#WriteLife: How To Juggle Fire

Hey, my name is Vee, and I’m a design student. Which sounds like an awkward introduction on your first day of school, but it’s really more like an AA introduction. You know, like they do on TV with everyone sitting in a circle avoiding eye contact and engaging in a makeshift confessional? I know I’ve…

‘The Brothers’ Ain’t All That [Review]

A review of ‘The Brothers’ (2001), in which we applaud director Gary Hardwick for his majority-black cast and speaking up against misogyny, and look briefly into colourism and the fetishisation of black masculinity as the writer understands it.

One Point Twenty One

What do a dark room and a new hiphop release have in common? To the right person, both are incredibly thrilling. Or maybe it’s the combination of a new Riky Rick song and the darkened landscape around me as I zoom down the highway headed for Cape Town, the excitement of partying with my friends,…

#WriteLife: I Finally Know What I’m Writing For

For two months now, I’ve been thinking about what it is I write about. I didn’t know it at the time I was writing about creative constipation, but what I was really searching for was a writing purpose. Sure, a pot of plots is a good place to be to get you to start writing,…

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…