Of Writing, Sex Tapes and Elections

 Twitter was atwitter with this news: 400 s*xtapes of an Equatorial Guinea business man released

 Every man on there was quite admiring of Baltasar and his ability to sleep with everyone from his brother's wife to the president's sister. (Do you notice how the women are referenced by whatever man they're adjacent to?)

Anyways it got me thinking about sex tapes and sex in general. 

I write romance for a living and so, I know how boring it can be...to write about. You have the same things happening. Lots of canting hips, moaning, groaning, the occasional kissing, flesh slapping together...by the third book you've seen it all.

As a writer, I know that what jazzes up the sex scene is the emotion behind it. Is it angry sex? They're scratching and biting, he's telling her how he wants to split her in two, she's digging her nails into his shoulders while thinking about him going so deep inside of her that she can taste him in her mouth...Is it tender sex? Do they cry as the hold each other, softly, warmly, gently. Their kisses painful in intensity, their hearts, beating in sync...

You get my drift right?

But watching a sex tape  has none of that. It's just sitting there watching a man stick his dick continuously into a woman. They might not even be that attractive to you. If you're the man or woman in question, you were there, why do you need to watch the playback?

So, my question is, what is the point of a sex tape? 

Is it like when an athlete records themselves at work so they can go home, re-watch and see what they did wrong? Or is it like a memory you get to relive? Your idea of home videos or such.

Also, if this guy and his various sex mates were not ready for the tapes to be made public - so much so that one of the women killed herself - why consent to be taped in the first place? This man was a government official, slept with the wives, sisters, daughters and girlfriends of basically his whole family and fellow government officials. 

And put it on tape. 

Why?

What was the reason?

I sometimes wonder if people subconsciously wish to embarrass themselves because that's the only thing that makes sense.

Anyway, y'all be crazy. 

It's difficult to write fiction these days because competing with reality is just hard.

In other news, Presidential election this week in the US. These last four years have been eye opening on who people really are and these last two years have been especially illuminating about who is valued and who is not by imperialism.

It started with Ukraine. No actually it started with the politicizing of COVID and the proliferation of misinformation. People who I assumed knew how to reason like adults turned out to be...disappointing. Then the war in Ukraine happened and Africans fleeing that same war were STILL discriminated against. We were forced to fund raise to get them out and even then, a simple thing like getting on a train or across a border was harder for Africans than the Caucasians. 

It boggled my mind that even in extreme duress, white people always have time and space for racism. But not as much as it boggles my mind today that there are African supporters of Imperialism. We truly are colonized. 

Anyway, Ukraine happened and they were afforded all and any kind of help available from Westerners. Then October 7th 2023 happened and Palestine was back in the news - as the villains of course. Even when Israeli lies were debunked, Palestinians remained the villains. Even when Palestinian babies died, the babies were blamed for providing 'human shields' for khhhamas. 

Even the darkest cloud has a silver lining. The eyes of the world were opened to what constitutes a "terrorist". 

American propaganda came crashing down.

So, as people go into voting for the next US president, for me, as the grass underneath which elephants are fighting, I don't care which elephant wins, we'll still continue to be crushed. 

Whoever wins, I only know one thing: Ruto Must Go.

Annemarie lives in Nairobi Kenya. Find out more on her work here. And visit her author page here.

It's All Connected by Imperialism

 I've been intending to start a series on the current maandamano taking place in Kenya and the events of today's #nanenane demonstrations was the kick in the butt I needed. This post will be freeform but subsequent posts will contain receipts. 

Let's start from the beginning. 

But where is that?

Let's talk about imperialism. It's a monster, with tentacles spread out worldwide. The head of the monster, however, is nestled in the United States. It's headquarters, one might say.

What is imperialism you might ask. 

The Merriam Webster dictionary defines it as: the policy, practice, or advocacy of extending the power and dominion of a nation especially by direct territorial acquisitions or by gaining indirect control over the political or economic life of other areas.

It's important to realize that governments are not the imperialists. They are just the instruments by which the imperialists seek to exploit others. The government works for them. They always have. The Dutch East India Company was a private outfit, but the Queen of England had shares as did other noblemen. They are the ones who ate and left no crumbs. The government is left with no one else to consume and now see, they're eating themselves.

The riots we're seeing in Britain right now are a direct result of imperialism and white supremacy.

We might have been colonized by England but it's still the queen's friends who own vast tracts of our land.

Prince Harry is the president of African Parks and don't get me wrong, I love the fella but when they say 'governments have given them the parks to run' I have to wonder. 

Why?

What is the bottleneck that stops Africans from running their own game reserves? Looks to me like we're the only continent still with significant wildlife populations. Everyone else has depleted theirs so why are we not 'able' to run our own parks.

Question for another day.

Let's get back to the events of #nanenane and how they brought me here, to you. The police completely shut the CBD down. It was impossible to hold a lawful demonstration because the police kept scattering people.

This led to a lot of frustrated Kenyans and there was a back to the drawing board mood. Bangladesh ousted their prime minister this week. Their parliament was dissolved.

We must find a way to do the same. 

But the foiling of the demos led to a lot of demoralization for some, hardened the determination of others and got me off my ass so I can show you all how far we've come.

Stay Tuned.

Getting My Writing Mojo BACK!

 It's no secret that I've been struggling. The dearth of blog posts was probably a clue. I had barely been able to update my fanfics.

I won't even talk about the novels I'm writing. (Yes, it's never just one). Marcus Devereux, stagnating, the Harlequin, non-starter. 

Sigh.

Whatever I did, I couldn't get myself to...write. Everything was too depressing I think - COVID, economic crisis, personal crises, parenting crises...and then the icing on the cake; Gaza.

Just hopeless, hapless and helpless.

No wonder the creativity wasn't being defined.

It wasn't just my personal situation. It just seemed like the entire world had given up on even trying. Literally shouting and screaming about Gaza for six months and hearing people perform outrage while selling Israel more weapons. Everyone I know living from hand to mouth, and every day the Kenyan president announces a new arbitrary tax. Let's not even talk about the personal struggles of having an adult unemployed son, trying to find his way amid mental health struggles. Always a fun time.

All of these things are still the same, aside from the last one. No longer unemployed, and with a direction of movement, this is the only thing that has really changed in my life. But I found myself making three fanfic updates this weekend. I finally managed to write daily so my Harlequin story (fingers crossed) is now over 5k words. I still haven't updated Marcus Devereux but I have a plan on how to proceed.

I think that tiny sliver of hope is responsible. That things can change, albeit slowly. hey, for years, nobody would even acknowledge that the Occupation was in the wrong but now here we are - the whole world knows that Genocide is going on.

I can almost believe that that saying about the trajectory of justice is true.

Resolve was the start. Writing it down that I intended to do these things and really understanding that life is too short and all we have is now. And then every day, despite whatever mood I'm in, purposing to WRITE 100 words of my Harlequin story, rain or shine. Somehow, that triggered the storytelling part of my brain and now there's always story there, raring to go. Just waiting to be written down.

Long may it continue.

The Pivot: When Do You Know It' s Time?

 The universe has been kicking me in the ass of late, with signs and portents of changing winds. I know this territory. It's familiar because it's not the first time it's happened to me. The thing I've been asking myself is; do I want to pivot because it's the path for me, or because I'm giving up?

I've indeed been increasingly bored with the assignments I get. There are only so many Regency romance storylines you can write before they begin to blur together. But is that enough reason to quit?

Then I think back over the years, how long I've been thinking about this, but there just has never been time to make it happen. So much work to do, and so many bills to pay. The upheaval that has happened in the last few years, both internally and externally has really brought this thought to the fore; Annemarie, is it time to do things differently?

I'm gonna be fifty this year. My body is breaking down. I don't want to write smut for publishing mills for another ten years. I'd like to continue writing stories but with a bit more control and the ability to earn life-changing income from it. Gotta think about my retirement plan.

(It seems delusional to have a retirement plan with the way the world is going but theoretically).

So yesterday, I got another push in the 'you need to pivot' direction. A client I had written a 'clean wholesome romance' for last year sent me a message. 

(Honestly, any white woman wanting a 'clean wholesome romance' should have been a red flag but again as I said...bills to pay).

I think I completed the assignment in October, I'm not sure and then she sent a message in December about the book being in editing and after that was done, she might send it back to me for corrections. Later on in December or early January, she sent me a message that there would be no corrections to do.

Great. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes it turns out like that. So I gave the generic, thanks, hope to work with you again, bye.

So yesterday, she replied to the message, saying "Oh sorry I forgot to end the contract, and here's my 'honest feedback' on your work. She then proceeds to tell me she suspects I used AI because I used 'big words'  that no one uses in conversation.

In the next sentence, she accuses me of having grammar and spelling mistakes, 'which shows I don't check my work'. Now, if I'm supposed to be using AI, doesn't it proofread? She also said my work was late - which is the only true thing she said.

Now, aside from being extremely discombobulated by her message, I just couldn't bring myself to take it seriously.

(Oops, there I go using big words that people don't use in sentences. This must be an AI post)

It seemed so disingenuous and ill-intentioned, especially coming out of the blue MONTHS after the assignment was complete.

She then closed the post by saying the readers hated it because my writing was subpar. Now as an author, I take leave to doubt that she had her book published already if the editor completed their work in December and there 'were so many spelling errors' and so much didn't make sense. Unless she decided to publish the book with these errors and mistakes and AI that didn't make sense etc. So even if she published in January, there's no way you have feedback by February. Unless you're J.K Rowling or Diana Gabaldon and people are spending nights on the sidewalk to get your book first thing, you're just not going to have feedback that soon.

So, white woman is lying. Nothing new there. It seems to be their default. I really don't know how y'all live with them 24/7. The mental health challenges alone...

(Disclaimer: yes, yes, I know. Not ALL white women)

But it was like the last straw.

I am now convinced that -

It's time to take up the reigns and make a change. Finish this romance for Harlequin romance. Begin the story for choice games, finish Marcus Devereux, and look for better-paying, and more challenging gigs that don't take up all my time. 

No big.

I've been listening to former recruiters on TikTok, giving advice on how to get the job of your dreams. I'm trying to implement it. It's not easy but it's not impossible. Just gotta be patient, do the work, and believe in myself. 

Like always. 

Sigh.

(Wish me luck.)

Gaslighting 101 - And I'm Sick of It

There's a genocide going on in Palestine. 

It's obvious to Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, and Hellen Keller, may she rest in peace. 

N.B. (In case you don't know who those are, Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder are accomplished black American musicians who are also blind and Hellen Keller is an American writer who was both blind and deaf) - There, I saved you a Google search.

However, there is a certain imperialist subsection of society insisting on the right to not call this a genocide. They aren't saying it isn't. They're just saying you can't call it that. When they hear you call it that, they become very upset.

You might lose your job, or be evicted from your house, or get deported.

It's like those white women who are more concerned with not being called racist rather than with actually not being a racist. 

I mean...these people are diabolical and clearly living in another plane of mental illness but what I don't understand is why we all indulge them.

Israel doesn't want to be called a terrorist genocidal state? Okay then, everyone tiptoes around it and tries to appease. They try to find other words to call this situation or worse, try to convince these people that they are wrong. As if they don't know.

People are being so careful with their language so as not to offend and the people that they are trying not to offend are busy saying shit like this.

We have discovered that the so-called violent massacre of October 7th was just Israelis instituting the Hannibal directive on their own people. Furthermore, Hamas has shown more interest in giving back hostages than Israel has shown in taking them. 

But somehow, we're supposed to turn a blind eye and just continue to assume that Israel is good, and Palestine is bad.

There's a certain level of dumb that is required in order to live comfortably in this world and I don't have it. And sometimes I just want to scream in people's faces, "STOP. FUCKING. LYING!"

Because it's one thing to expect us to put up with things like this. It's another to have to smile about it and pretend everything is fine.

It's not.

Everything is fucked. 

You know there's a book by that name that I had begun to read. It started with a story about Witold Pilecki who was the first person to alert the world about the holocaust. To the surprise of no one who has lived through the last four years, nobody believed him.

Long story short, he infiltrated Auschwitz with the faith that 'the good guys' would send reinforcements and he'd be able to save everyone. 

Well, that didn't happen.

How long are we going to keep swallowing this baloney and calling it pork chops? Aren't you tired? I'm tired.

My Christmas Holiday

 Yes, I'm writing you an essay as if I'm still in primary school because this holiday was worth writing about. I was hoping to get a week off work but between December Decembering, rheumatoid arthritis, and procrastination, I did not finish my assigned work (and not all of it) until the 24th morning. 

Let's see there was a lot of swimming done.

                                                                 Christmas Caroling

Birthday Lunches

got a new tattoo

got a dog.

As you can see, I was super busy.

So anyway, on the 24th, we set out for Weathercock House in Limuru. Yes, just as the name suggests, it was a colonial throwback to the glory days of the empire. 

We arrived quite late what with rushing to finish work, the mechanic taking his time making the car roadworthy, and shopping for supplies. When we got there, the house was on top of a hill and the car kinda refused to climb it. 

Stress.

However, Timothy, the owner of Weathercock house offered to drive the car up the hill and proceeded to do some four-wheel drive shit on my poor not four-wheel drive car. The sun was just setting over the property and it bathed the garden in beautiful golden light. And what a garden it was. It's the reason I'm writing this essay.

We hadn't eaten a thing all day and were hoping to get a meal at some nearby restaurant but Timothy was like kill that story. Danger! Thieves! Also, there was no Uber, or Bolt, nothing operating in Limuru. Timothy was leaving so he wouldn't be available to drive our car back up the hill if we used that. 

Sadness ensued.

But we had with us, some frozen chips and chicken pieces as well as salad. We had wine, we had ice cream, we had chocolate chip cookies. We made do. Happily, we'd hired a chef for the next day so that was taken care of. 

An actual fire in a fireplace. A 72-inch tv. and creepy ass pictures on the wall. Weathercock House was like a journey into my own past. I grew up in a neighborhood where every other house had a zebra skin on the wall. Seeing it brought back memories of tagging along with my mother to visit her friends.

The kitchen had an honest to god Aga. The fridge was from 1950 but in very good working condition. The same could be said for the bathrooms, absolute 80s decor, except for the instant shower which was the only thing not working up to standard. A real pity since I really wanted to take a bath in the bathtub. Really relive my childhood.

The bed was like sleeping on a cloud. 

However...

Creepiness abounded as I said. There was, what I eventually realized was a 'service corridor' which actually ran parallel to the main corridor. The bedrooms were in an entirely other 'wing' of the house - very helpful for me to picture the manor houses I write about in Regency romances. And there was a hidden staircase that led to an attic - which I immediately decided was occupied by the ghost of this guy.

That wasn't the only creepy picture in the house. There were several.

But there was also a very cute little bar in the second part of the sitting room (it had three parts) and the reading nook was to die for. They let us have one pet so we brought our dog, who we thought was Alejandro at the time, but turns out she's Alejandra.

She was remarkably well-behaved. Didn't poop in the house once.

We woke the next day to a breakfast that was mid at best. I wasn't holding out much hope for the chef. But again, we had ice cream, we had Amarula, we had chocolate and we had the great outdoors. 

The gardens were remarkable. At least 40 years old, the trees were living things. We could feel their spirits. If there was anything that cemented to me the importance of conservation, it was being in the presence of those trees. So old that other plants had rooted in them so that every tree was festooned with at least two other trees, a vine and a flowering plant all tangled together and growing from a single root it seemed. Just standing beneath those trees was a spiritual experience.

Lunch was a million times better and so was dinner. Chris and I pretended to be slaves who had broken into master's house to drink his wine. 

Then we shot some sort of gangster movie that I'm still waiting to see. (Chris says he's editing). All in all, as Christmas goes, I'm counting it as one of my best - peaceful, full of love and food and rest. The journey back to Nairobi was also super smooth. And that's my Christmas holiday. If you want to tell me about yours, feel free.