Reviewing as an Author

I've been mad busy, and I haven't had time to put up PART TWO of Harpreet or catch on goss or anything. I would apologize but it's silly to be sorry that you have too much work right? Especially when people complain about unemployment. I get to write stories for my day job, my night job and recreation so I'm good. Could probably benefit from time management classes though.

One thing I haven't been too busy for is reading. Mostly out of necessity though. It's difficult to write without reading. You need to for ideas, for getting to know how to write certain stuff, for gauging your levels of skill compared to your peers....It's the only way sometimes.
But sometimes when I'm reading a story maybe to see about writing something I'm not too familiar with, I find myself judging the hell out of it. Judging the who the writer is, by what and how they write...deciding whether they're worth admiration or contempt.

That's bad. I know.
Like just today, I read this story where there was actual pining. Like this grown person likes another grown person and instead of just going right up to them and hitting on them...they were sitting back and PINING. Like for years.
Who does that?
Even in Mills and Boon, that is still so 1985.

So I'm thinking maybe, probably, hopefully the person is a teenager who has never been involved in a relationship or a situationship or nothin...because otherwise it's just depressing.
And recently I seem to be coming across a lot of stories where there is dubious consent. What really really annoys me about these stories is the way the er, recipient of the dubious consent has this attitude of helplessness in terms of the way that they feel toward their aggressor and the way they react to the aggression. It's like, "Oh God I hate this but I can't help but be aroused and I think I might be in love."
Really?
I've stopped reading about three stories in the last week because of this narrative.

Then I think to myself, "Hey Annemarie? Why are you so mad at them? Doesn't your story also begin with dubious consent? Are you mad because you recognize your own thinking in these narratives?"
I really had to have an examination of conscience to understand why I was so mad.
But I don't think it's the same.
Mya didn't fall in love until...well, continuing that sentence would be such a severe spoiler that I can't even.
But the difference between Mya and them is attitude. She felt scared, but not helpless. She wasn't a fainting damsel in distress waiting for her abuser to realize what an ass he was and turn into her rescuer.
And the reason it makes me so mad is that in real life, there are women who feel like if they can just endure being treated like shit, one day the fuck boy they're with is going to miraculously become Prince Charming.
And that irritates the FUCK out of me. Because there is no better liar than the person who lies to themselves.
And I just really hate lies.
So I'm not going to lie to you. I don't really know when part two of Harpreet will be up. It might be tomorrow; it might be next weekend. But I will say that I am trying to manage my time better.
So have a good week, visit my bookpages and tell your friends.

World Suicide Prevention Day

A few months ago I was in a matatu (public transport) which was playing music so loud I could feel my chest vibrating. On top of the really really loud music, traffic was at a stand still most of the way. As we were traveling I started to feel more and  more like I couldn't breathe. I've known forever that I was maybe claustrophobic but I thought that was just about being confined in small spaces. In recent months I've come to realise it's more than that. Being in that matatu, unable to escape from the loud music was to me equivalent of being locked in a coffin and buried.
(by the way just that visual makes me feel breathless).
I found myself in the beginning stages of a fully fledged panic attack. I asked the conductor to reduce the volume a bit but he ignored me. So I opened the window as far as it would go and stuck my head out of it. It helped a little bit; I could breath again. But the music still weighed my chest down. I still felt like I was being crushed. I contemplated alighting from the matatu and just walking. But it was dark and raining and the street had no lights. I was still very far from home. Did it make sense to risk potential harm on the outside just to escape some imaginary fear of death by sound?
Yep, that's the worst part; I dismissed my own issues because hey, suck it up right? Grow up. Stop acting like a pansy ass baby. It's all in your head.
Nobody's ever said these things to me. I say them enough to myself.
I don't like wearing chiffon or silk shirts/blouses. Especially those with no buttons so you have to take them off by whipping them up over your head. Sometimes, if you're sweaty or they're a tad tight, they get stuck somewhere around your neck.If I feel like that shirt isn't going to come off, I'd rather shred it to pieces than struggle with it because it takes maybe ten seconds for me to start feeling breathless and panicky.
A few months after the matatu incident, I got some sort of sinus infection. It was weird because I had no flu-like symptoms but my nose was completely blocked. It was irritating sure. But not life threatening in any way. Then I went to bed and fell asleep, and sleep apnea woke me. So I try blowing my nose to unblock them and there's just...nothing to remove. (Yeeesss, I know it's a yucky visual).
So the more I try to breathe through my nose, the more I can't. Then I start to feel that familiar 'being closed in' sensation. I start to feel like there is no escape. I will be unable to breathe for long enough and I'll die from asphyxiation. My mind is throwing up these increasingly helpless images of me shut in by nothing but the fact that my NOSE IS BLOCKED. I can feel the panic taking over, I'm about to start hyperventilating and shouting for help or something. In another part of my mind though, the part that counteracts panic attacks that I'm unaware I'm having is busy looking for solutions. Salt water, toothpick up my nose...wait; my son got some Utabon spray the last time he had a congested nose and it was still sitting in the basket in the living room. I ran and picked it up and put those two drops up my nose. Thankfully it worked fast. Crisis averted.
I still slept upright though for the rest of the night. And even with that, I still felt derisive of myself having a panic attack because my nose was blocked.
I won't even go through the years of depression I went through following my mother's death. It was bad, no lie. But it wasn't overt. I didn't stay in bed for seven years. I worked jobs, I raised my son, I ate, I slept. I was just really unhappy while I did all those things. I finally got a handle on it by doing a higher diploma in counseling. Because Africans don't do therapy. We go to church and throw ourselves on the mercy of 'God' and beg him to heal us. I remember my mother made me go to therapy when I left school after getting pregnant. I went, I spoke to the therapist, she told me I was a brave girl. It did help. Maybe that's why I chose the counseling option again after I couldn't take anymore. Even if it was disguised as an educational opportunity. Or maybe 'God' led me to it. I know that up to this day I can't even remember how I afforded to pay for it. Money was just found in that miraculous way that happens sometimes.
Depression. Anxiety. Panic Attacks. Claustrophobia. Maybe even PTSD.
Doesn't sound like me.
There's no reason for me to suffer from those things.
I'm a strong woman. Everyone tells me so. I tell me so. I believe it's true.
But you see, that's the crunch isn't it? That you have to be 'weak' to suffer from a mental health challenge? That you're somehow bringing it on yourself or being a self indulgent lil' bitch for giving in to these 'negative emotions.'
Trust me in those seven years, I tried everything; The Power of Positive Thinking, Escape through Books and Movies, Living only in Mom Mode...I couldn't escape it until I faced it. Faced that I was a depressed ass nigga who needed to deal with all these emotions.
In +Teen Wolf  that chick who doesn't age, whose the shrink tells Stiles (I think) - If you're going through hell, keep going.
And that's excellent advice.
You know what else is good advice?
Sometimes you're really tired of going. So it's okay to sit down and rest. Maybe take a nap. Recharge your batteries. Then you can get up again and continue through the valley of the shadow of death.
A lot of people don't give themselves that time to just rest. Always trying to keep ahead of your feelings, deny them, escape them...
I really think that's the genesis of many people's alcoholism. Certainly many people I know who 'drink too much' might need to admit to their mental health issues.
I never really took the time to think about these things until I got involved in the +Supernatural fandom. What with +Jared Padalecki describing how he was diagnosed (which sounded so familiar and relatable) and the #AlwaysKeepFighting campaign and all the stories that people were telling about their own issues; it really brought the widespreadness of mental health issue front and centre. And I looked around in my own life and saw a lot of people struggling. But...Africans don't do therapy. How do you start to suggest to someone that they might be suffering from depression? or PTSD? or bipolar disorder? without them feeling insulted or disrespected?
I don't know.
I'm just here admitting that I have problems. And just knowing that I do is such a massive relief, they seem a hundred times more manageable than they did before. If I need to wallow in it a bit, I'll do that. I might write my troubles away; my anger; my grief. Or I might just dance and sing and let the music speak for me. What I won't do is run anymore. I won't hide.
I am here.
I am here for you. We can be here for each other.
Just keep living, no matter how bad it gets; it gets better.
Scout's honour.

Child of Destiny Series Outtake - Harpreet

Author Notes: Harpreet is an exchange student nurse at the Le Marais Clinic where everyone inevitably ends up. We meet her first at the beginning of Between Death and Heaven when some shit hits the fan. This is her story.

Harpreet slammed the door of the nurse's lounge then winced at the sound. She hadn't meant to be so loud but her hands were trembling and she was dizzy.
Her first brush with death...
And it had to be two dead bodies, who died ugly and painful on the hospital gurneys; as much from willful negligence as the poison coursing through their veins.
And what was with that old lady who appeared? Krishna preserve her from things she didn't understand!
She didn't know what to do with herself. She wanted her mummy now. She glanced at the wall phone, wondering what the hospital policy was on calling international numbers.
"Harpreet?" a voice called from the other side of the door.
She opened her mouth, trying to answer but nothing came out. The room was suddenly very cold.
"Harpreet?" the voice said again and she jumped, startled.
"Y-yes?"
"Let me in. There is an old black lady here who says you might need some help."
Harpreet nodded her head vigorously, still not quite able to talk. It was her hostess on the other side of the door. The family she was staying with while she did her internship in America. Katpurtnick or something; she hadn't mastered their last name yet. She liked them though. The mother was a nurse like she wanted to be; and the father did something in real estate. The son, Miles, was still an unknown quantity. Very secretive. And obsessed with that friend of his...what was his name?
Leonardo or something. Veerrry handsome. Harpreet had felt her heart beat faster when he walked in the house. But he wasn't very nice; ignored her the whole time like she wasn't even there. It's not like she wanted him to shower her with kisses or anything. It would just have been nice if he had shown some interest in her.
"Harpreet?" Mrs. maybe Katpurtnick said again.
She stood quickly and went to open the door.
"Yes Memsahib. Sorry."

"It's alright...Harpreet are you alright?"
She opened her mouth to say yes but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she shook her head.
"Oh honey...I've called my son okay? He's coming to get you, take you home."
Harpreet shook her head frantically, holding back her tears. Memsahib's kindness was really making her miss her mama.
"Yes dear. You need it don't you?" Mrs. K said rubbing Harpreet's arms.
Harpreet found she was nodding her head unawares. Claire Katpurtnick stayed with her until Miles blew into the room, half irritated at having to pick up the exchange student and miss out on whatever he'd planned.
"Come on Harpreet", he said kindly enough though, "I'll take you to Freddie's, get you a nice meat platter."
"I am vegetarian", Harpreet said softly.
That stopped Miles for a second, "No worries. I'm sure there's a salad or something you can eat. They should at least have french fries."
"Okay..." Harpreet hesitated, "Will...your friend Leo be there?"
She just couldn't help herself.
Miles turned briefly, a smile of understanding on her face, "Yeah sure he will", he said.
Harpreet followed him as he led the way out, blushing slightly and thankful that her olive complexion mostly covered it up.

Harpreet was the first female in her family to travel alone for such a great distance. To be alone in a strange land, allowed to stay with strangers...it just wasn't done. But here she was.
The homesickness was the worst.
The lack of familiar food.
The feeling sometimes she got that nobody understood her.
She was a lucky girl and she knew it. Opportunities like this didn't come around every day. And she intended to utilize her time here in the best way possible. It's just that today she'd seen her first two dead bodies. She needed an escape.
She was sitting next to Leo Devereux in the restaurant called Freddie's. Neither he nor Miles was paying much attention to her. Instead they were talking and laughing about things she couldn't understand. Sitting next to Leo was doing funny things to her heart rate but it wasn't enough. She stood up abruptly and they both stopped talking to look at her.
"I..I'm going for a walk."
"Alright", Miles said, "Don't go too far."
"I won't." she replied torn between disappointment that they didn't try to stop her and relief that she could get some fresh air. Freddie's had a permanent barbecue going and the smoke from the grill was making her feel ill with the overwhelming smell of meat.

Leo

Harpreet walked down a small side street, not really paying attention to her environment. Le Marais was a small town; there was zero likelihood that she would get lost. She bumped into a solid body in front of her and stumbled backwards before a hand clamped down on her arm and stopped her certain fall.

"Sorry man, didn't see you there", a raspy voice said. She looked up to see a fairly short yet powerfully built gentleman standing in front of her eyes concerned. He had a five o' clock shadow and a cigarette stuck between his teeth.She opened her mouth to say something...probably smoking kills, when he pulled her close, rubbing at her arms.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded her head, slightly nonplussed and he plucked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her.

"Hey, have a hit. You look like you need it", he said.

She looked down at the cigarette and then back at him. It looked home made, not like a normal cigarette and it emitted a funny smell.

"Go on. You'll feel better. It's herb", he said.

Oh. Herbs.

If it was made of herbs then it couldn't be all bad. She reached out and took the rolled paper slowly, with the man nodding encouragement at her as she placed it in her mouth and inhaled slowly.

"Good huh?" he said holding out his hand, "I'm Jon by the way."

"H-Harpreet", she replied around the cigarette.

"Pleased to meetcha", he said and pointed at the building he was standing in front of, "this is my bar. Wanna come in?"

Harpeet nodded her head.

END OF PART ONE.
Child of Destiny is found here

Child of Destiny - The Movie Poster

bit.ly/CODbookpage

Voodoo

So if you've read Between Death and Heaven, or The Swamp is Full of Mystery or Child of Destiny or even Requiscant in Pace then you know that I weave a bit of voodoo in there. If you haven't well you can just cop TSIFOM right here on the site for free and get a taste. Now you might not know too much about the loa or Papa Legba and you might wonder if maybe I'm some godless pagan who believes in evil spirits.

I wouldn't call that an accurate description of me but I do firmly believe there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy people. The world is huge and so much exists; there is so much to learn and I like to learn it ALL! 

As with many of my favourite things, I first came across voodoo when I was young and impressionable, watching movies about slaves, and horror movies about people using voodoo dolls that I was probably too young to watch. Thankfully Parental Advisory wasn't such a thing then.

So my first brush with voodoo was a scary ass looking witch using a voodoo doll to kill some guy because he did...something to her. Can't remember what. I do remember that the concept of voodoo dolls being used to kill people kept me up at night. Why anyone could just, like, make a voodoo doll of me and kill me, dead!

Then of course there was +Anne Rice with her fixation on New Orleans which she infected me with. When I read Merrick and she introduced me to Papa Legba I had to go out and learn anything and everything I could about him. Turns out he's quite the character; the gatekeeper of the afterlife; some people equate him to St. Peter which was just fascinating to me. The way people intermingle religions. The belief originated in West Africa and I guess when the missionaries came, the practitioners just integrated this new knowledge into their own original beliefs.
So exciting.
My interest was exacerbated when the loa appeared in the most unexpected place; #SpoilerAlert Diana Gabaldon's Voyager which is like book three in the Outlander Series.And the loa enabled Claire and Jamie to communicate with their daughter Brianna who was in another time. It fascinated me because did it mean the loa not only communicate with the dead; but also with the not yet born?
So fun.
Yeah you caught me; I'm a geek.

Of course Papa Legba isn't the only loa out there. I just read a fan fiction where +Jared Padalecki was a voodoo priest and it introduced me to some new ones; Chango, Ezili as well as others I've encountered before; Ghede and Ogun both featured in Voyager I think.
I don't still really know what loas really are. Are they evil spirits or even spirits at all? The Ancestors, the Saints? It's on that long list I have of 'things to learn more about'.
When the concept of Mya came to me, she already came full with a voodoo history. I wonder sometimes which came first, was this character already fully fledged, waiting to be born? Or was there a girl in a small town who I dressed up as a voodoo priestess/witch because of my fascination with the subject? Will I even really ever know?

Mya

I know that putting the setting in the early nineties was a product of my nostalgia. Why is it that the nineties seem like this idyllic time? I don't really know.

However I've been thinking about doing more outtakes; backstories of random characters in the stories. Expanding the character while flexing my writing muscle before I go back full time to finishing Marcus Devereux. Hey if you have any requests feel free to contact me however is convenient for you and let me know.

Free Your Mind!

I finally finished that project; and I did it well too. *Pats own back* (Hey if I don't do it who will?).
I've just had the most gratifying exchange with my son's 'fam' - that's what he calls us; me, his dad and his stepmom - which makes me have hope for humanity. I asked her to buy something for Chris because doing the budget in my head, I was feeling like I might come up short. And she agreed because, hey, what else she gonna do? Well then after that, I said thank you; and then my son said thank you and then his dad said thank you. And she sent the smile emoji with you're welcome. We've come such a long way I can't even tell you. When my son was conceived I was of the belief that he was a totally special being and his life so far just validates this belief. I don't really know anyone else irl who manages the 'modern family' dynamic as well as we do.
Speaking of family, I'm really concerned about Syria. Are you concerned about Syria. I mean, that kid...Omran Daqneesh have you seen him? He makes my heart hurt. I want to reach through the screen and pick him up and bring him home, clean him up, tend his wounds and just let him know everything is going to be alright.
But it isn't is it?

I've been watching Syria since the war began, praying for somebody to do something; feeling helpless to help. It reminded me of when I was growing up in the eighties and every day on the news, there was another story about kids being shot, being burned alive, people oppressed in South Africa. And it filled me with the same feeling of helplessness.
What is it that is so important? What is it that is so vital that it's worth destroying lives like this? I mean look at that kid! He's five years old. Which means he doesn't know what it means to live in peace time. All he knows is bombs and conflict. I really feel like I need antidepressants just thinking about it.
+Alicia Keys shared a pic of Omran and told us that we can help by contributing to 'War Child' which I suppose is a charity. But on the news, you see that humanitarian aid isn't getting into Aleppo. Nobody is allowed to get in. So I'm kind of really hoping that this 'War Child' charity isn't using poor little Omran's image to raise money for themselves. Please don't do that. Don't profit from this. And if you're really helping these children then show us how. Show the chain of custody from my contribution to Omran.

Speaking of racism, did you read that article about +CLINT EASTWOOD and his son +Scott Eastwood  which was generally about how life used to be so much better 'then' than 'now'? Oh and what a suck up Scott Eastwood is? It was an interesting read; he tried to explain the whole talking to a chair thing. He was all like this generation is full of pussies who get offended at everything and don't want to work hard. Now I can relate to his rhetoric because he's my father's age and I've heard the same sort of thing from him as well. You people are not as good as us. I even think I've said the same thing to my son - I hope not - but I probably have.
The thing that I'd like to maybe look at, is his assertion that 'in his day' saying 'things' wasn't considered as racist. In answer to this question;

Your characters have become touchstones in the culture, whether it's Reagan invoking "Make my day" or now Trump … I swear he's even practiced your scowl.

He said:

Maybe. But he's onto something, because secretly everybody's getting tired of political correctness, kissing up. That's the kiss-ass generation we're in right now. We're really in a pussy generation. Everybody's walking on eggshells. We see people accusing people of being racist and all kinds of stuff. When I grew up, those things weren't called racist. And then when I did Gran Torino,even my associate said, "This is a really good script, but it's politically incorrect." And I said, "Good. Let me read it tonight." The next morning, I came in and I threw it on his desk and I said, "We're starting this immediately."

 Now Clint Eastwood is about a hundred I know, much older than Muhammad Ali, but let me just him counter this drivel about 'When I grew up' because it's easy for the straight white man to say this, but what about the not-white man living in the same time?

Muhammad Ali also didn't have time for 'political correctness'  but his view of 'the good old days' certainly differ drastically from Eastwood's. Maybe Clint needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that it's not all about him and the people that look like him.
As for Scott Eastwood, also known as 'the entitled legacy' and mistakenly identified as the target of +Dwayne Johnson's rant about candy asses. Turned out it was actually +Vin Diesel. Now I'm sorry, I don't care if you're a producer or that maybe your company is financing the whole entire movie...Vin Diesel is the heart of the Fast series, and nobody gets to call him names. Not even the Rock. #TeamVin
I always felt like Dwayne was always 'on' you know? Like I don't think anyone has ever even seen his real smile. He makes me uncomfortable.
You know what else makes me uncomfortable? Y'all not visiting my book pages.
Go here...and here...now.
Thanks.
Bye.

Intermission

Sorry I've been away for a bit. Real life was trying to kick my ass. Still is but I thought I'd at least attempt to post proof of life.
Hi!

What have you been reading? I have in my possession a copy of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child imagine, but I haven't managed to get past page three. Unfortunately before I began to read the novel, I read the reviews...
Maaan.
They were not good.
They basically said, 'go ahead and read it, but know that it's fan fiction and not JK's work'.
I mean...
Why would I pay thirteen dollars for fan fiction when I can read all I want for free on Archive of Our Own? Like why?
Apart from the reviews though, the embargo on talking bad about it remains so I will not say more on the subject. Just...I couldn't get past page three is all I'm sayin'.

This is the month of death which means we have three makumbushos (memorials); my cousin, my grandmother and my father. I feel very detached from the whole shebang of memorials, probably because it's all moving too fast for me. I'm not there yet. I just want to sit, by myself, and be at peace and not bother with anything. I don't want to deal with family. I don't want to deal with death. I just want to be.

It's a very selfish attitude and I'm not a selfish person so it's difficult for me to sustain; but I'm gonna do it. I'm going to look out for me first. Just this once. Or maybe I'll make it a habit. I don't know yet. Stay tuned.

What Would Rihanna Do?

Meanwhile I have a whole post I need to write about +Clint Eastwood and his support of Trump and other interesting things that I've observed recently. It's epic I tell you; and I just need to free enough brain cells by finishing these last two chapters of my latest project. I'm not really into it so it's taking a gargantuan amount of energy to do so. Pray for me; I'm unsettled.
Oh, funny thing that happened to me today; I realised a very close relative of mine stopped following me on social media...Now I haven't done anything to this person so it's kind of surprising/funny/couldn't really care less but it's also giving me an insight into the mind behind the person. I must say I'm not impressed. Relatives are weird.
I'm gonna go home now and let my dog stalk me.