Recently I watched an interview that left me entertained and educated in equal measure. The interview was on Inooro TV a show referenced to as wira ni wira loosely translated to Any work is work.  A young entrepreneur was telling of his hustle. The serious stuff was discussed, and then came the last bit where the interviewee was to tell the favorite part of his hustle. He looked straight into the camera and said he loved that he got to afford lunch worth xx Kes daily! I thought the answer was hilarious but also truthful.

My truth is that I took a breather from writing; I loved it too much I extended it.  While resting i bumped into an old friend’s site looking all pristine; a gift to all of humanity with a bow on it. After gasping dramatically I read all his posts and left comment(s) on them.

To reply he sent me a message saying thanks (because he is a very polite friend). On reading his message I felt the need to express the thought that possibly the writing gods had left me. He sent me the chuckle emoji and went silent for a few moments.

In that moment of silence I was afraid he would think I had a hideous looking weave that scared the gods away. Or that I had annoyed the gods by addressing people on social media as ‘Loves’. Hehe. There was a distinct urge to deny the weave claim but then again that would mean the weave industry isn’t as important which is a twisted thought.

After a few moments he asked me how he could help to which I replied; ‘bring some of your awesomeness to my site’. In a few hours we sent me this post which sort of ends the block/break.

Victor writes at catch him there.

Today he’s here;

Even when you love writing like I do, sometimes you have writer’s block. It’s what writers experience when nothing seems to come together. When words refuse to merge together to form a story, and all you have are words and ideas flying around in your head. Nothing concrete , just floating words, like albatross birds circling a beach, not looking for food or anything, flying because their bones are hollow and their weight allows for flight.

It’s like having a plate of delicious food, but your jaws are wired shut, and the smell, and hunger, are killing you but you can’t do anything about it, except feel like prying your jaws open, only to find your hands are shackled as well, and it makes you even more mad, because you want to write, but the words won’t form coherent sentences.

Mad that you know why birds can fly; hollow bones and powerful muscles, but the words won’t come to you, that you have tasty food you can’t eat.

When you have nothing to write about, successful and established writers (those whose books spend weeks at the top of best-selling lists and who have legions of fans hanging on their every word) advice to take a break.

Go out, see things, feel things, breathe the popcorn or pine cones in the air, see people holding hands, lovers arguing, children wailing for dolls.See masses of people, listen to radio adverts, watch clever TV ads, create things from play dough, and look at pictures of snow in Kenya, you know, anything to get away from the block.

Then you turn on the TV, and nothing clever in the form of TV ads is forthcoming, and all the adverts do is make you feel like gorging your eyes out because of how cringe-worthy they are.

A while later, lying in bed, you think about the albatross. Your network is poor, so google is too slow, and you don’t have too much information about the bird. You imagine a large bird with a huge wingspan, with a long, sturdy beak, (or is it sturdy, long beak, the poor network really needs to get sorted) you imagine it crack open nuts, prey’s eggs and if it was a soft drink enthusiast, cans of soda.

You imagine sleeping in trees, all the while looking out for animals to which an albatross seems tasty enough to climb trees for. The long days it spends flying around, in a pack, making noises, no school, no goals, no mathematics, and no transport costs. Just nuts and bugs, and scenic views of the country, (although what good is scenery without Instagram?)

You’d love the idea of being an albatross, because there would be no bird Instagram, no haughty celebrities, no birds flaunting expensive drinks and clothes, no females showing bodies that would have male albatross crashing into trees gazing into phones.

For an Albatross life revolves around cool breezes, migrations, feeding, looking out for predators, mating season, and two-legged creatures cutting down trees and forcing moves.

Writers block is frustrating; it’s like being unwell without a doctor’s note to prove your illness. It frustrates, it annoys, it lowers esteem, but who would think about albatross, guess facts, judge TV ads and be a keen observer if it wasn’t for it? My bet isn’t on an albatross.

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