WRITERS AND WRITING WORDS

Many writers write because others are writing, because of the love poured on those that have their writing published, because of the money made from writing, because they are bored and have nothing to do then decide to go into writing, because they think they know how to juxtapose words, because they can afford a pen and a paper to write or they simply write to belong.

Writing is an art and not science,  writing is general not personal, writing is a talent and not stolen or bought, writing is in born and not adopted; writing is natural not artificial.  Writing is a language.  So if you force yourself to write because of the words in the first paragraph, you are living a life of illusion and likely to crash along in the art.

Why do people proudly call themselves writers, simply because they love to write?  It’s their talent.   And as a writer I believe you should know the essential basics of writing.  You should also know the use of grammar, typos, and the use of tenses, the use of dialogue, figure of speech and part of speech.

A writer who claim to be a writer and cannot use those writing words into his / her writing or understand those writing words is nothing but a learner, a deceiver, a joker, not a writer, a conjuror and such writer should have a rethink and retrace his/her goal before his/her future stand castrated.

A learner because you’re still learning how to write, a deceiver because you are deceiving people and yourself thinking that you are a writer, a joker  because you are not serious, not a writer because you are not a writer you are only write, and a conjuror same as deceiver because you are deceiving yourself.

When other writers add comments and correction to your writing, you as the writer does you take note of such corrections and make amends.  You as a writer do you understand what the correction the writers had said you should correct.  For instance, a writer said you should watch your typos; they’re too many of it in your writing.  You as the writer, do you understand what is typos.’  Or do you understand what is full stop before your quotation mark.  Can you differentiate the punctuation marks and where to use it?  Do you understand the different between grammatical errors and spelling errors?  Do you understand the too many use of present tenses and avoid it when writing about a past event.  What about the figure of speech, the metaphors, similes, personification, irony, etc.

So writers improve on your writing; don’t be a fool writing.  Take note of corrections, work on them and ask questions on words you don’t understand.  Don’t be shy that people will laugh at you when you ask, that they will think you have a dull brain.  Yes, let them think so but you now what you are doing.

My people will say: The one that ask question never misses route and can never be lost nor misled.  When you ask questions, it will only make you better and help improve your writing.

Writers should also try and attend writing schools and writing workshops in order to improve their writing.  You have talent in writing cannot only help you; you also need training to improve on good use of writing words.  Join writer’s community and take advantage of the writing corrections.  It will only make you and me a better writer.

One love.

My name is Ifeanyi but my friends call me Ifeco.  Follow @ AlloyTwitte on twitter

ENDORSEMENT FOR AUTHORS

Sometime when I look at the life of some authors, I asked myself do I really want to become one. Though it’s my passion what I love to do but simply because the life of some few authors are no life.

They live a life of penury – struggling to survive under the heat of the earth.

Passion does not mean you should die of hunger neither live on food fallen from the table of the master like dogs nor did if mean to put on tattered clothes, rags and wallow on the streets.

Fine, I love this thing, I love to do this, and I have a passion for this thing.  But that shouldn’t mean I should live in slum and squalid house for my passion.

There’s great joy to make money from what you love doing.  To live a good life is the dream of men neglect of your passion.  And when you live a good life because of what you love to do it’s a double joy.  Believe me, everyone on this earth wants to make money not only authors.  Neglect what person says: I’m doing what I do because of passion because I love it.  Truth, but the main basis of doing that thing is because you want to make money out of it.

Everything worth doing is what doing well.  The business side of your talent, your dream, your ambition should also come along the passion.  Every author wants to make money from his books.  An author’s book is dead without the audience, the readers.  They buy the book to put money in their pocket.  Your book is lovely.  Your write well. congratulation.  Your book is very interesting.  I love you.  You’re the best.  Good.  Those compliments are welcomed but one question the author will ask is: ‘Am I making money from my book?”

What become of your bank account after writing that great book which might have took you years to write.  I tell people that writing a book is the most intellectual art when if comes to creativity.  Your thought as an author is so deep.  Kudos to writers aspiring to become an author and to authors who had been published.

Writing takes your time, efforts and brain.  You glue yourself to that computer screen or on paper writing that manuscript, thinking of those metaphors, words, comparison to polish your writing all in one spot.  Sometimes you get stuck and it looks as if your brain is miscalculating.  The words ran out of your memory and you try hard to recollect them.  So writing is tough and so authors need to be more celebrated and appreciated in our society.

I ask myself can I make a living from being an author. I spend all my years writing and publishing a book; I put them out in bookshops and stores only to go back and still find my book unsold.  Covered with dust and maybe half eaten by the store companion the rats.

For crying out loud authors are been neglected in the society. The individual, corporate bodies and the government.  Authors are celebrities and should be treated and seen as one.  It’s painful that you are called an author yet you’re live in mud.

Authors are creative people, celebrities and they should be endorsed.

Endorsement should be given to authors just like the other celebrities, the musician, the actors and actresses.  Corporate bodies and companies should use authors for advertisement of their product.  They are not piece of crap that just erupts from the sky.  Authors are creative people even more just like other creative talents that sweeps away lots of endorsement.  Authors’ works are loved by people and the audience wants to be like them.  They are role model and motivator to hopeless life so why not also give them that endorsement.

Do not neglect authors of your brand, use them for promotion to advertise your product and celebrate them for their creativity.

Government should also support authors by adding story books into school syllabus each year for primary schools and novels for the secondary level.  That will put students knowledge about literature and make them want to read and also put food on the table of authors.  Parents should also support by buying story books for their children in ordered to support authors who are intellectually endowed with their intellectual property out on the streets.

Many writers who wants to come in and become authors have the fear of will I be able to make a living out of it owing to the castrated life of penury not better than a church mouse of authors.  Never blame them.  Everyone wants to earn a good living for what he / she do.  But if all this support is given to authors more talents will come into the field and that will increase different ways of telling our stories.

Give endorsement to authors, support them, and use them to promote your goods and services, use them for billboards because they are also part of our celebrities.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

      Merry Christmas Everyone. Have a joyous Holiday. Eat and drink safely.

STILL LOVE YOU: PART TWO

“Sophia!’ he shouted in agony. They both panicked and quickly separated from each other. Chris walked out heartbroken in a down casted spirit. Sophia chased after him but he drove off before she could come close.

          “Oh my God! What have I done?” She scowled, filled with regret.

          “Sophia, who his he?”

          “Please Frank, it’s no time for questions, you have to leave now.” She perturbed, joggling her legs.

           “But why?”

          “Leave!” she roared like an angry lion into his face.

          “Okay…” He nodded randomly and walked out. Another round of tears began to pour out, followed was continuous gushing out of catarrh from her angry nostrils.

          After she was done crying and agonizing, she went to visit Chris, to apologize, and explain the picture of what he saw. She took her time to look beautiful as it is one of the reasons why he loved her. But when she got to Chris house, he was not ready to listen to any of her apologies. He turned deaf and chased her out of his house. Followed with a serious warning never to step her foot in his house forever, else death with be the option

          She went back home a furlong fellow dejected and continued in the terra firma of tears, Where tears had originated She loved Chris from the depth of her soul he had showed her love. He had become the flower that never fades away her shining light in the corridor of darkness, always there for her when she needed. There is no way she would stop loving him.

          Her friend, housemate Cynthia also went to apologies to Chris on behalf of her friend, but what she experience made her to took on oath not to step her foot there again The threat and anger of his face is enough to respect yourself, save your life and remain in your shell Sophie looked slimmer she lost weight she had no appetite of food. Each day she remains in her chain of tears and pain. Her friend became a loquacious because of her situation. She talked and talked to her to let go off Chris and not to killed herself because of a guy who is not ready to accept her back. But she would listen she kept pouring blame on herself that for her stupidity Chris has abandoned her.

          One evening, she stood close to her window and looking through it in her bedroom. She was burial in the several thought of how Chris showered love to her

There first sex which was a parading of pleasure, the way they played together at the pool, his touches and kisses ,going to watch movies at cinemas ,his expensive bouquet of flowers. Her heart clumped in sadness. Waves of sorrow slapped her face. She looks down casted and neglected. She began to cry again like a baby deprived of breast feeding she sang in throere swollen with tear.

          “It’s okay, love.” “It’s okay.” Cynthia said in a meek tone and pulled her together “you’ve cried enough.” “I’m afraid your eyeball will rip out of its socket” She hugged her. Cynthia looked as if she wanted to join her in the table of tears but she held it.

          “What have I done to deserve this?” “Is it a crime to love?” Sophia wailed, still in tears. “Haven’t I done enough sacrifice for my wrong?” poor Sophia.

She looks humiliated.

          “It’s okay, love. It’s okay.” Cynthia consoled, putting her on the back and wiping off her tears with the back and front of her hand. “It’s good you’ve cried for your pain.” “You can’t kill yourself.” “After you are done crying, you move on.” “It is time to move on, love.” Sophia nodded like an agama lizard as Cynthia dried her tears.

          On the day of Chris birthday, Sophia made a special birthday cake for him. She paid a professional cake baker to baker her best cake. She made the cake to win back his love. She took the cake to him, and to her shock; he smashed the cake on the floor, stepped on it and rained beating on her body. He had warned her never to come to his house and she summoned the gut to come with a ‘buff day’ cake. Who told her he was interested? Sophia went home humiliated. It was done for her- that ended her love for him- their love became a rotten Egusi soup that hade not be heated for three days-broken into piec: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">          “It’s okay, love. It’s okay.” Cynthia consoled, putting her on the back and wiping off her tears with the back and front of her hand. “It’s good you’ve cried for your pain.” “You can’t kill yourself.” “After you are done crying, you move on.” “It is time to move on, love.” Sophia nodded like an agama lizard as Cynthia dried her tears.

          On the day of Chris birthday, Sophia made a special birthday cake for him. She paid a professional cake baker to baker her best cake. She made the cake to win back his love. She took the cake to him, and to her shock; he smashed the cake on the floor, stepped on it and rained beating on her body. He had warned her never to come to his house and she summoned the gut to come with a ‘buff day’ cake. Who told her he was interested? Sophia went home humiliated. It was done for her- that ended her love for him- their love became a rotten Egusi soup that hade not be heated for three days-broken into pieces of glass that cannot be mend- it became a miscarriage that cannot be recovered. It was obvious and clear in her eyes that she is no longer wanted. The hand writings are written on the wall.

          “It is time to move on Sophia.” She confidently whispered to herself

“You wan kill yourself?” Indeed it was time to move on.

          Chris slowly walked inside. He walked close to her and gently touched her shoulder. She palpitated and turned to him. To her amazement, she saw Chris. Her face wrinkled with surprise.  She became quite and cold inside. Chris bent down and picked up one of the torn pictures. He started at it. She melted gradually like a burning candle and then trembled. She remained speechless. Slowly he let go off the half picture, dried her tears with his hand planted a kiss on her succulent lips. “I STILL LOVE YOU.” He said and wrapped her.     

STILL IN LOVE : PART ONE

“It’s over, Chris! It’s over!” “Enough is enough! She replied through her sobs. “I know I’ve offended you.” “I tried all my best to make you realize how sorry I am.” “To make you come back to me. But it seems you do not love me anymore.” She wailed. Her tears like block of ice fell on the portrait. “You hate me,” “it is now clear.” “It’s over, Chris!” “It’s over!” Sophia smashed the portrait on the floor. The portrait was enclosed in a frame. Her face was rained in tears. She was done enduring for love. Her heart would no longer burn in heartbreak. The bruises had caused so much pain in her flesh. Her numerous attempts to make him come back again, drown in the mud. She mustered courage to pick up herself and let go the stab in her soul.

She bent towards the broken frame and picked up Chris picture. She tore it and cried loudly. What seemed like her last tears to her forgotten ex-lover.

A portrait she had always cherished. A portrait she wakes up every morning stole a look at it and allowed a smile on her lips. It hung’s at the edge of her bed besides her pillow. There was always an euphoria that moves through her body each time she looked at the portrait. It was like a crowd of butterflies in her belly, troubling her in a pleasant way. Her life depends on the portrait. She cherished it like a monkey and banana. She remembered how Cynthia her house mate would get jealous seeing the portrait hung on her bed, and she had warned her in a cheeky manner not to touch it. She cuddled the portrait around her chest sometimes.

          Her first Sex with Chris would always stick in her skull: the pleasures, the touches, kisses, fondling and finally the intercourse; almost took her brain off, an experience never to be forgotten. Though it became their last Sex, but something happens in one’s life once and it speaks forever.

          She rapped gently at the door, the kind Chris would notice. He opened the door and immediately gasped at her looks. She was putting on a red tank top that had a “Love Symbol” inscribed at the centre and a white jumper-short exposing her hot laps that would make a man salivate and allow semen drench the boxer. The laps were tempted to touch. Her lips were coloured with orange lip gloss, you would want to steal a kiss from. She wore pink bracelets and yellow fancy finger rings, standing on gladiator shoes and holding a pink hand bag.

          “Evening, my love.” She grinned and kissed her lips. She walked inside. Chris stood lost. He scanned her as she walked inside. He followed her and held her waist. His stare was stained with emotions. She trembled and wondered why the so much emotions revolving in his eyes.

          “Baby, I love you.” He softly whispered into her ears. He began to kiss her. She loved it. Her hand bag gently slipped down to the floor. She pressed down his head to connect perfectly with his lips which tasted like cream berry. Their lips interlocked. She loves to kiss and be kissed preferred it most than any other romantic words in the dictionary of romance. She kissed him so deeply as if her whole life depends on it. She opened her mouth to get erogenous pleasures. They sucked their mouth almost wanted to eat off their tongues.

          His right hand slid under her tank top and began stroking her body. He moved it from her stomach up her breast, sending strong shivers down her spine. She held her cheeks with her palms and continued to kiss him. She was lost in senses. All she wanted was sexual pleasure from her lover of One year. She loved every moment. It was the most exciting feeling she had ever experienced. They had both kissed copiously but this was the best ever. His hand found her Bra and fondled. It moved downwards and fondled her hollow abdomen.

          He kissed her until slowly she went down on the rug. He followed her and continued to kiss her. He pulled off her tank top, exposing her bra. He kissed her lightly feathery touch of his lips against her skin.

He carried her and placed her on top of the bed and began to unzip her Jumper shot. The door was left open as they rode on a horse into the land of ecstasy.

          Her Bra was off and she lay naked on Bed with only her white innocent pant. He fondled her erect nipples with his mouth. He moved his fingers down to her pants and slid it underneath the pant. He played with the black curly hairs on her pelvis and gently slid his fingers into her Vagina. She moaned and was wet in between her legs. He fondled the Vagina, her body jitters as if she was shocked by electricity.

          He pulled off her pant with her, removing her legs gently until the pant went off her waist, exposing her seductive Vagina. The hairs on her Pelvis were beautifully festooned on her genital organ. He quickly pulled of his pant trouser, his determined male organ erected on one side of his boxer. He pulled her legs towards himself and gently slid his dick into her bowel of paradise. She moaned loudly. Her fingers pinned tightly on the mattress. He rammed into her like a swing and finally gave a loud groan.

          Sophia walked on the tarred road. She was going to the salon. Her last hair was four days old; perhaps she wanted to look beautiful for Chris.

          As she was walking, an ash Toyota Camry car drove and pulled up at the other side of the road. A chocolate, tall, moderate guy came out of the car and screamed her name. She turned and saw the emotion killer, a gentle man but not a gentle soul. Who finds Joy sipping from the cup of emotional trauma others went through. He was dressed in a blue corduroy jeans and a red round neck. He also wore a gold semi-long chain that might have caused him a fortune and white snickers that had the logo of an Adidas. She sneered at him and walked on.

          Frank chased and pulled her hand, she angrily let go off her hand. The touch irritated her. The sticky, filthy and musty of his hand ran through her thought. Painting a face disdain, she stopped.

          “Are you sick?” “Who do hell are you to touch me?” she scowled. “Do I know you?” “Back out!”She moved on. The nice smell of his cologne disturbed her nose, but it smelled offensive and disgusting to her. That word “who do hell are you? Do I know you?” murdered his spirit and left his brain to streaks of thoughts. Shock and surprise knocked his skull – A lady, he dated for four good years would claim she knew him not. He suddenly turned a stranger in her face. Frank was her first lover before she met Chris.

          He quails behind her. He wanted to touch again to get her attention but her angry voice buried fear in him. He looked like a coward, wilting behind her as if he had a pain on his leg.

          “Please, let me explain.” He finally found a voice. “I know you are hurt and mad at me but please hear me out.” He softly spat.

          “What do you want to explain?” “What do you have to explain?” she snarled. “That you got to the state and become insane not to remember anyone and suddenly fall out of love.” “Ehh?” “Tell me!” her eyes widened, sending out threats. “All I need now is a breathing space.” She trudged on.

          “But just allow me to explain.” He said as he followed her. His words were hurting her ears. A bike pulled up after her wave and she was drove away out of sight. He stood humiliated and drowned in his stare.

          Sophia lay on the couch engrossed in a novel. She laughed to herself at the read of any hilarious moment in the novel.

Kpo Kpo Kpo

She heard a knock. She sat upright and focused her gazed at the door, painting a face of surprise.

She was expecting no one. Cynthia, her house mate had gone for lectures and will not be back till evening. She scanned her wall clock to found out the time. 10.30a.m the clock ticks. “No. Cynthia would not be coming home at this hour and Chris would not come without first calling. Who could that be?” She whispered to herself.

A knock again

          “Come inside the door is not locked.” She said. Her fingers dug in between the page where she stopped reading and focuses at the position of the door. Slowly, the door opened and Frank entered in a creepy manner. A smell of palpitation moved in his veins. Instantly, Sophia became dumb. She lost her tongue to speech. She couldn’t believe what stood at her front. She died in shock. He was the last human she expects to see in her house. She was confused by his temerity to walk into her house. To have located her house and still have the guts to walk inside is enough for her to be charged to court for murder case. Some one’s heart was racing breathing faster and that was Sophia.

 Silence roamed the house for about one minute before she finally broke the silence with exasperating questions.

“First of all, how did you locate my house?” “And what do you want, Frank?”

          “I want you.” He quickly knelt in front of her, holding her legs. Sophia opened her mouth dumb founded. “Sophia, I need you.” “My life had crashed without you. It had become an oven of fire burning my heart to ashes.” “A seed fallen on pebbles of thorn.” “My soul is hell without you.” he said through his sobs. A pang of tears clouded his vision, wanting to trickle down his face. Sophia felt attacked; she was not that emotional strong.

          “But what happened?”She managed to ask.

          “When I got to the state, I was blackmailed by my friend and the cops got me arrested for a crime I did not commit.” The tears began to pour out freely from his eye. “I spent one year and seven months behind bars.” “After I was released, I lost everything. I lost contact of everyone, my family, friend and you ….” His tears fell on her leg and on the floor. Sophia looked remorseful and guilty, she felt pity for him and she began to sob. “I became lonely, rejected and dejected; walking on the street and began looking for job to start all over again.” Tears began to stream down Sophia eyes “I begged to buy food.” “The other day I ran into…”

          “Shh…” Sophia interrupted him, placing her second right finger on his lips. “Its okay.” she softly said through her sobs. Rains of tears from both eyes flooded the sitting room.

          “Come here” She said stretching her hand to hug him. She pulled him up from his knelling position gently and made him sat beside her on the couch. She wrapped him. He buried his face on her breast; sobbing and she patted him like a child who had his mother singing a song of lullaby to make him stop crying and sleep.

          Unfortunately, Chris walked in. It was obvious; he did not called her of his coming. The door was left open when he came. He saw them enveloped each other like love bird. He saw Frank laying his head on the breast of his girlfriend. They didn’t notice his presence as Sophia also buried her face at his back, humming. For Thirty second Chris stood like a statue doubting his stare. Shock occupied his senses.

          “Sophia!" he shouted in agony.