Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Wednesday, 9 November 2022

The Shadow of the Wind: The Cemetery of Forgotten Series, Book 1 By: Carlos Ruiz Zafón Narrated by: Daniel Weyman

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Carlos Ruiz 's The shadow of the Wind is a phenomenal book that delves into Magic realism it is a read that is both spellbinding, captivating , hypnotic and transformative. This book eclipses many other titles ive read in the magic realism genre, showcasing his ability to illustrate and develop an engaging charismatic young storyteller. The novel is about young Daniel whois invited by his father to the'cemetry of the lostbooks' in the Cityof Barcelona. An obscure Labyrinthe, a treasure trove of forgotten books. Danielon that special morning of 1945 discoversthe La Sombra del Viento by Julian Carax a book which transformshislife, and takes himona series of adventures. As Daniel ages Several people become interested in this jewel, and one nighthe is approached by a figure who reminds him of a character from La Sombra del Viento, a character who turns out to be the devil. This character is tracking down every copy of carax's work in order to burn them. Yet what begins as a curious adventure from someone with literary intrigue turns into a quest to find out the Life and death of Julian Carax and save those that were left behind.

This exciting read,unveils the story of Daniel the seeker of truth and a new literary scholar and tells a story of such magic, and mysticism. Painting pictures with images you loose yourself in. Animating scenes. The language and prose is written with such divinepoetic sensitivities,Zaffron sculpts He is a magician ,drawing us an artist, enchanting, and crafting a story, befriending you with the magic of his pen manship, This story is captivating it claims you, Zaffron is a great storyteller,you are hooked as you flip from page to page scene to scene. Lines such as " like the city awoke,like a water colour," he is an artiste," his pen is the paintbrush Each line is a brush stroke, painting vivid images, transporting you into a realm of creativity. With Zaffrons work we see books as more than just pages with literature and content, but access,a passport into existence a creative portal. Zaffron creates 3 dimensional emotive characters that are both animated, and highly entertaining. This book is amust read.

Sunday, 3 April 2022

Secret Sauce : Self Publishing Millionaires

Is it a myth or is there really any money in self publishing? Boy have we heard some stories. Million dollar deals, speaking opportunities, film contracts, and more newspaper and magazine profiles plus podcast and radio. so who are all these young superstars that have been green lit from wattpad and other self publishing platforms for series on Netflix, shows that we engorge and indulge addictively. Those shows that become like addiction. Well heres a countdown to some of the top ten published teen self published authors who turned typing into trade. Those delicious reads are now collecting coin in their pocket.

David Chilton The Wealthy Barber The Wealthy Barber might be one of Canada’s best-selling books of all time, but it started out being sold from author David Chilton’s basement before becoming a popular series. Chilton had been working as a small time stockbroker outside Ontario when he decided to put pen to paper and share his personal finance insights with the world in the form of The Wealthy Barber, a parable about a stingy small-town guy who saves and invests his way to fortune. Paul Pilkington Emma Holden Series Paul Pilkington, a university lecturer from the north-west of England, decided to write suspense thrillers after reading the popular Harlan Coben books 14 years ago. When he received a Kindle as a Christmas present, he chose to self-publish his own series based around the exploits of Emma Holden, an ordinary woman thrust into an extraordinary situation when her fiance goes missing in London.

E.L James 50 Shades of Grey Erika Mitchell had never written a word before 2009 when she joined a fan-fiction website for admirers of the Twilight saga. The then-studio manager from High Wycombe, England, became enthralled with the possibilities writing offered her, and decided to take her fan-fiction one step further. She self-published 50 Shades of Grey under the nom-de-plume E. L. James, and it was an instant online success. Two more books followed in rapid succession. Before long, the 50 Shades trilogy was picked up by Vintage Books (a conventional publisher). By 2013 Mitchell was a multi-millionaire. Her three-book series was universally panned by critics, but made her $95 million (£74 million), $5 million (£3.9 million) of which came from the three-movie option rights bought by a Hollywood studio. Drawing on her background in film and TV, James is credited as a producer on the film adaptions of her books. James Redfield-The Celestine Prophecy Alabama native James Redfield spent much of his 20s studying Eastern Philosophies like Taoism and Zen, before working as a therapist for abused teenagers for over 15 years. He left his job in 1989 to focus entirely on writing, as he wanted to bring messages about mysticism, futurism and ecology to the general public. He self-published his first book, The Celestine Prophecy, in 1993.

Rachel Abbott Rachel Abbott had a long and successful career in data analysis and interactive media in Manchester, England, before she started writing. She had no plans to self-publish when she wrote Only The Innocent in 2011, but her family and friends who read it loved it so much they persuaded her to change her mind after it was rejected by conventional publishers. In just three months the debut novel had soared to number 1 on Amazon UK’s Kindle shop after a concerted marketing effort by Abbott.

Wednesday, 9 February 2022

Sun Gal (Poetry by Otatade Okojie)

Sun gal (For Otatade)

I am the sun;
I am the Earth
I have been rain
I have been dirt
I'm a shadow in corners,
A celebrity in sight
I am contagious,
But I'm not always right.
Were learning,
We are;
Two dolphins in the ocean
Knowledge is backwards
Sometimes in slow motion
I am the king,
Amongst a tribe of his men
I am the villagers who hover
And then
I am the janitor
Striving for keep
Toiling over time
And under time in his sleep;
I am the wisdom
I am the glory
I am the meaning
In an old prophets story
I am your patience,
I am your mind,
I am the challenge
Beelzebul Want's to find
Started from everything
From ten down to one
I am still the ocean
I still the sun.
Goliath may be growing
David keeps on
Going,
The strength in me
Will rise hundred fold
For Behold,
I AM THE SUN
I am god's gold

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Hotbox Youtube Channel

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https://www.amazon.co.uk/Counting-pennies-Mars-Otatade-collection-ebook/dp/B079CP3647

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The cat near the hot tin roof ( Otatade Okojie Poetry)

The cat near the hot tin roof,

Was careful where it stepped,
It didn't want to burn it's toes
Or accidentally break it's neck,
It didn't want to scrape over,
And blaze it's fur,
So it kept it's distance,
Not going Near,
But cat,
The roof has cooled now,
But still it purrs ,
When will you climb
And brace your wall,
So you can hold your head up tall,
Night turns to day,
Day turns to night,
This tired cat ,
Has wall in Sight,
This creature,
So regal,
So bold,
And so brave,
Meditates on how to behave,

Which way do I climb,
Without getting burnt,
But cat things have turned
And you should have learnt,
You can't go this way, that way or that,
You should be ready to face your spat.
Day turns to night and night turns to day,
Disapointedly the cat meows away.

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Hotbox Youtube Channel

https://youtu.be/gqf6zb0Ov2U

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Counting-pennies-Mars-Otatade-collection-ebook/dp/B079CP3647

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The Man who walked for Miles (Otatade Okojie Poetry)

The man who walked for miles,
Just doesn't exist,
I commend the ideal
That one should persist
But hey;
This man had to rest,
And stop and catch his breath,
Otherwise he would fall and catch his death.
He even looked back into the past,
That didn't stop him from moving fast,
No.
Sometimes, this brave tired old man as he,
Had to go back in time and see,
What was on his mind,
What he'd left behind,
And turn then walk away.
This is the story of the man that walked for miles,
Who had his burden slung on his shoulder,
Who travelled on,
Who kept strong,
Till he was older,
Much older,
For time never stops,
Doesn't just start and never finish,
Time and change,
Does not diminish.
This man now rests,
Legs stretched to unfold,
Without this journey,
His quest would never be told.

https://gofund.me/61cdb27f

Hotbox Youtube Channel

https://youtu.be/gqf6zb0Ov2U

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Counting-pennies-Mars-Otatade-collection-ebook/dp/B079CP3647

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Monday, 7 February 2022

No Sweeping Sundays

No sweeping Sunday

A rest from pain

A chattering Mind

My dulling brain

Gladiator rises

With Trojan steps

Each walk i take

The ground has cleft

For whewn i fell

I so was bruised

Battered

Small

Flame

Diffused

And now i march

To lions Gate

Just so Goliath

Can see my

Fate

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Go fund me post 4

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Sunday, 17 February 2019

Toil

Toil at the struggle, the seed in the soil

You must work hard

To produce your oil

For others are watching

And green eyed they will be

With mouths that run amock

Trying to Pythagoras

Theorem me

Yet as you develop structure

As you develop plan

Do not be a sheep

Do not be a lamb

For winter will be coming

And so will all the wolves

To eat upon your flesh

If you haven’t been to school

Saturday, 16 February 2019

Extraordinary

Its necessary

To be extraordinary

In a world of mediocre

Where misery

Believes

Its sober

Where lack of joy

Believes it will triumph

And envy

Thinks it will gain

Its stump

Arrival

The chariot is coming

They’ll mount you up high

Empower yourself

They’ll see how you fly

Rising reaching

Climbing still

Holding unto

Your blessed will

Ignoring construct

Ignoring rules

Using the gift

Of gods blessed

Tools

Wednesday, 13 February 2019

Miracle girl

Miracle girl he will dance when you smile, lay out the carpet like a moon for you, share your words like a song. Miracle girl he will love your thick afro hair, the hues of culture in your eyes, the high accent of your cheekbones and the chip in your teeth. When you walk, he will strut like a peacock proud to be on your arm, and kneel before you at the alter with an Orb in his heart.

Saturday, 4 August 2018

Declaration of the Self

The warrior lives within, amidst the panic, the chaos and the cries of fear, trying to propel whatever progress you attempt to make. Whatever momentum you are trying to build. It is easy for others to bury you in old fears, warnings, alarm bells which trigger sweat pangs and a stampeding heart in the dim of the night, to wake you in the early hours of the morning. Yet here is a thought. Today is an opportunity like no other, there were some who thought they'd have another day to conquer, a script written in their minds, yet others came to find them with a closed chapter. This is your book, this life is your chapters you are penning progressive change, you are delivering yourself to a place of access, and for those who battle an internal conflict you are challenging every Goliath. Who will win the dual. The battle is won and lost in the mind, declare yourself champion , declare yourself master and captain of your ship.

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

Evein (Vampire story)

“ Somebody did this to me, and I wanna know who?” Evein glared at her parents angrily, their narrow gazes shrinking even deeper as their usually mocha skinned daughter was turning an almost pale shade of brown. “ Keep it closed dalton.” She hissed as her little brother reached to peel the ivory curtain back.

“I don’t get it, you don’t like light?”

“ It hurts. It feels like someone piercing you with a thousand needles.”

“And the guy at the bar, you don’t think he put some psychotic in your drink,”

“ Dolly im not gone crazy,”

“Its called metamorphose, or morphic, it’s a drug, that’s”

“supposed to stop your heartbeat, yet somehow keeps you alive.” Evein patted her fro gently, she wanted to take it off. Why pretend as though you stood for culture and clarity when all of a sudden you’d fade to nothing, when that gold orb tasted the blue sky. Christ she’d read vampire books, series that nullified any belief that things beyond the grave existed, a myth created by a very lonely, very imaginative mr something century J.k Rowling. After all the books were about people with super abilities, women who suddenly became sirens, that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. “ I’m literally,”

“A dead man walking,” Dally joked. Even he felt stale on that hit. “Any suspects yet?”

“Yes,” mother finally put in dragging a long breath, the anxiety in her tone amplified. She stood up slowly, the red gown theyd brought her wrapped and curled like a vine. “ Somebody hated you enough to want you dead but didn’t have the guts to see it through.’

Father agreed with a groan.” Who’d you piss of this time princess, because by my calculations that drug is a slow poison, you have one month to live to find answers, and to get the antidote.”

“I guess I need a detective.” There was a heavy silence, quiet enough to make the birds chirping outside sound as though they were on pop idol. “ Not him, anyone but him.”

“ He wont charge you, and he’s thorough,”

“he’s also a bit of a rogue,” Mother added, Evein glanced at Dally who was grinning from ear to ear.

“You shit head.”

“I called him as soon as you walked through the door,” Evein gulped the last of the strawberry juice, though she could barely taste it. Taurus Jones had an ego the size of mars at the best of times, and at the worst of times? Damn, this was supposed to be a flipping happy new year. (To be continued)

SEDATIVE LIFE (SHORT STORY)

“ I am terrified of letting the world in. It’s not the worlds fault, i am scared to let go.” My name is Mylene Klausman. Yesterday my boyfriend played Anthony Robbins in the car for the last time. Jesus, it was killing me. Not Robbins, My guy, total hypocrisy. “ This guy changed my life Mylene!” he announces over the speakers, yet everything stays the same. Our routines are the same, we get up at 7.30, i actually get up at 8 but he wakes me up with all the pacing up and down the house. Or sometimes he’s up at four and he decides to switch the lamplight on and talk about politics or something just to hear his own voice. I think we are growing apart, or two different people, the sentence is rehearsed over and over in my head. It claims every space in my mind, yet in the early hours i am sticky with sweat, after intense lovemaking. After conversations that trail deep into the night, where i find myself second guessing myself because Eden is getting way too intense. “There’s a guy,” I tell my friend Reno as she pulls up to my house in her navy blue Sedan. “ Shit there’s a guy and im practically married,”

“ Who, what, where, and when?” She lowers her tinted hugo boss shades to reveal stunning blue eyes. I like her new bob as well, everything is Slick and organized, Midnight black hair, exotic features and razor sharp cheekbones. Some guy said Reno looks like Angelina Jolie, personally ive seen her look way better. Then again im in awe. I slip into the seat of the blue Sedan. “ Look were matching,” she dots a kiss on my cheek,were both wearing blue denim catsuits. “ Its not Tommy is it?”

“ Tommy who?” she puts the car into first gear. “ Thomas Denton, plays Basketball for the Rovers, prefect, perfect, uhhmmmn” she flutters her lashes. I cackle.

“ No im with Eden remember.”

“ Are you happy?” We are steering the car down Crossharbour Road, down Lucas Avenue near the local Mcdonalds. “ Im happy.” I lie. Do I remember what happy feels like? I wonder if I have become a sedative self, I smile when im supposed too, laugh when im supposed too, I feel like a puppy that’s being petted when his parents come over, “go on Myle sit.” I imagine myself with huge furry ears being propped on a dog matt, begging for a bone or some affection. Then there’s him. So I say it out loud because Reno, knows the Him syndrome, when some stranger invades your mind and your senses, you are hypnotized. “ His name is Aidan Rothschild, he sits in the third row in Science, and in the library he watched me for a whole hour, I didn’t even know he was looking,”

“ Nice,” Reno offers pulling out a stick of gum at the traffic lights. “ A Rothschild. I know about them. Damn their rich, devilishly handsome as well.Describe please,” I smile guiltily at the memory. I pin him to be 6 ft five Midnight hair, eyes so dark their almost purple, yet there’s a soft hue of brown in them. His features are strong Aqualine, he has a thick jaw, and long sweeping lashes. When he put his hands up and spoke, I swear on my whole entire life, id never heard anybody sound like that. It was a deep tone, his voice is like a song, I found myself being seduced in with every syllable. I instantly turned into one of those girls Annie Elkry is one of those girls and I hate her for it, overly inquisitive, what does he eat? What does he like? What does he do for fun? Why did he pick our School? And whats so interesting about me? I look up from the book im pretending to read, its awful. Our eyes connect across the Library hall, my eyes flicker away nervously. My stomach dances as he rises from his seat. Tall drink of water,that’s what he is, and he’s heading my way. I smoothe a tongue across my wrinkled lips and then watch in horror as Eden makes his way over to me. He is wearing his muddied tracksuit, I noticed the tall drink of water has a name tag. New students are put through this Orientation workshop, they have to wear name tags. He’s left his on. I study the name on the badge. Adrian Rothschild. He ducks his head and dodges Eden narrowly swerving as they almost collide. I like his scent. A trail of soft tobacco. As he walks away, our eyes connect once more, there is mystery there, and intrigue. Eden stands over my shoulder eyeing us suspiciously. “ Do you know that guy?”

“ No,” not yet, im thinking. Eden scratches his head. “ Guy looks like trouble.” Eden clears his throat. Aidan reminds me of someone like me, someone keeping a big secret. Grandma says I have an eye for it. “ Those grey eyes of yours girl, always exposing the invisible. You’ve got your mothers eyes.” But mothers eyes got her into a lot of trouble. My mother was murdered two years ago when I was sixteen, she was a journalist, and my father is still convinced it was something she saw. Someone she saw the day before she died. I remember how scary it was that she seemed so calm on the surface, yet when she thought id turned my back that day , her voice was manic and erratic. Her words were like someone choking, terrified, “ They’ll find out the truth,” she’d shouted. “ He’ll know, they will know. There’s nowhere to run, just come clean.” But whoever it was never came clean, and my mother disappeared for a week until her body was found by the river bed, Frozen and naked. I don’t think I cried. I think I was numb for a long time, id been programmed for bad things. My mother was strangled to death. I had thought for weeks about her last few minutes, what was her final word, then for years, it haunted me. Id see her murderer in smiles from friends, in people who hugged and offered condolences, those who laughed at jokes too hard, everyone became a suspect. “ Still day dreaming about Mr wrong?” I snapped back into the present. “Were here.” Reno and I had pulled up outside Elmhurst high School, im never ready for this place. I lie, like ive become accustomed too.” Yeah maybe ill see him.” I take a deep breath as we step out of the car. I feel a sense of forboding. There is something coming, there is something about that guy. Whatever secret he’s keeping, its more than a curiosity now. Then I think of Eden. Do I delve into adventure, or return to a sedative life?

Saturday, 26 August 2017

Inside his head

I thought about the perfect things to say. Sharp, polite , precise sentences, that roll in our heads. I see you in my minds eye, perfect as you are, a vision to escape to. The man with the heavy voice and the soft brown eyes. Capture me in the moistness of all your selves,an identity sandwiched, secreted in layers of fear. I am lost in you, yet searching me. We wake up in separate places.

Thursday, 7 July 2016

Out of the mouth of babes 4 billion hits

My journey as a writer began with a crush. I had a crush on a character in my head and id had it for years. Every night before id go to bed, id dream up creative ways he would meet his match with of course, a fiery domineering, troublesome woman like myself. I remember visualising him each night before id go to sleep, then attempting to write half stories on the things he saw, did , felt, the adventures he had. It was as though his spirit coursed through me, and over the years he became more sophisticated until he had a new name. Taurus Jones. In my novels which will be available on the digital platform and if my publishers allow, Taurus is an eloquent chocolate skinned detective with a mute cousin who has the ability to piece the puzzles of the chaos within their lives. He is a gentleman, dapper, handsome, and yet troubled by the severity of life and his poverty stricken arena. Yet this is his playground to solve cases, and gain some sort of insight into what makes people tick. Taurus's cousin has a blog she works on avidly, where she documents the teams discovery about people in their community, changes happening, and as teenagers they try to make sense of a world which seems to always have plates shifting, energy off, a blood moon which reeks of trouble, and with each case a bite of their innocence is taken out.

The first book in the collection of 200 is titled Out of the mouth of babes, and will be released for purchase on my website in December 2016. Writing is valuable, blogging is freedom, expressing your creative thoughts sharing your insights. Once upon a time to write was something i took for granted, until i hit that black wall of depression, slipping into an oblivion of helpless thoughts. My belief and some of you may agree with me others may not, is that as a writer you must be able to market your content. You must have an elevator pitch. It may not be sales and marketing, it may not be branding, but despite publishers turning your work down again and again, there are over a trillion people out there who would simply stop just to hear a good story. I found life turns us into story tellers, the insults you get and the criticism from others around where your life is going, why havent you been picked up yet, what are you writing now? Develop a sharp tongue and a thick skin as an author, you will need it. The challenge in producing literature is not whether you have a market or a target audience, you can produce the next bestseller with a great hook, and a phenomenon of a title, an awesome cover helps. Its whether you have the commitment to bring those conversations, those dreams to fruition.

Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Triumphant success for the self that hungers 4 billion hits

It takes years to accomplish financial success.years of discipline, years of hard work , focus and engagement. When I was younger I had such grand dreams of success, I would get out my pad and scribble stories day in and day out. Shuffling through love stories, action thrillers, at first it was escapism and now I have become so passionate I found an agent and a publisher is interested in my work. It was years of dreaming, years of hard work, years of dedication and determination. I was hungry to succeed, every morning when I got up I was starving. I took a risk that paid off. Self published my novel lunchbox millionaire, and watched in awe as 327,000 copies of it were downloaded, then was even more surprised when I managed to get an agent. I remember waking up, threading through my blog, listening to every motivational speaker to think of, to help motivate me and build momentum. It was my way of conquering fear, challenging epilepsy, and the insecurities that seemed to haunt me like a shadow. You need a dream. Whether it's far fetched or not, hypothesized goals make it achievable, celebrate each bold step you take, some people still live in fear. It is important to believe in your potential, it is important to carry yourself through the tsunami called life. Always having faith in a higher power. Once upon a time I would knock at the door of agents fed up with sending them requests to look over my novel, to believe in me from a distance. Look what your buying into I would eagerly stand there, eyes beaming teeth grinning and swallowing them in a smile or some banter. I was passionate and hungry, and thirsty all at once. After several rejections, some agents not even getting back to me, I have an amazing agent, who recently informed me that a publisher is interested in my work, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Momentum, action builds it. When we deny the ease of comfortable living and we are branching out of our comfort zone, it is alright to feel anxious. I suffered with panick attacks for years, and now I am on the edge of something bright ready to crawl in, cast a blanket over myself and nestle into the realms of infinite possibility. What I will advise as a writer, a mentor and a business woman, is know how to sell your work, know how to sell yourself. In the meantime as iyanla variant calls it, focus on building up your strengths.