Gasp! … and *faint*!

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Go on and say something about the punctuation in my title.

Now can we get back to the super cool awesome thing I wanted to tell you?

I curate an amazing magazine on Flipboard that is all about African Literature. Book reviews, book releases, author interviews, opinions about African literature, competition news, submission requests, short stories, and so much more. Seriously, if you haven’t subscribed, in the famous words of Anne Kansiime, “You like taking risks!”. If you have subscribed and you haven’t shared this super cool awesome magazine that ANYONE can have on their mobile device or computer, nga you’re being selfish! SHARE!!!!

magazine widget

So, anyway, there I was, flipping the magazine when I saw this:

I seriously need smelling salts for the victorian swooning I’m doing about this magazine. Now click the picture and check the magazine out. Not later… I meant now. Stop what you’re doing (you weren’t that into it anyway) and go check out the magazine.

Where did they go?

Have you ever had a childhood dream? Something that you wanted so badly, and had to have the moment you were old enough to get it? What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you get to do it, or did your desires change as you grew older? Did you succumb to the pressure of doing that sensible thing so your life could seem meaningful to others? Did you follow your heart? Did you chase your dream?

I think that if most of us were pressed into saying something about our dreams we would come up short. My confession is that I don’t even remember what I wanted to be. Somewhere in my teens I read a novel called Doctors, ER in novel form, but about medical students. Which teenager with big dreams would think that wasn’t something to do? I tried working towards it, but my heart was not in it.

An engineering degree later, here I am. Wondering what happened to the dream I do not remember having. What the hell did I want to be? Where is my dream?

Maybe it is different. Maybe it is now a part of the future I’m trying to create by sheer will and the sheer force of my determination.

Today is a day filled with questions, and precious few answers.

Goodnight y’all.

Not so hard, is it?

The hardest part about being a writer is that you have to write.

The easiest part about being a writer is that you have to write.

Don’t challenge me, my friend. I have written 8000+ words in one day. Good words that I did not edit out.

So I know I can hammer out a reasonable story in a short amount of time.

The one question I’m left with is, why the em-effin’ agony? GAH!

The story always begins well, introducing my character, describing the scene, seeing the action play out in my mind like my very own movie… Oh My GOD! I’m a genius, this writing thing is what I was meant to do, look at my character! Woo hoo! 4,000 to 6,000 words later, I’m practicing my speeches for all the wonderful awards being thrown at me. Tomorrow, chapter two. I fall asleep with the secretive smile of a soon-to-be millionaire who just signed movie deals.

Day Two.

What is this crap?! Who took time logging on to my computer to mess this shit up? This isn’t my story. Where the f**k was it going? Who is this dreary, dull character? Ugh. Okay, I can salvage it. I’m a writer! Let the cutting commence!

SNIP!

After an exhausting day of editing chapter one I figure I’ll work on chapter two tomorrow. Which is why I have about 17 novels with chapter one sitting on my hard drive. I look at them sometimes, and ache.

Bee! Get back to it. I try to rouse myself into that state of movie madness, the place of my first love. But sometimes even the stories realize I’m not the vessel they were looking for.

I’m writing. I honestly am.