phone.
A few years ago, I used to check twitter in the morning when I woke up and then that was it for the day. Now it's like every five minutes.
Ugh.
I need help.

That said, a lot of interesting things happen on Twitter. Why just yesterday, I saw this post a girl had written telling "Hannah from nursing school" to dump her boyfriend because he was boasting about cheating on her with multiple women, since he came to somewhere called Baylor.
Well, not too long after that, "Hannah" retweeted the tweet with a comment, "Update, I dumped him."
Now that is a fully fledged story waiting to be written.
Who is the good samaritan snitch and how did she overhear this conversation?
In my headcanon, Cheater Boyfriend and his friends are sitting in a coffee house. Talking really loudly, being all obnoxious the way boys in groups tend to be. Twitter Snitch is a waitress at the cafe and she happens to be serving them. They've gone all toxic masculinity on her more than once, commenting on the size of her boobs and one of them even slapped her ass. Furthermore, they didn't even leave a tip.
So she's like, "Okay den."
Cheater guy probably didn't even sleep with as many chicks as he claimed. Boys lie, especially to their lil' friends. All exaggerating how much p*ssy they get...it's sad.
And then Hannah read the tweet and part of her wasn't even surprised because she knows deep down that her boyfriend is an asshole. She's maybe been looking for an excuse to dump him and concentrate on her studies. and look at God, answering her prayers...

Speaking of "God" there was another tweet which just made me laugh out loud. News outlets were reporting that Mike Pence seems to think that God is calling him to be a president in waiting. Now just an aside, if he was any other color than white and said that shit they'd have him on psychiatric hold so fast...hearing voices and shit.

Anyways, so an account named "God" retweets one of the news outlets with the comment, "It was a prank call."

He he he...

No?

Tough crowd.

On a more serious note, Africa but mostly East Africa, but mostly Kenya and Uganda have been trying to get musician turned politician, Bobi Wine out of jail. He was arrested I think for winning an election; I'm not sure exactly. Something about stones and cars. I'm old enough to remember when M7 (president of Uganda) overthrew Obote (I think - former president of Uganda) in a coup. And it occurs to me that Uganda has never had a transfer of power that wasn't by a coup. 

It's 2018 and here we still are. 

Anyway, thanks to the noise made on Twitter, M7 had Bobi released on bail. The man could barely walk. He was on crutches and went straight to the hospital. 

Better M7 though because he doesn't pretend to be anything other than what he is. Meanwhile Muigai, Trump, Duterte, Putin...all cut from the same cloth but people still want to pull the wool over their own eyes and make excuses for their evil.

On a happier note, it was Michael Jackson's sixtieth (60!) birthday on August 29th and some idle twitter user decided to reimagine the Thriller video as Ola Ray going on a real date with 'werewolf guy.'

Hilarity ensued.

I wish I could post it all here but I can't. Just take it from me, it was quite hilarious. 

Happy Birthday, Michael!

Do you feel like sometimes we insist on pedestalizing some people to the extent that it isn't even the real person anymore and whatever we heard that they did, there's just this internal shrug and then the allegation is dismissed like it didn't even exist? I feel that way sometimes about people like Michael. Especially with this accusation about Asia Argento sexually abusing a seventeen-year-old boy. Many times the abused becomes an abuser. It's true for Asia and it's probably true for Michael as well. But no matter how many accusations were leveled against him, Michael still remains Michael. It's weird how the mind works. I think it's the same with Trump supporters, he's their god and nothing he does will change that. It also works with God too right? Sometimes you can be mad as fuck at him but still worship him. 

Nuance.

Have a very self-aware weekend.
                                                                                   

Oh, Are You Procrastinating Too?

I have some work to do. I'm not doing it. Instead, I just finished up writing this delectable piece of fanfiction and now I'm writing a blog post.
It's all relevant!
And I do realize that I can't push myself harder than I want to go. However, I can't let my procrastinating ass just do what it wants 24/7. So this blog post, while distracting me from my work is also reminding me to get back to it just as soon as I have vomited my unwanted opinions all over this page.

I've seen ubiquitous posts about how people post happy pictures on IG making everyone else super jealous and envious and insecure about their lives. And I just can't relate because how are you jealous of someone else's pictures?
That's not your life.
Why do you want to live it?
Maybe it's because I grew up in the eighties and nineties. In those long gone days, if someone was taking a picture showing off their clothes or their watch or whatever, guaranteed it was the maid who was wearing her boss' dress/watch/shoes. So to me, it's still a super village thing to do. Taking a pic of a watch like, "See my bling."
"Very nice Petunia, now put it back before your boss comes."
The lifestyles of the rich and famous are so contrived sometimes don't you think? You never see the really rich dudes like Richard Branson showing off their stuff, do you?
Why not?
Because doing that is just tacky. And it's all probably fake stuff anyway.
Even if it's real, so what? Use it to motivate you to get your own if you want it so badly.
All that jealousy you're wasting on them when you could be reading my fanfic for example (link above) or buying one of my books to distract you from your reality is just crazy to me. Did y'all mothers teach you nothing?

Envy is a weird thing. I want to say I've never felt it but I don't want to be a liar. I'm trying to think carefully to see whether I have actually felt such a thing so I can relate to y'all.
Nope.
Never.
I think I'm too self-contained. I live in the real reality where I understand that I can't have someone else's life even if they are not there to live it. So I can't waste time wanting their lives. I can and I have wanted the attention they get.
For example, when I see posts on my WhatsApp groups or social media where someone says, "I've heard this book is great and I'm struggling to read it. This is my sixteenth attempt but I'm determined to finish it coz everyone's reading it."
Or someone is saying, "I'm tired of reading the same old stuff, show me something new." And then proceed to keep reading the same old stuff.
I just want to push my book in front of them and say, "Have you tried this one? I guarantee you, you'll finish it on the first try. Also very unique story."


Yes, when I see that some people are given eleventy five chances because of their name or their fame and I can't because my name is strange and no one knows me, I feel frustration. But not envy. Nope. Because clearly, my books are better. I write original shit, bitch.
(looking at you Cassandra Clare).
I feel like someone might read this and go, "Cor, that Annemarie is so full of herself."
Well of course I am, who else am I supposed to be full of?
Kanye might be wrong about a lot of things but he's not wrong about one thing. You gotta love yourself like Kanye loves Kanye. You gotta believe in yourself so much that self-doubt has no place in your psyche. When you're very busy believing in yourself you seriously have no time to dwell on the superficialities of other people's lives. And so people can post their life with impunity without the danger of having to resort to the #bowwowchallenge or the #kobikiharachallenge to keep up with the imagined Joneses in their lives.
No?

My point is, don't worry, be happy.

Stream of Consciousness Blogging is Educational

I just finished a 6500-word assignment that ideally should have taken me one day to write. Instead, it took me two weeks.
It was that boring.
Writing it was literally, physically depressing. I blame myself because I never like to say no to any assignment but considering how much time this one has taken, as compared to how much I'll earn from it, it wasn't just a waste of time.
It made me go at a serious loss.

Unfortunately, it's not possible to know when an assignment is going to leach your energy and take too much out of you until you start it. Who knew writing about Car Games was so soul destroying?
So here I am; a new lesson learned. Not sure what the lesson is though. Keep away from writing inane articles? Or power through them and write faster? I think it's the former.
I think.
I'm more likely to convince myself to do the latter.
Self-awareness is so important.
I've been feeling like I'm wading underwater, trying to walk forward while the entire weight of the water is working against me. Then just the thought of being under water makes me anxious. And not finishing what I start makes me anxious.
I used to scoff at people who said they suffered from 'anxiety'. I felt like, dude, that's just a normal everyday thing that people have. And that was because I had it and didn't know it wasn't 'normal' to feel like that most of the time. I take so much for granted that is actually abnormal. For example, pain.

When I feel pain, I don't treat it. I ignore it. I assume that it'll go away. I suffer through it because it doesn't occur to me to do something about it until it's affecting my work. Then I take medicine because otherwise, I'll have to stop working. I don't even realize I'm doing it until I take medicine, feel better and wonder, "Why didn't I just do that in the first place?"
African parenting guys. It teaches you to just suffer through that shit. If you can still walk, everything's fine.
Strangely enough, if my son tells me he has a headache, I give him medicine immediately. If it comes back the next day, it's off to the hospital. So different standards; in fact, opposite standards for him and me.
It's weird how wiring works.
I came on here to blow off some 'I"m so happy I finished that damned assignment!" steam with a short story. I ended up streaming my consciousness.
How about I give you an excerpt then from Marcus Devereux? I'd like to hear what you think about me writing from the point of view of a baby.

Alexa? Play Rewind by Sauti Sol

This song has been keeping me going these last few weeks. I don't know what's happening with me.
Depression?
Hormones?
Life is a bitch and then you die?
Any of the above?
None of the above?

I don't know.
I expect a normal amount of bad things have been happening to me and in the world but my persona and my spirit seem to be dwelling a lot on the negative. Also, I'm in that situation where I have work but I haven't yet been paid for it, so I'm broke. Poverty - temporary or permanent - is always depressing.
I'm also writing sci-fi which is my least favorite genre and so I write really slowly. It's frustrating.
On top of all these micro-frustrations, Shadowhunters was canceled for no perceptible reason. I rely on Magnus Bane as an antidepressant. It's a crisis for me to think I might never see a new outfit on him again after 2019. I need for someone to step in and fucking save that show!

None of my playlists are working to lift my mood; it's affecting my ability to work, sleep, and not go off at my child for doing things that are just him.
Example? Yesterday he bought me a coke zero...and then he drank it.
Like...
This is typical behavior but yesterday it just made me so mad. Like what kind of selfish...?!?
But I recognized the overreaction of my reaction and went to bed to fume there rather than engage him. He's been side-eyeing me all day like he's waiting for an explosion, walking on eggshells and I can't even tell him that things are fine because they're not. I never just go to bed without a word. We make a point of 'good night' and 'good morning' and 'how was your days?' around here.
It's going to be okay.
I'm listening to rewind on repeat.
And transferring my thoughts to paper...or whatever we call this. Screen?
Siphoning out my frustration and sprinkling it on all of yous.

I've been seeing a lot of posts on social media about how people don't post their failures on the internet. That's because there are vultures waiting to gather around and pick at your bones if you do. There is an impulse to protect yourself. There is also a curious freedom in letting people know when life is one huge suckage, major.
Don't try this at home folks though. You gotta have world class shock absorbers and an ability not to care what people think. The genuine thing; not the whole 'look at me giving zero fucks' which is actually you giving all the fucks and fronting.
On a happier note, my favorite cousin (yeah okay, cat's out) is in town and we had a nice lunch yesterday. He's one of the few people in the world who I can talk to on a cellular level. Usually, people's walls are up and they only let you in so far and no farther. But when me and him are together, the walls are all down. We can say anything to each other. It's curiously satisfying to have that. It's rare as unicorns.
We were discussing expectations versus reality and how people have all these "shoulds" that they live within, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. People walk into relationships with expectations; they wanna know right away if 'you're serious' and 'do you see this leading to marriage?' There's no room for organic growth anymore. Nothing feels real, it's all manufactured for the consumption of whatever invisible audience we are all performing for.
Most people have forgotten what "real" even feels like.
Oh well...
Add this song to your playlist.