Saturday, 10 February 2018

Well, hello Sunshine!

Dear Everybaddy,

How y'all doing?

Here me is, back home, dodging bandits, rain, cow poo and squash-up, mash-up, flatten-up frogs on de road.  If you want gory details about the frogs, email me.

I got a li'l secret. Don't tell nobody. Promise me, swear with a clean tongue on you' right hand, left hand and heart.

I workin' on me 3rd book, which I hope to publish first. I working on a Guyana series which gon move on to...well, never mind...this gon be the first.

It is about a gal with she mother, how they struggle to communicate, how they get along, how the gal is a botheration daughter trying to be a good daughter. The book gon include all the people who move in and out and back into they life, like, y'know, real-life.

It gon make you laugh, and hopefully, it gon make you think. Best of all though, it might make you look at the people in you' life in a positive kinda way.

Next time I write, I gon tell you how this good daughter wasn't good one day, 'til she come home and realise she mistake.....

What y'all up to?

I got to go to the market but rain pouring like bucket got holes.



Wednesday, 20 December 2017

Flor'da time again.

The sun called...

The cat hid, waiting to rush outside (not allowed).

Flor'da got MILLIONS of this!!! No, no, I ain't exaggerating!

Who ain't like morning sunshine, eh?

I want to teef this :-D

Nature weaving.

Obsessessed.







Then the cold front came for nearly a week.

People!!

How y'all does do it?  How y'all does get warm when de chill wind blow? 

Monday, 4 December 2017

The pen.

Dear Reader,

I was recently challenged by Kim (photographer) to do a series of black and white photos. (Long story, short...it was a meme on social media).

Well, I thought, why not share, via, these pictures, my passion for the written word and the basic tool? 


I am intrigued by how this simple object can pass on messages, tell stories from centuries ago; with it, we can share the abstract...our thoughts, ideas, things we imagine.

It's a tool that can cut away all the lies, the vile deeds of human beings and reveal the truth.  Yet, it can be used to cause pain, create fear. It can make rulers decimate millions of human beings. One signature...voops...an entire people...gone.

And in the right hands, it can heal the entire world.  

Great writers have  used it to lift our spirits...

The good men of ancient days have used it to guide us towards the better path.

Artists then, as today, have used the pen to teach us too.

The pen, you see, can be used to take us to the inner landscape of ourselves, leading us from our dark selves, to that place where we can find the light.

Dear Friends, y'see? We have been given so much to help us learn to live better lives, to be better people. We don't need more clothes, more shoes, bigger houses, faster cars.

Most of us have all we need, and can share.
xxx

Friday, 27 October 2017

Eighty one.

Dear America,

You have within your arms one of the most wonderful storytellers in the world.



According to my first big brother, when dis fella tell a story, you can see them chopped up snakes flying in de air.  You can feel dat jumbie, dat ghost, brush against your skin, and you will freeze with fright.



He once described to me a shoal of fish feeding and birds flying in the air. I swear, I was not in the kitchen that morning.  I was out in the fresh air, hearing the birds call, seeing the water bubbling, I could feel the breeze blow against my skin, warm with the sun, yet cool.

He was the outdoor one who took us children fishing, down-creek, up-creek, he drove us to places that were exotic to little country-side children.


Please take good care of him, America. He is a treasure.  He is my father's little brother, my dearest, dearest uncle.  He is eighty-one today.

Friday, 15 September 2017

The longest face.

Dear Everyone,

How have y'all been doing?

Me? Imagine a face growing shiny and round with happiness, then deflating at 180 miles per hour. That would be my face.

Y'see, I'm almost done with this book I'm writing (yet another book), but to publish means:

1. I would have to find an agent who would find a publisher. Agents are the prima donnas of the book world and you have to woo them with more fervour than Don Juan trying to sweet-talk a woman. Now if all of them except one turned down J. K. Rowling, what chance does a li'l 3rd world wala like me have?

2. I would have to self-publish via a local printer. These local printers eat money.  They eat, and the po' writer gets the diarrhoea.  Also, not many people buy books in this here jungle. I am going to end up with a roomful of very expensive loo-paper.

3. I can self-publish online. Wow. Yeah. How clever. Bring out the fireworks. That's what I've been planning all along.

But guess wot?

Wot?

Our banks don't accept payment via online.

Squeeeeeeeee............................

That's the joy going outta my happy balloony face, see me lying deflated on de ground.

I've been asking the bank staff, can't y'all do something about it? Think of the potential...foreign exchange earnings coming in.

I don't know if y'all ever see people answer-not-answer.

Anyway, I've read a report that says a group of business people have been lobbying for a chance for citizens to sell online and receive payments via Paypal.

So, all being well...progress might come to dis here tird world country too.




Saturday, 1 July 2017

Me with Ma in Florida.

Ma says: I want to go for a walk.

Boom says the thundah in Florida.

But when we can walk, we head for the green.

Ma leading me through a shortcut to the green.

To the glorious green we stroll, where birds fly and chirp, and the flowers bloom deep rose-pink or thick, waxy-white.

Queen-of-flowers (crepe myrtle) in the green

On our way to the rocks upon which we sit, we stop to admire the big-root tree which looks very much like a banyan tree.  Its roots, instead of growing into the earth, rise upwards, bunched together like cathedral pipes beneath the ceiling of glossy leaves.

I am latching on to these days, absorbing them like a baby learning the world, but storing them like a woman-historian.

Ma is 80 now. I am hoarding, collecting her words, her sighs, her wishes and longings, her memories and laughter and little catches of songs that she sings now and then.

Ma taking in nature.

I want to be the best daughter ever, sorry for the odd times I wasn't.


Sunday, 16 April 2017

Rebel.

Dear World,

Everybody on social media these days is shining.

Dazzling.

They are fierce.

They are fighters.

Witty.

Funny.

Charming.

Brilliant.

Arguing.

They are snappy.

Having fun. Lots of fun. With glasses of intoxicants. Lots of glasses in two hands.

Women paint their faces and pout. Duck-mouth pout.

They check for likes.

People have a platform.

And projects.

And even those who are at home doing nothing, they ooze.

Oooze.

Oooooze.

Smart-ass-ness.

Look-at-me-I'm-clever-ness.

Apparently, if you ain't all of the above, you're conservative.

Today, I am rebelling.

I want to do nothing-nothing.

But think.

And watch the dry green grass shake a little in the hot sea breeze.

And think

and

think

and think

and go

against the grain

of all the wisdom that says that on social media, you must be clever, smart, funny, Etc.

And I want to jot down the "thinks" in my note-book.

I am rebelling.