Bad Writer 1

Back in July, I self published the first of a series and it got panned. The reviews were harsh and even though I tried to keep positive, it took a toll on my ability to write. Well, to be honest, I approached the project out of a business mind set instead of because I liked story or the characters. Perhaps that was reflected in the book and because of that the reviews were not too encouraging. The only thing is I had three more books in the series, I was also working on another series in that genre but after the reviews for the second book, I just hit a wall.

In hitting a wall, I felt out of it. Writing was a form of expression and yet I felt that I couldn't write, that I was a hack, but this is what I want to do for a living. Then I remembered what a friend had said about writing what she knew, so I decided to write what I knew and because I was in a dark place, the following story is, well, dark. But I must admit, it is better than the commercial novellas I've self published. 

I don't have to push and pull the characters around, this character kinda just flowed. She's not supposed to be likable, she's not even good but she is walking her path. She is leading me back to the characters I want to write, the women who buck against the norms and dares them to fight. They are twisted and different, and I like exploring them. No, I'm not entering the realm of Dean Koontz, but I am writing something worth reading.

Below is the beginning, it's raw, unedited but at least I'm getting it out there. Enjoy.


Walking along the side street, I stilled my mind, leaving my senses open to take in everything. Shoving my thoughts away like disobedient children who refuse to be silent. In this moment, I didn't want to interpret what I sensed, I just wanted to take it in.

As I walked, the sun's rays cast sharp shadows out of the buildings painted lively colours. In the distance, the ting, ting, ting of a steel pan could be heard. A stark contrast from a few blocks away where a street vendor blasted the latest tunes, be it soca, dance hall, pop or church music.

A breeze rushes by, licking the beads of sweat from my brow and sending my skirt to billow around me. I didn't hold it down because I knew no one would look, no one would see. In my world, I was invisible.

I was one of many, I was another cog in the machine and no one really noticed the brown girl dressed in conservative clothing. Why notice her with relaxed hair scraped back into a ponytail when they could eyeball the butter skin good gyal with red hair pinned up high? Why notice the woman with no makeup when the one with purple lips and green eyes catches everyone's attention?

Why notice me when there really isn't anything about me to notice? In a way that is what makes me dangerous, you don't see me coming until I'm standing over you making your neck smile.


This will be posted every Sunday 'til the end. Until next Sunday.

Image Credit : Imageback