Say It Wasn’t You

I felt safer when I was locked up. Back then, I’d longed for air that didn’t taste like body odour and vomit, for a chance to be able to sit down at the three-legged dinner table Susan holds onto without worrying about who’s going to hit me over the back of my head for a…

Addicted To The Polaroids

Every second-hand store on this side of town feels like we’re entering into a time-warp. It’s like time froze like the grandfather clock Zozo shuffles past, dust gathering on everything. The light streams in in scattered patterns, disturbed every time someone squeezes between an armoire and a chaise, or picks up a highly-detailed picture frame…

Creative Constipation: Because Writer’s Block Is For Children

Deciphering the difference between writer’s block and creative constipation, and figuring out how to conquer the latter and get out of the kiddie pool that is the former.
This post is equal parts personal account and writer’s advice.
And yes, the title will be alluded to a few times.
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Black Love: Navigating ‘The Line’ In Fiction

I mean, I’d still rather be on the side that chooses to portray healthy, wholesome black love, and that’s where I dwell primarily – but am I particularly wrong for writing something a little messier? Note: This post comes as a #Reaction to my last story, Just The Two Of Us – it’ll be more…

Just The Two Of Us

I told my nephew I ate the baby growing in my stomach. Every few minutes he’ll come running back with a new question. Like if I chewed it on it’s way down, or somehow swallowed it whole. Or if it was really, really small when I ate it. My favourite one so far is, “is…

The Wheel Breaks The Butterfly

If there’s one thing I did right it’s raising my little girl. Hailey darts through the aisles of the convenience store, her neon pink tutu floating around her chubby legs as she runs. Her giggles fill the stale atmosphere of the shop, and as long as I can hear that sound, everything’s okay. My eyes…

Put It In The Bag

Nothing prepares you for heartbreak. There are no lessons for it, no seminars, no teachers except the experience itself. You have to go through it to know it. Tears blur my vision and the coarse wool of my sweater grates against my cheek and returns damp. Each step away from the man who had my…

2021: Finding The Write Way

Look, this isn’t how I wanted to start off my blog this year. I mean, it was. Then it wasn’t, then it was. And now it is. I need to preface this entire conversation with the firm declaration that “I want to write”. And no matter what you read going on, you can rest assured…

Under Pressure We’re Cracking

I can’t get over how dark it is. Coming from the soft yellow fairy lights lining the canvas roof of G’s outdoor seating, the area beyond the volleyball court – if you can call a roughly hewn-out block of sand a court – is terrifying. The blackness is endless, inky tendrils reaching out to me…