Reconstructing a Hug – now at Amazon

My self-published ebook about my initial brush with breast cancer, a short book with 100 vignettes is available at amazon.com

Book cover - Reconstructing a Hug

Look at those pretty pretty flowers. The eBook is actually a compilation of blog posts from my other site thewaridiproject.wordpress.com.

I have been missing in action for over a year but I plan to continue my saga on the site. Please subscribe for new content as I update.

So take a stroll over to amazon and drop some coins and love my way.

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An Evening with Hugh Howey’s Wool

Back a few months ago, I was wandering the Intertubes when my index finger landed on a delightfully named tome – Wool Omnibus at a delightful pocket-friendly price. One-click later and I plunged head-first into a fully realized dystopian world, where an unnamed catastrophe has forced humans to live underground in silos.  In a few short paragraphs, Hugh Howey paints such a vivid picture of this self-contained universe, I had to glance up to reassure myself that the scene of the breeze-waving bushes outside my window was real. I’m the kind of reader who likes to be grabbed by prose in the first sentences of a narrative and boy did this one set the tone. ****SPOILERS****

Continue reading

More Saturday Scribbles

The following is an excerpt of a story I’m working on – It’s a mix of alternate history and fantasy with a dash of dystopia for a little bit of zing.  Enjoy!

Fin sat in the boys’ quarters, watching silently through a window as his cohorts practiced for the ceremonial dance.  They jumped in unison, each leap kicking up clouds of ancient dust in the proving grounds.  They leapt bare footed just as their predecessors had done for thousands of years.  Their monotonic chants augmented by the clinking of beaded ochre dyed long braids.

He closed his eyes, hypnotized by the sonic buzz of pounding feet and deep voices, his mind drifting back to his earliest memories.  A soft kiss on his baby cheeks, a tightening wrap around his tiny body and the gentle sway of the sea.

He remembered the noisy compound, and the gentle monks who lavished love or doled punishment when needed, like the time they caught him shaving Vasa’s eyebrows when they were five.  He sighed, grimacing at the remembered pain and shame of a publicly spanked bottom.

His thoughts travelled backward to his first awareness of self in the universe of a womb, shared with his twin.  He could still remember the feel of her fingers entwined in his as their mother’s love pulsated around them.  He barely noticed the tears leaking silently down from his tightly shut eyes as he recalled the sudden transition into birth, of his dark warm universe exploding into bright lights and cold air.  He remembered the shock on the monks’ faces when his first words at nine months were a grammatically correct sentence asking for his twin.

As the dust settled, Fin searched for Vasa.  His eyes settled on a tall gangly youth, mocha skin gleaming in the evening sun.  Vasa’s long braided hair swayed gently, green and white beads clicking as he reverently unwrapped his traditional red and black checkered shuka, his thought no doubt on the fertility ceremony that was to take place the following day.

“Hey! Vasa!” Fin shouted across to his friend who flashed him a brilliant smile.  His sub-dermal clan tattoos flashed neon in unison, as they caught in the last rays of the sinking sun.  Fin absently touched his own smooth cheeks, a deep sorrow welling inside him.  He had been found, a wailing infant on the doorstep on the convent, no indication of his ancestry; which was why he was sitting forlornly at the picture window of his room, looking out to the other young men as they prepared for their rites of passage.  The lack of sub-dermals branded him as un-Mothered and no self-respecting clan would welcome his genes into their line.

A beep from his screen wall shook him out of his melancholy and he looked up to stare into the face of the only female in Tumaini who did not think him unworthy.

“Zawadi.”

Sample Saturday – Scribbles

A writing treat – one of the stories I’m working on so enjoy!

Sara closed the accounts book with a sigh, glancing at her watch. The black plastic face flashed 5:15. It was time for her to leave. She looked out to the front of the store and saw that it was deserted, with the grates still in place. “Mr. Patel must be with Charles going over inventory.” She thought as she stood and arched her back, stretching her lithe body like a cat reveling in sun rays. She tugged down her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles that had piled on over the course of the afternoon. As she locked the file cabinet, she looked around at her tiny office. It was really a windowless closet space that barely held a wooden desk, chair and an old metal file cabinet, but it did offer some privacy. She tossed the keys back into her cream leather bag before stepping out of the office to call out to her boss.
“Mr. Patel, I’m leaving now. See you tomorrow!” A short fat balding head stuck out from the stock room and grinned at her.
“Ok, ok, bright and early tomorrow!” Sara smiled back at him and nodded as she opened the grate.

River Road was bustling with the evening rush traffic as the bright Nairobi sun glinted off squat warehouses, storefronts and dingy restaurants. Her nose twitched slightly as she was assaulted by the putrid smell of sewage drifting from the river running parallel to the road. Holding the bag close to her body, she began her daily brisk walk, her face a stony visage that discouraged all but the most persistent wolf-whistlers. The street was teaming with like-minded commuters, scurrying like busy ants on their way back to their abodes in the outskirts of the central business district.
She noticed his hair first. Long luscious locs cascading down a denim-clad back. He was strolling leisurely in front of her on the hill leading up to Koinange Street. She slowed down, taking in his powerfully built shoulders, broad as mountains. His shirt was long sleeved, but she imagined well-defined muscled arms.
Not a bad back view.” she mused as her eyes traveled to his lower half. Sighing inwardly, she picked up her pace, brushing by quickly. Her thoughts turned to what she would cook for dinner when she got to home to her flat in the suburb of South C. A few minutes later, she joined the throngs of would-be passengers crowding the central bus terminal. A few matatus blared loud American rap music whose lyrics were barely more nauseating than their neon paint jobs.

“Hello.” A deep voice floated down to her.

Sara turned and looked up into light brown eyes. Her heart fluttered when she recognized the denim clad apparition towering before her. Two deep dimples framed a brilliant smile on a handsome face framed by the familiar locs. “He kinda looks like Mufasa, that cartoon lion.” A random thought swam in her head.

“Um, hi.” She replied, suddenly tongue tied as she tried to smile back at him. She then noticed his outstretched hand.

“I’m Joe and you are..?” he asked still smiling as she shook his hand limply. She cleared her throat trying to get her composure back.
“Sara.” She answered shyly.

The crowds and vehicles had faded into the background; all she was aware of was the tall man gently cradling her hand. His smile widened, making her heart skip another beat. She stifled an impulse to touch his hair, her left hand twitching slightly before she brought it under control.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His words gliding over her like warm honey though she couldn’t believe the cheesy lines he was using and yet she felt herself grinning like an idiot.

“It was nice to meet you, Joe.” She answered a little briskly, jerking back her hand from his grip. She gripped her purse and took a deep breath before turning and walking away. His soft laughter followed her retreat like a trailing scent.

Savannah Chronicles Two – TBD

Working on a draft for my savannah chronicles series.  Juggling several favorite stories and trying to assemble them into an interesting narrative.  The first story involves the loss of paradise  due to an inept messenger.  Another one involves a greedy hyena (as usual) and an exploding eh..ahem “backside” to put it delicately.  I’m also thinking of revisiting Hare from the first book “Hare’s Bad Day” to expand on how he failed in his lucrative career.

I finally have a good block of time to devote to writing…not just in my head anymore.  Fingers stretched, keyboard dusted off, kids stuffed in closet and a big glass of enhanced orange juice.

Make sure to check out the first book in the series at Smashwords.com and other fine online retailers near your inter-tubes.