There's Spiders on the Interwebs

I had a blog on the interwebs at the foot of the Ngong Hills...well, duh. I still have a blog, though deserted at daytime, I'm always close by at night, never far from putting down thoughts in writing. And I seriously realize I need to do some spring blog cleaning before spring turns into summer, and summer makes me want to do everything but clean, even on and between those dusty interwebs.

So, how have you been doing lately - she asks - casually. Are you OK? Have you been shaken by the various crises of this earth or did you just stop caring? I mean, seriously. Horrific news, every day. We are being sold, our private lives being spied upon, our data being inflationary goods for intelligence worker drones and the nations that employ them. They doodle on our love letters, and draw funny faces on our porn collection. The guy with the mustache got an even bigger mustache. Funny stuff. They rated our naked holiday pictures from 1 to 10. If there has ever been a moment to uprise, that moment is here, staring us in the face. Unfortunately, we let it pass. We just shake our heads in disagreement if we're not too busy having insignificant thoughts about nothing. We're all fresh out of disappointmental energy. And anger is that much harder to come by. We feel as though we're the smallest link in the celestial alignment of our existence. We're just too damn unimportant. I have to ask this of me, of everyone: are we? Are we the insignificant ant in this equation? Let's see: human - check. All limbs and brains intact - check. Human Rights being beaten with a stick - ding ding ding, jackpot! Hey there, you with the sad eyes, we do have some power. Confidence, please. We have all the power. It's not us and them. It's only us, and we control what we do. This idea of big nobs separate from us, it is an illusion.

You could hold the view that we had it coming. We got lazy, we let things run into the ground. But I'd like to think there is a slight ticking noise going on in the background, and it gets a little louder every day. At some point, there'll be an explosion. It's what happens when people are undermined, cornered. People and wolves. It's what needs to happen, so we can be free for a while. Until the next election, take-over takes place, coup, whatever you want to call it. Because wolves will remain wolves, and the balance between freedom and security will always be fragile and fleeting. And nature will catch up with itself eventually.

Weekend Writing Warriors: All Alone

Hey fellow warriors, I'm back! This week, I'll share another excerpt from Imposter, a short story I wrote a little while ago. See here what happened the last time you met Paul, professional marriage imposter. This week he has his eye on a new lady.. 
Click on the cover the read the whole story on Google Drive. I've edited some of the excerpts to infuse them with a little bit of dramatic polish. :)


His most recent project was a woman named Augustine Cooper. The name initially triggered images of old gooses, but after watching her from his car, Paul had to acknowledge that Augustine looked incredibly young for a woman her age. She wore makeup, and tastefully so, and her hair, albeit neat and long, was taken in to a sleek bun. Observing how she treated herself, he immediately pegged her as someone with serious demands and expectations regarding men. 
Augustine lived a closed off life compared to the other seniors in town and Paul wondered why a woman who put that much effort into her appearance didn't follow a social calendar, or was at least part of a weekly Bridge Club. The realization that there were absolutely no elderly gentlemen sniffing around, no one lined up to escort her to cultural events, it baffled him. She appeared to be all alone.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ally with Time

Hello and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors! Today I'll continue with my short story Imposter, and this is what happened the last time. Click on the cover to read the entire story. Just in case you're wondering, I'm giving these snippets a bit of a dramatic polish as I move forward in the story. :)




Paul was used to sitting around, since most of the time, his job entailed waiting, watching and carefully planning his steps. He had long outgrown the phase of tackling his target like a bull to the gate. That kind of mistake had been part of his novice years. Just like that one time, when he pushed himself on an old lady to get at least some kind of result before she went on her vacation and she got suspicious and called the police. Marriage imposter was the ugly word she had used; and it stung. Paul had to leave the city in a hurry, get new ID, and all for wanting too much too soon. Eventually he accepted that he would have to move at a different pace, learning that time, as he knew he had plenty of, was his ally.

Weekend Writing Warriors: July 3, 1995

Hey gang, and welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors. Let's jump right back into the story. I edited this part quite a bit for today. Read up here what happened last week, or click on the cover for the whole short story. Thanks for stopping by. :)



Paul was in his twenties and just barely a man when his grandmother passed away. He remembered the date with great clarity, the broiling day in July under a cloudless sky; a mockery to how he had felt on the inside. Seeing all the people on his way back from her house, living their lives as if this was just any other day. He observed them from the shade, powerless, shivering. There was no caesura, no change in the world, and it sickened him to think that the universe responded by brushing him off with a flawless summer day.
Later on, the media would still talk about July 3 for being the hottest day of 1995 — yet never a word about the other great event of the day.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Mother Figure

Hey guys, and welcome to today's Weekend Writing Warriors. I want to continue with my short story The Imposter roughly about where I left off the last time. There are only two or three sentences in between the snippets. You can read the whole story if you want - just click on the book cover. Oh, and don't forget to say hello to the other wonderful 8sunday authors here. :)



Paul had his wits, his greatest asset, and the women he married in several states across the country loved that about him. His charms, his looks, and the way he carried himself; it was a small piece of the persona he had imagined himself to be ever since early adulthood.
The time before that was a blur of unhappy memories of parents who weren’t altogether suited to take care of their children. They did their art thing with no regard for him or his brother, and as a result they were shipped off to grandparents on many occasions. It wasn’t exactly bad times. Paul had always liked his grandmother. In many respects she had been the only real mother figure he’d ever known.

Weekend Writing Warriors: A Poor Man's Car

Hey warriors, and welcome to another wonderful Sunday with Weekend Writing Warriors. I have been quite busy with editing, and sweating bullets over trying to get out some new stuff: I have so many stories, so many beginnings, but it's challenging to not only start, but finish them. Imposter is one of those short stories that I finished, and these are the first 8 sentences. Click on the cover to read the whole story. :)

The credit cards and some of the passports were next to him on the car seat. He drove an old Volvo, a 500 Dollar beat-up car, fully aware of the impression it conveyed to the outside world; metallic silver with a few spots of partly peeled off colour, bruises and bumps along the left side. It was a poor man’s car and he knew from experience, that because it was somewhat obvious for a poor man to also drive a poor man’s car, in many ways it was less suspicious than going the opposite route. No one ever suspected an imposter to actually drive a beat-up car. Imposter. He hated that word. It didn’t even come close to how he saw himself in the world. He was a good person, a likeable guy, someone who easily made friends with people; preferably women.