When Female Characters Do Stupid Shit

I wrote an article on substack but it's about writing so here it is.

Musings on Characterization by Annemarie Musawale

Spoiler Alert: This is also kind of a rant

Read on Substack

They Want Unique But Not Really

 The other day, I saw this call for novels from Scribd and I decided, why not? So I sent them a few links for a variety of my books.

Even as I did it, I realized that they weren't going to pick any of my books. It's not because the stories aren't good enough. 

No.

It's that when people ask for 'original' stories, what they mean is, 'this story should be recognizable as something already out there in the market, but unique enough that it's not plagiarism.'

They don't really want ORIGINAL original tales.

Listen, ain't nobody going to buy a story about African gay guys, one of who plays rugby and who are caught up in the apocalypse and fighting resurrected Egyptian gods. Who's written that book before? Chimamanda hasn't. Nnedi hasn't. Definitely, all the white interchangeable authors haven't. 

If you're an African you better write Half a Yellow Sun, Things Fall Apart or else, you write a generic story featuring white people doing white people shit. This encompasses everything from fighting aliens to being all sad and depressed about their looks and/or shitty parents, the classic love story; whatever it is. You've read it before and now you want to read it again and pretend it's new.

So even as I submitted my books, I knew that Scribd would pass on them, even as they were specifically looking for 'minority' writers. 

So I moved on in my mind and let it go. 

"But Annemarie," you might ask, "why bother to submit if you knew they weren't going to take your books?"

Well, for one, dear reader, I only came to that realization after I'd already initiated contact. Secondly, it doesn't hurt to try. Sometimes you underestimate people. Rarely, in my case, but it happens. So never disappoint yourself on behalf of other people. Always give them the chance to disappoint you themselves. 

It's the surprises that live in between that space that make life worth living.

Writing One Book For Years

 Alright, first of all, preorder Marcus Devereux here because you need to read this shit. 

Let's get down to it straight away. I started writing this book sometime in several years ago. I wanna say 2015 but it could have been as early as 2012. Life has been hectic. 

Now, as I write my books, and write stories for others, my style grows and changes becomes more refined and less wild. When I started writing Marcus Devereux, I wasn't even a professional ghostwriter yet. I was an academic writer with two books under her belt who decided to try out a new style. 

The closest pop culture reference I had to my style of writing is Baby's Day Out. The youngins might not know this movie, since it came out in 1994. Why did I decide to write a book using the 1st person POV of a baby during a time when I didn't even know the phrase '1st person POV'? 

I don't know.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It still seems like a good idea and I don't think even after all this time, that it has been done before.

When I tell people or show people some of my work, they tend to get bogged down by harsh reality. 

"How would a baby know this?" 

"This language is too advanced for a baby."

Hello, I'm writing a story about a magical baby but I'm gonna get cockblocked by not making the baby only say goo goo ga? The Sussexes said their son's first word was crocodile or something. And he's not even magical. That's a three-syllable word.

Hello.

It's fiction. Its fantasy. Open your mind.

But going through my work, I definitely see the progression in writing style. This weekend is the first time, in a long time, that I have no client work to do and so I decided to sit down and finish the manuscript. Considering the trajectory of the story I started with, the content is definitely affected by my life experiences. I'm more cynical about the relationships, the slant is more real than fantasy romance. Leo and Mya still be having plenty of sex but I think there's a lot more angst, and fighting and misunderstanding than earlier me would have thought to put in a story. 

In any case, it's a fascinating process, and I cannot wait to present to you, the finished product. I think by the time I'm done, the book will have undergone as many metamorphoses as the cover.

The Art and Science of Research for Fiction Writing

This is a serious post y'all.

I'm going to share with you my process because many have asked me how I do this.
This being, writing stories that are apparently foreign to my own reality.
The first thing that you have to know is to make a story real, you must find the personal connection to it. If you cannot do that, you cannot write the story.
For example; I am not a Somali, neither am I a Muslim, nor have I ever been in an arranged marriage. But I am a big sister. I know that sense of responsibility that is thrust upon you, often against your will. I know the combination of obligation and resentment it engenders.
That was my way into the story.
I know other things about the events in Cinderella by Any other Name quite intimately. Things I wish I did not know. The weird thing is putting them on the page is just as therapeutic as crying about it to a therapist.
Not to slag therapy; if you find the right person to talk to, it can be good. If not, try to find another way. Rihanna didn't want to do therapy after 'the incident' - I suspect she didn't trust anyone enough - but, she did find a way to self-therapize.
As long as you deal with your shit and don't let it fester.

The child of destiny series is based in Louisiana.
I've never been.
I mean sure, the town of Le Marais is fictional but it had to at least retain a few well-known attributes from the place it was based on. (#funfact - I tried to add le marais as the location on one of my Instagram posts and about ten possible places showed up in France, Italy and America. I did not know it was a real place name when I chose it. It simply means 'The Swamp' in French). Lucky for me, I grew up on Anne Rice. And before she became a hack, whew, she could use up three pages on just describing a place.
Even though I'd never been, I've felt that I know exactly what New Orleans is like for a long time. The atmosphere at least, the supernatural and natural history, the weather, the way the streets are built...I had that down. Then, of course, I went to Google University to obtain a degree on all things Louisiana including the fact that its Alligators not Crocodiles that are found there.
It's the little things, you know?
I think I enjoy checking these details as much as I do weaving them into my stories.

Just today, I was writing my overdue regency romance assignment and I thought to myself - Severus is not a bad name for a romantic rival. Let me just google and see if anyone apart from Snape was ever called that.
And lo and behold, there was a Roman Emperor who was around in about 193 BC whose name was Severus Alexander! More interesting...he was born in Africa. Even more interesting, the Roman Empire covered Europe, the Middle East and Africa.
This ain't in no history book I ever read.
This Severus guy conquered a place called Germa or Garama (in modern-day Libya) which was the capital of the Garamantian Kingdom.
193 BC.
That's my history right there I had no clue about.
I googled a name to go in a story set in Regency England and I learn something new about African history. That's the beauty of this game man. There's nothing like it.

Another thing you have to be continually aware of that grounds a story in the period you have set it in is language. You cannot talk about social media if your story is set in the nineties. Some fun things I had to google when writing Child of Destiny include whether Pamela Anderson already had her boobs done in 1990 (she hadn't). I had to check which year Prince released Kiss, to make sure it was okay for Leo to sing it in Mya's ear.
People think writing is easy.
Easy and fun is not the same thing, guys.
One is not like the other.
The most important thing is to love what you're doing. If you don't, it can get tedious really fast. Now go forth and write your masterpieces...after you preorder Marcus Devereux, please!

For Those About to Rock, We Salute You

This week's prompt was also a picture. Rock concerts are rock n' roll. and so are Sam and Dean Winchester. So I decided to make this prompt the latest chapter of my little fanfic that I write. Enjoy. All you need to know is that Sam may have lied about some things and Dean is mad about it.

“You’re fired. Have you things packed and out of here by noon”, Sam breezed into the office, throwing the information at Missouri as he passed. She stood up and followed him into his office.

“You said get it done, I got it done. What are you in such a tizzy about now?”

“You told Dean that our child was sick! Have you no sense of boundaries. I want you out of here now or I’ll turn our enforcer on you so help me”, he growled, looming over her like a volcano about to erupt.

“Sam. I got the job done. You know he wouldn’t  have come back for anything less”, she soothed arms making calming gestures like there was a hope in hell that he could calm the fuck down. AFTER WHAT SHE DID. there were limits. I mean sure he lied to Dean; he did. Mostly to save him from some sort of  worry or heartache; NOT TO GIVE HIM A FUCKING HEART ATTACK!

“I need you to go Miz”, he bit out pointing imperiously out the door.

“You can’t fire me”, she fired back.

“Why not?” Sam asked momentarily perturbed before he remembered that he was the boss here. He was the rock star. People did whatever he fucking wanted. Not the other way around.

“Because there is a clause in my contract that says so”, Missouri said. Sam stared at her flummoxed.

“That’s not true. None of my employee contracts have such a clause.”

“Mine does.”

Sam drew himself to his full height and folded his arms, hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at her, “Let’s see it then”, he said. There was a flash of light and then Missouri was holding a paper. On first glance the paper seemed to be flaming slightly, with an eerie otherworldly glow but then on second look it was just an ordinary parchment. Wait. Parchment? They didn’t use parchment to write employee contracts.

“Sam Winchester, erstwhile boy King. The witches didn’t exactly bring you to other-Earth out of the goodness of their undead hearts. They needed you here so that you weren’t there to stop something from happening. I am your very own guardian witch and you can’t get rid of me.” She said her voice slightly lower and hoarser than Sam was used to.

“What did you do with the real Missouri Moseley then?” he asked. It was the first thing that occurred to him. That Missouri existed after all; and if he could find her…maybe she could help.

Red-headed Missouri inclined her head to the side, “She’s a vegetable confined in a mental institution by her family for her own good”, she told him, “Oh relax”, she said as she saw him flinch, “She was there long before you came here. Some of the things she saw were a little too much for her poor psychic mind to take. This wasn’t your fault. It was a gap. Just like you and your brother filled a gap. Suck it up.”

Sam was breathing hard, “You caused me a lot of trouble Miz”, he said.

She was nodding sympathetically, “I know. I know. Who knew Dean would take his child’s fake illness that hard? But I’ll make it up to you. I have tickets. To AC/DC.” She said proffering them as if giving a two year old candy. Sam’s eyes cut to the tickets then back to her face.

“I can buy my own concert tickets thank you”, she said.

Her smile widened and she beamed at him, “Not like these; these are exclusive back stage passes mate! And an invitation to the after party where Bon Scott will be taking requests. You know he didn’t die in this realm. Can you imagine how surreal it’ll be for your brother?”

Sam just stared at her.

“Give him the tickets. Don’t offer to go with him, don’t make him take you. Just give them to him as a gift and then back off and look like a lost puppy. I guarantee you; you’ll be humping like the wolves you partly are before the end of the evening.”

Sam Winchester so wanted to believe her. But he was experiencing for himself the seismic shift that happened when someone you thought you knew has been lying to you about who they are for the longest fucking time. He reached out though and grabbed the tickets. Then he slammed the door in Missouri’s face.  He grabbed his phone and called Dean’s agency.

“Winchester Security, how may I direct your call?” a female voice answered at once.

“Macy, I need to speak to my husband please”, Sam said. As far as anyone in this realm knew, Sam and Dean shared the same last name because they were married. It was a surprisingly easy sell. Dean had been pretty perturbed by that shit but for Sam it was just another lie that was maybe based in more truth than all the other lies they were telling. Okay, he was telling.

“Good morning Mr. Winchester, I’ll connect you now.”

Macy had been to lunch at their house more times than Sam could count. She had baby sat their kids on more than one occasion. Still, when she was at work it was always, Mr. Winchester for either of them. Sam listened to Dean’s office phone ring, wondering if he would agree to even speak to him.

“Hello”, he said in Sam’s ear, intimate in the way only a voice on the phone could be. And what a voice Dean had. It was low and gravelly like honey pouring over grits. Sam loved it in a visceral way that could not be enunciated with mere words. He could feel himself stirring with arousal just listening to it. He didn’t think that he and Dean had ever gone this long without seeing each other. Not in this realm anyway.

“Dean”, he said and what he was thinking must have been reflected in his voice because Dean gasped. there was silence on the line.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asked, eyes closed, fingers crossed.

Child of Destiny - The Summary

The story is set in a small fictional town near New Orleans named Le Marais, which is predominantly populated by descendants of French immigrants who settled in the area in the seventeenth century. The African American residents are a serious minority and even though racism is not blatant, there are definitely different classes of citizens. It is set in 1990.

Leo: He is a seventeen year old high school basketball superstar with unusual athletic prowess and of Caucasian persuasion. He lives with his mother who is a drunk, mourning her abandonment by Leo’s father nine years ago. Because of his depressing home life, he wishes to escape Le Marais and go to live a more secure and successful life in New York City using his rich girlfriend, Charlotte. 

He comes off as a selfish asshole who cares for no-one but himself but really he’s just a victim of circumstances who has received very little love in his life, and is doing the best he can with the tools he has. He comes together with Mya, in desperate circumstances in which Charlotte is close to dying as a result of having fallen in a mysterious magic pool. Nobody knows how or why the pool appears, but Mya is the only witch about that anyone knows, and so they turn to her to help. 

Mya, who lives with her grandmother, is descended from two separate lines of witches, whose origins are in Africa. She can save Charlotte, but only if she has passion from a lover’s embrace. An ingredient which Leo reluctantly provides. Much to their horror, the kiss turns into something else altogether.

Release Date: August 8th 2015

Excerpt -Between Death and Heaven; Out Now.

Gerrit, read it, love it, review it, reap the free sequel, share...

Outtake...Child of Destiny

This is an outtake from Child of Destiny, the third book in the series a preview of which can be read here.
Enjoy!

"Psst!", Mya called from inside the janitor's closet. Leo turned around to see who was calling. I mean, of course he knew that voice even when it was hissing but still. His eyes fell on her, head peeking from the closet like a character in The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe or maybe more like a fugitive from high school justice. He couldn't help smiling to see her there but tried to hide his amusement.

 Mya was unpredictable these days; she just might jump down his throat if she thought he was making fun of her.
"Hey. What are you doing?" he asked moving closer to her and trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Its lunch time. We have a whole hour", she hissed back as if that explained everything.
"A whole hour for...?" Leo asked though he suspected he knew. Pregnancy hormones apparently made one very horny. Mya's hand darted out of the closet and pulled him closer; Leo almost tripped, he was so surprised. Almost. Because his lightning reflexes were working just fine thank you very much. Mya pulled him into the closet and slammed the door, plunging them into relative darkness. The closet was not meant for human habitation hence no need for windows, or even a light bulb. Leo had no time to point these facts out to Mya because with the unerring accuracy of familiarity her lips were on his and he forgot all about everything.

Mya's tongue explored his mouth, mapping it lovingly as her hands trailed down his torso and began to pull his shirt up. As her own nipples had become super sensitive to touch, she'd seemed to develop a liking for touching his. It was a little disconcerting but Leo was not in the habit of refusing Mya anything she wanted; not these days anyway. Who knew what Ms. Mood Swings might do if he did? Plus if he was being completely honest, she made him too happy to refuse her anything. Especially a bitty thing like his nipples; besides, whatever she did to them went straight to his dick, and just like that, his jeans were too tight at his crotch. Mya seemed to divine this probably by some witchy sixth sense because her hand was cradling his dick in loving caress before he could so much as gasp. He pushed against it, wanting her to unzip him so he could feel her on his naked skin. Instead the hand reached up and circled his wrist where his hand was inching up to touch her breast, and pulled it down to her own crotch. He wasted no time in unzipping her and plunging his hand into her wet warmth. She was readier than the roadrunner for him and he pulled his hand away so he could unzip his own damn fly.

"Lean back", he ordered, grasping her legs and widening them. She hastened to obey, smiling happily. There was some sort of hoovering device behind her that she could lean on and he took advantage of that to lift her legs and put them around his waist.

"Hold on", he said plunging her depths without further ado. She spread her arms out so she that one was on the wall the other on the door to steady herself. He took hold of her ass, rutting against her and groaning; not really remembering to keep his  voice down.
"Shh, you're going to get us expelled", she breathed even as she threw her head back and arched against him, encouraging him to go harder, faster. He listened to her actions not her words; he was enveloped in her heated softness and there was absolutely no blood in his head for rational thinking  or consideration of consequences. There was only her. and him. In his bubble of lust and love and need and want. Nothing else mattered and no-one else existed. Someone banged on the door as if in warning; probably Miles...and Leo tried, he really did to keep it down. But then she stiffened, and convulsed; internal muscles gripping him so tight he almost screamed.
Then he was pouring himself into her and she was milking him for everything; taking his heart, his soul and his spirit into her along with his sperm.

"God", he whispered afterwards as he slumped against her.
"Tell me about it", she replied.

Getting Book Reviews

People are opinionated right? You'd think it'd be easy to get them to just fucking write down their opinion of your book once they finish reading it but it isn't. At least not in my experience. Even when you offer them the book for free...especially when you offer them the book for free. They're all like, yeah I'll read it. Or they text you or call you to tell you what a great read it was, but actually going to the site and writing down their opinion?

I won't say its impossible, but it just seems to be very very difficult. Its exhausting trying to get reviews. More exhausting than writing, editing, proofreading and marketing put together. Even when you get websites exclusively dedicated to book reviews; its still hard to get them to notice you.

So what is a girl to do? I've never been the wallflower type; I'm not schooled in the art of trying to get people to notice me...I hate forcing on guys. I like things to happen organically, naturally, on their own. But you can't really do that when you're independently publishing your own works. You have to find a way to shout, scream, wave your hands, stand out from the crowd. You can't wait for people to notice you; you have to put yourself all up in they faces...That's modern day publishing for you.

So if you're at all interested in reading great stories then do give me a hollaback.

Hashtag Procrastination

Thoughts become things. I said I was going to put some smutty smut in my story, and voila! It just wrote itself. I was not prepared. Anyone who knows me will not be prepared. I'm thinking about using a pseudonym.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about today. Remember about two posts ago when I said I don't like to leave the house because it really makes me tired and I can't work? (I'm paraphrasing) well...I haven't done a lick of work all weekend and the problem with procrastination is once it overtakes you; its difficult to escape. Like, I'm just like, "Annemarie! get to work. Now!", using my sternest voice. So far it hasn't taken yet.

I did write a bit more on The Swamp and I'm very excited about where that story is taking me. It should be done by week's end. After that, well its up to you.

Smutty McSmuttington

I'm being paid to write Porn without Plot. Its funny to me because I read it all the time in the fanfictions...

 but I never expected that I would get a chance to write it; let alone get paid for it. I'm not really an expert at it; usually what I do is I let my hand get on with it and disengage my brain. Just let 'er rip. Usually when given free reign my fingers have really dirty minds.

Kind of mindless and passionate and going straight for the lizard brain inside of you...perhaps I'll give you a taste in my next post. We'll see.