I have been working on a short story series which has somewhat grown into this colossal giant on me. It was supposed to be published weeks ago, but now I’m at this place where the protagonist is standing on quick sand in a river, shin-deep, with arrows pointed at her from the shore and crocodiles napping at her ankles and head! Whatever is going to happen?! Gasp!
Only my fingers know.
My brain doesn’t know. My fingers know everything.
Well, my fingers and the protagonist.
I’d love to be a published author and sell many, many books. I’d like to share my world with many strangers, family and friends. I hear most times your friends/family actually don’t read or buy your book. That’s the worst. It used to bother me in the past that some of my friends wouldn’t read my blog, but not so much anymore. Those who do already mean a lot to me and my parents read it and ask after it, so...
Recent inquires from my mom:
Mom: Pages by Ike, why can’t I open your email on my phone? (She calls me Pages by Ike) Lol.
Mom: In “Lafia”, what happened? What did the dog see?
Side eye. Describing a sex scene to your mom is not what every writer has ever dreamt about.
It’s like George R.R Martin’s mom asking, “What did the little Stark boy see before he fell off the tower?!”
“Err…you see mom, Cersi and Jamie are twins but…”
I don’t remember how I cringed my way out of that one, but I am grateful she reads it, and my dad reads it too!
I am grateful for all you who read my blog. You must either really like me, really like literary work, or really dislike me. I hope it’s the second. Seriously, your readership has developed my writing extensively, and for that I am grateful.
Have the best week!
“The dustbin is your friend. It was invented for you... by God!”
Margaret Atwood, On writing
Photo by Ed Adegboye (Taken 2016)