A Rude Awakening

When you start taking yourself seriously enough to consider honing the drivel your hands occasionally produce into something worthy of going through some publishing mill or other, you start reading writers. No longer do you think of a book in terms of The Other Side of Midnight, or Only Time Will Tell. You simply call them a Sidney Sheldon, or a Jeffrey Archer, pairing author with style, one fast-paced, sharp, with humour so cruel it’s bordering on crude, possibly agnostic, strongly feminist; the other sentimental, deliberate, wordy,  evil because of his sadistic cliff hangers.

All I am saying, is I’ve been reading.

and that's okay!

In my four hundred odd years of existing (I’m not sure I can call it living, since I haven’t bungee jumped yet, and that’s the FIRST thing on my bucket list, which, I am reminded, I should write soon), I’ve been privileged to suddenly discover a gem of a book where I thought there was only rubble. And what great pieces they’ve been! Amu Djoleto’s The Strange Man was—is—nothing short of epic. And I’ll be unashamed enough to say I was not expecting it to be, not when the book had yellowed pages, no cover, and was crumbly at the ends. Then there was Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood, because of which adjectives elude me now. I won’t even get started on The Bride Price.

Taiyeeee!!!

Too much sense in that head!

More recently I’ve been privileged to chance upon great minds, like Taiye Selasi (if you didn’t know her, you’re welcome), NoViolet Bulawayo, Ray Bradbury, Cory Doctorow (Cory Doctorow!!! Cooorrryyyy Doctoooroooowww!!!) Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Allie Brosh. And, reading these guys, losing myself in their lyrical effortlessness, wondering if they too have blood, and veins, and skin, and pass urine like the rest of us, instead of upload it to an online site that sells celebrity paraphernalia for the price of a Vilaggio Vista apartment, like I think they do, one question goes through my head:

What do you think you’re doing when you lie to yourself that you’re writing?

Mercy!