The Creative Process

Or, it is not easy coming up with this shit.

Not as easy as some people make it. Some people just look out of the window and a vibrant, wondrous world, bursting as it is with light and colour  instantly inspires them to spin enchanting tales. About onions, for example. Other people get drunk and let their fingers tango over the keyboard and the result is yet another masterpiece. Some people just exist, like Cheri, Minty, et al.    

I will not even try to make light of the magic that creates Iwaya.

But the thing is, these people make it look easy. It’s not easy for every one. 

If I may be allowed a moment of navel gazing, and I surely may, it isn’t that easy coming up with a blog post three times a week. Of all the hornets buzzing in my head, which one, oh, which one, if captured and squeezed, will ooze out an amusing post of innard-juice? 

You see what I mean? That is the kind of image I come up with by reflex. I can’t publish that sort of thing. I have to sort and sift and search and try to pick the choicest globule of hornet abdomen goo to offer.

And even then I do it tentatively. I approach you with nerves wracked, fingers trembling slightly, transmitting the vibration through the tray, filling the air with a rattling sound. There is a ring of sweat dampening my collar and my knees are jelly.

Because I am scared shitless that someone might think it is fake.

Like, maybe Sylvie Owori and Brenda Nanyonjo are having lunch with …umm… Edith Mutesi of Record TV at Café Pap and one of them decides to use the computer hotspot facility to google themselves. (I don’t know about Brenda, but I am sure Sylvia does, and Edith should do it often). Then they land on this blog.

And then they retch onto their tuna melt sammiches and retch again, in a projectile fashion this time, onto the cappuchino lattes mochas of the yuppie clique on the other table, because they have been so revolted by my sentence construction and how jagged and dischordant my pacing is and how my paragraphs are full of anachronisms, not to mention the tonal imbalances, that it makes them sick to the stomach.

What if one of them says: “Shit. This guy is like Sagara.”

But you know, devastating as that may be, there is a place I can go for comfort. Sniff. 

It’s called Rev

Kyokka all these marbles.

28 thoughts on “The Creative Process

  1. Eh, Navel gazing?

    “Choicest globule of hornet abdomen goo” True true, u can’t this shiz up.
    Gwe, I had to use a dictionary to understand your post bulungi.

  2. I had to look up anachronism just in case I am guilty of that. Then tonal imbalances. I don’t know what that is but I feel as if oba I am guilty of that also.

  3. uuuggghhh! Baz, this is an official complaint. I have been scouring the face of the earth looking for a contact telephone number for Hot 100. i called up my influential friends, even read like 3 directories-those of the 2000′s, because they were not born yet in the 90′s and as a result do not even play said decade’s music- anyway, so i checked in the directories and failed to get the number! so i think! internet! and then it hits me. Baz once provided his dear readers with a number they could call to get to lady bizzle on air. so i hit wordpress, found the bizzle post, got the digits and dialed…

    09029000601???????????????????????

  4. U’ve got good imagery boy. Like the “Of all hornets……”. Nice. U shd write a book and Lit students stop being bored with that “Sons and Lovers”. That book was a pain.

  5. awwww, Baz, come here for a big hug. Of course you don’t have to blog everyday if you can’t. We only expect you to because you can. Whoever insinuated a likeness between you and that Saggy needs to have their head examined

  6. Sigh. Bask. Confidence rises. Head swells. Cockiness and arrogance. Sudden thought occurs: Oh shit. What will I write next! Confidence plummets.

    I should just be like Ivan and fill a jerrycan with Tusker malt.

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