Tag Archive | creative writing

Excerpt from ‘The Green Fridge’.

‘The Green Fridge’ is the last story in my collection, ‘Walking On Eggshells’.

 I wanted to write about a marriage where the love had fizzled out, and where the couple could no longer articulate to each other why they were unhappy. They would rather focus on mundane activities, such as buying a new fridge. 

‘Walking On Eggshells’ is available on Amazon and Okada Books.

Please get your copies and share this post with your friends.

Happy reading!

Ivie.

The Success Gate.

img_6033

 

After wandering aimlessly for so long, I sit, and I wait.

 
I long for God to comfort me, to hold me, to placate.

 
To forgive me of all my shortcomings, and hope he does not berate.

 
For I have fallen so far from grace, sometimes I am full of hate.

 
I am not so strong anymore; I am now so delicate.

 
I want to be full of endless joy, and not be so irate.

 
I want my life to be very simple; I do not want to complicate.

 
I want Him to take charge of my destiny; I do not want to leave things to fate.

 
I want to fulfill my potential soon; I do not want to be late.

 
I want to walk with him, hand-in-hand, through the open success gate.

 

Written By

©Ivie M. Eke 2017

 

It Was Just A Crush.

 

In retrospect,

The jokes weren’t even that funny,

In fact, now that I think about them,

They were really just so corny.

 

Every utterance,

Every word that was spoken,

Seemed filled with light,

Able to heal what had been broken.

 

The slightest touch,

Seemed to awaken my senses,

And made me long for

The most wonderful circumstances.

 

An innocent glance,

Set my heartbeat in motion,

Making me wonder when it happened;

When did I sip from the love potion?

 

In the end,

It was all but a dream,

The feelings faded away,

And my heart sang a calming hymn.

 

©Ivie M. Eke 2016

 

 

I Love Music: The Usher Raymond Edition.

 

usher_-_u_remind_me_-_cd_cover

Usher Raymond. Image: wikipedia.org

Usher Raymond (popularly known simply as Usher) is an American RnB singer and all round entertainer.

 

I believe the first song of his which I ever heard was ‘U make me wanna’ way back in 1997 or 1998 (my memory is quite fuzzy). When I watch that music video now, I am struck by how young-looking he was, and how great the quality of his vocals was at that age (he was about 19 years old at the time).

 

Did I mention that he’s a very handsome man?

 

 

Sometimes I wish that my life was an Usher Raymond video where I would do nothing but execute complicated dance moves, make sexy faces and sing passionately about love won or lost.

 

My favourite songs of Usher’s are from his ‘8701’ album which he released in 2001. I however still enjoy listening to his more current songs, and the video for his song ‘No Limit’ is a current favourite of mine.

 

Here’s a poem I wrote using Usher Raymond song titles (the song titles are in bold font). I imagined him saying these words to a pretty lady…

Happy reading!

***

 

My Boo…You’re such a good kisser.

U remind me that there’s no limit.

I was wondering…can you help me?

I was so caught up in my confessions.

And when I reached the climax of moving mountains,

I had to focus on taking things nice and slow.

So now, I want to make love in the club.

But I know you’re a bad girl; you’ll just let me burn.

You don’t have to call, but when you do a U-turn,

And if I want to,

We can still twork it out

And start a new flame.

©Ivie M. Eke 2016

 

***All videos are from youtube.com***

Despair.

There is such despair in her,

So much darkness and sorrow.

She’s been thrown to the wolves,

Bleakness seems to hover over tomorrow.

If you have some joy in your pocket

Could it be hers to borrow?

It would light her up from her insides,

Her brow would no longer be furrowed.

The despair would trip and tumble downhill,

Having been shot by her smile’s arrow.

©Ivie M. Eke 2016

Short Story: An Ordinary Day (Part 1).

Mildred looked up from sweeping the sitting room to watch the forced banter on yet another American Talk Show. The four women on the show’s panel were of varying ethnic backgrounds. The show’s producers were obviously pandering to all sorts of demographics, she mused.

She listened for a while as the women talked over each other on the topic of spousal cheating. She eventually got bored and put the TV on mute. Watching the women gesturing wildly with no accompanying sounds amused her immensely.

Mildred finished sweeping the living room and began to mop the floor; this was her usual Saturday morning ritual. She loved the brown floor tiles which resembled wooden boards and she whistled tunelessly as she completed her chore.

She was happy that there was power that morning, so she could put on the ceiling fan as she worked. Even then, the Abuja heat still prevailed, and before long her shorts and grey T-shirt were soaked with sweat.

Mildred suddenly heard her phone ringing from where it was plugged in the kitchen. She removed her patterned scarf from her head and used it to dab at the sweat on her forehead, before shoving it into her pocket. She then picked up the mop and bucket and got to the kitchen just as the phone stopped ringing.

The display on the phone’s screen showed ‘one missed call from Mrs. B.’

It was her Mother-in-Law.

Mildred smiled.

The phone suddenly began to ring again, startling her. She answered it on its third ring.

‘Hi, Ma. How are you today?’

There was a slight pause. To Chief Mrs. Busayo, her daughter-in-law saying ‘Hi, Ma’ instead of ‘Good Morning, Ma’ was an offense almost equivalent to murder.

‘Mildred. Where is my son? I have been trying to reach him but he is not answering his phone’.

‘Oh, really? Well, Dotun is somewhere in the house, Ma. I will ask him to call you back’.

There was a muffled sound from upstairs which Mildred ignored.

Chief Mrs. Busayo muttered something in Yoruba about poorly brought-up children and Mildred smiled but said nothing. She was Igbo but she actually understood Yoruba very well, a fact which her Mother-in-Law was oblivious to.

Suddenly losing interest in the conversation, Mildred shouted ‘Bye!’ and ended the call while her mother-in-law was still talking. The thought of the shock on the woman’s face tickled Mildred deep in her stomach, and she did a small dance to mark the moment.

When she was tired of dancing, she switched off her phone. She then cleaned the surfaces in the kitchen and decided that it was time for her breakfast. It was almost 10am now; just the right time for an indulgent meal, she thought.

Mildred decided that she wanted scrambled eggs, and proceeded to prepare the meal. She used the electric side of the cooker since the gods of electricity had blessed her that morning with some power. Gas was getting too expensive for her liking.

When she was done with her cooking, she dished the eggs onto a white plate and placed it on a green tray. She placed a fork on the tray, aligning it so that it was perfectly parallel to the plate. She then poured herself a glass of orange juice and added it to the tray.

The house was quiet, with just the hum of the refrigerator and the deep freezer piercing through her thoughts.

Satisfied that the kitchen was tidy, Mildred picked up her tray and carried it upstairs to her bedroom, balancing the tray on her waist as she opened and closed the door.

She walked to the bed, stepping over her husband who was lying face down on the floor, unconscious. She noticed the white mug on the floor beside him, now empty and lying on its side.

She was impressed that the mug had not cracked when it fell.

Mildred stared at Dotun, intrigued that even though he was well over six feet tall, he now seemed shrunken in her eyes from where she sat. He looked so small lying there in his singlet and boxer shorts.

He looked harmless.

‘Your mother said you should call her as soon as possible’, Mildred informed him, though she was not really expecting a response.

She picked up her fork and began to eat her breakfast, savouring the tastiness of her meal.

The bedroom was fragrant with the smell of scrambled eggs.

Written by

©Ivie M. Eke 2016.

You Are My Dream.

 
You are a dream,

Loitering in my subconscious,

Floating,

Waiting,

For me to awaken,

When I would be filled with fleeting contentment.

 

I want to admire you from afar,

To dwell in your mystery,

To ponder on the unknown.

 

I do not want to come too close,

No,

I will keep my distance,

As I watch you,

As you burn hot like a flame in the depths of my mind.

 

Fear mixed with longing grip me tightly,

Rendering me immobile,

As I watch you from the outside.

 

I will not come close.

You will remain a dream to me.

 

©Ivie M. Eke 2016.

Why Did I Start Writing?

img_5646

 

Hey, Everyone!

 

I recently thought about the pressures we sometimes put on ourselves as writers to meet up with imagined expectations.

 

Aside from heralding the countdown to the Christmas holidays, November is known in writing circles as National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) or National Blog Post Month (NaBloPoMo). Aside from the cumbersome acronyms, there has been a lot of debate on whether the writing process is helped or hindered by writing under such strict timelines.

 

Last November, I took part in NaBloPoMo and published a new post every day that month. I had just started this blog the previous month and it was an opportunity for me to see how serious I was about my writing and to build up my reader base.

 

Even though I enjoyed NaBloPoMo, I knew that I was not likely to take part in it again. I have since created a consistent writing schedule that is convenient for me and which does not compromise my quality of writing.

 

I thought about taking part in NaNoWriMo this year, but I decided against it. The thought of producing well over a thousand words a day was too daunting, not because I couldn’t do it, but I just didn’t feel like I would produce my best work (I applaud everyone who has taken it on!). I have spent November doing a course on writing and storytelling, and I’ve been steadily building up the structure for my novel. I feel very pleased with what I have done so far, and even though I am unlikely to reach the 50,000-word count proposed by NaNoWriMo, I would have made much more progress than where I was this time last month.

 

I count that as a small victory.

 

Also, every few weeks, I take some time to do an audit of all that I have written during that period. I assess the quality of what I have written and think about how to improve my work. I also think about how successful I have been with promoting my work on Social Media, through my Email Newsletter and in my personal interactions. I have found that I have made some progress, especially with telling people that I am a writer.

 

I try to follow-up on the writing competitions which I have entered and the article pitches which I have sent out for consideration. I used to feel very stressed out when competition deadlines pass without any feedback, or when I don’t get any responses to my emails with article pitches. These days, I just shrug, cross those things of a list, and continue the process.

 

I know the above might sound tedious to some people, but I must say that focusing on the processes above really makes me happy!

After all, what’s the point of writing if it stresses me out instead of lifting my spirits?

 

Writing has become very important to me this year, mainly because it has given my life a whole new sense of purpose. However, it is a sense of purpose that is cushioned by my own contentment, not by what others might assume I should be doing as a writer.

 

Writing has made my life extraordinary, with ideas flowing through my mind faster than I can write them down. If I think about all the stress which has left me, the contentment I feel when I get positive feedback and the slight confusion I experience when I stumble on a poem which I wrote on a piece of paper months ago which actually looks very good, I know that I am on the right track.

 

Perhaps with time, I will be able to make a full-time career from writing. Until then, I will enjoy the smile which writing puts on my face and all the adventures and experiences which come along with it.

 

Thanks for reading.

Ivie.

Classically Ivy.

 

©Ivie M. Eke 2016.

 

P.S I’m also working on another short story series, so watch this space!