Invictus

Photo: Yahoo! Movies

I have many things to say about the Clint Eastwood movie, Invictus. But today, the only thing I want to talk about from that film is the role of literature in marshalling individual and communal efforts towards something heroic.

As always, the Nelson Mandela we see on screen is nothing short of a Titan. Even with grey hair, bent gait, and wobbly knees, his charisma is evident as he puts his country in order. In the midst of the politics, he shares tea with rugby team captain Francois Pienaar, where we first hear of Madiba’s memory of the William Ernest Henley poem, the eponym of the movie. Clearly, it has inspired him to take hold of his destiny and lead his people. Mandela himself has spoken and written many words that have inspired countless more individuals to seek greatness.

It troubles me that so many words these days are wasted on attacking each other rather than on building up. Many books are churned out that do nothing more than kill time but do not kill the inconsequential in us. I suppose, as a publisher, I’m always on the lookout for a book, a poem that’s more than just an individual’s rant against the world. While those rants are essential sometimes, surely we have more facets to our human makeup than just that.

Maybe this week, I’ll get to read a new Invictus, hidden in somebody’s journal. The Lord knows, we can do with some lofty-themed writing amidst the banality and hopelessness around us.

The Great Kenyan Novel

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As a publisher, it would be my joy to wake up one day to the fully realised great Kenyan novel — one that is not identified with just one particular ethnic community or written by a non-Kenyan. I’d like to read a story, not of an exoticised equatorial country teeming with flora and fauna, but of a society with characters recognisably based on real but archetypal individuals.

I imagine an epic work of fiction that encompasses generations and captures the immense backdrop of history of which Kenya is rich. I want to see how its heroes emerge and how its villains fall away. I want to read a narrative that galvanises the nation into action to preserve itself and not just to survive but to live.

I’d like to believe that the time is soon coming for this to happen because Kenya needs to take its rightful place in the company of nations that inspire.

Gifts of Books

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When I went back to Manila for Christmas, strewn alongside some shirts and other goodies for my family and friends were books for my sister, my niece, my BFF, and my goddaughter. I’m not in the publishing industry for nothing. I truly believe that books are some of the very best gifts I could give people I care for. They nourish the mind and soul. They open up our lives to great adventures from the comfort of our settees on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

For my sister, I bought a newly minted coffee-table book of watercolour paintings of East African birds. She loved it, of course. After all, she herself is a watercolourist. I can’t wait for her to open her own one-woman show.

For my little tadpole of a niece, I bought a set of three books of Kenyan animal tales: a crafty chameleon, a hungry hippo, and a tricky tortoise. But they were well-produced books: beautiful illustrations, clean binding, well-written text. Only drawback for me on those ones was the fact that they were written by a mzungu and printed in the UK. (Where oh where are the Kenyan writers and publishers?) I could have bought other children’s books by local publishers, but I was aiming for quality. Sadly, I was hard-pressed finding it among the local ones I saw on the shelves. Maybe there are some coming up this year. I hope.

Then for my BFF, I bought a book by a wonderful Ugandan writer that was short-listed for the Caine Prize. That was a joy to do because I really support her. If she hadn’t left Nairobi at the time I was ready to leave for Manila, I’d have asked her to autograph it. I’m looking forward to more literary works from this writer soon.

As for my goddaughter. Ah! That princess. I bought her a large-sized book retelling the story of Owen and Mzee, the odd hippo-tortoise couple down at the Kenyan coast.

I’m glad that I have people in my intimate circle who love books as much as I do. They reduce my headache of figuring out what to buy as gifts. ;-P But more than that, I just really love handing over a gift that keeps on giving even when it gets dog-eared, yellow, and torn. That’s how love and friendship is supposed to be, too.

Now Where Were We Again?

Makati City, the Philippines

My last post on this blog was early December 2009. Now don’t blame me for that. The last month of the year is always hectic. It was more so for me last year because I flew to the Philippines! Yey!

It wasn’t a trip to an exotic tropical island, though. It was just me making my way home. And home it was indeed. It was sanctuary for my worn-out body. I slept. I woke up and shuffled my way to the dining room to eat. Then I shuffled back to the bedroom to snore some more. When I did keep my eyes open for more than an hour, I was in the entertainment room, watching movies I never had a chance to watch in Kenya. So, yes, call me deprived, but at least I finally got to watch The Dark Knight, Iron Man, 300, and a host of other films. I perfected the art of the couch potato. I even acquired its general shape. ;-D

The very rare times I found myself walking around shopping malls, I was once again reminded of one thing I miss about my country: the abundance of local publications. By local publications, I don’t mean textbooks that only find relevance within the confines of academic institutions. I mean literary output for fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and drama. And none of that nonsense of self-help books. Well, there were more gossip magazines than I remembered from my last visit, but never mind those ones. At least, they do serve perfectly decent roles later as fish wrappers.

Back to books.

While I was there, I finally had the chance to collect my complimentary copies of “A Taste of Home”, which is an anthology of essays by Filipino expats from all over the globe, reminiscing about food from the Philippines. (I’ll talk a bit more about this next time.) I also bought the two new volumes of “Negosyo”, which is a series of books compiling success stories of Filipino entrepreneurs. They received a wonderful welcome from the first volume, which I had with me from way back 2007. If I had all the money in the world, I’d have bought everything in sight and not cared about paying for extra baggage weight.

Since returning to Kenya, I haven’t been to any bookshop yet. Well, I already know what to expect anyway: the same old, same old books that I’ve seen from last year. Maybe this year, we can make a difference. I’m hoping to check in on my workshoppers from last year. Maybe they will have a manuscript for me to read this time. And maybe we can launch a collection this first quarter. Let me hope.

Swimming with (Absent) Turtles

Sunrise on the Indian Ocean

I think I’ve mentioned twice already on this blog that I have a deep affinity for the sea. It’s not just my place of rest; it’s my space for writing. When I finally had a chance to run away to the northern coast of Kenya for three days last week, I came back with a tan, a rested mind, and so much more.

Below is a note I first posted on my Facebook wall. I decided to share it here because it was a meaningful retreat.

RANDOM OBSERVATIONS ON LIFE, LOVES, AND LICHEN ON THE INDIAN OCEAN

When your holiday begins on a daily Bible reading that calls you God’s child and ends on a verse about all things working together for good, then you know that that brief interlude isn’t just a blip on the monitor of your life. It’s supposed to be meaningful, so pay attention.

While you love Mount Kenya for its physical challenge and the Maasai Mara for its wildlife, you’ll always be passionate about the sea because it stretches into infinity in every direction.

If you float past corals, pretending to be a submarine about to smash against a massive trench, you can really have more fun with yourself.

When the beach boy says that he has a moray eel to show you, that’s not necessarily code for something else.

Learn to live with the fact that because you’re a foreigner, a woman in a two-piece swimming costume, and alone, you attract beach boys like honeycombs attract bears. Be ready to be pawed at within seconds of setting foot on the shore. “Usisumbue” is a very useful sentence to use against their annoying advances. (To non-Swahili speakers: Don’t disturb.)

Waiters actually observe you, when you don’t take advantage of your all-inclusive holiday package and drink yourself to a stupor. Their brave supervisor might muster the courage to say something like “You’re a good girl.”

The waterfalls of sweat pouring down your face in the middle of a rainy night is your body vainly trying to keep you cool.

You should buy more than one disposable underwater camera, so that the instant your first one clicks on the last frame, you won’t feel like the fisherman trying to convince others about “the big ‘un that got away”, especially when it is true that a grouper DID just pop out of a crevice — and holy guacamole! Was that grouper huge: three-quarters as big as your thigh and as long as your leg, from crotch to mid-calf.

It’s wonderful and bliss to vegetate on a bed surrounded by kalachuchi, with Enya on your Nokia E65 stereo earphones, sunshine playing peekaboo through tree branches, two glasses of iced tea on your thatched umbrella table, and the waves flirting with the shore as your foreground.

Boogie boards are toys from hell. They pump you full of adrenaline and you don’t pay until midnight, tossing and turning on your bed, trying to figure out how the heck you’re supposed to sleep when your back is the bass drum of some heavy-metal band.

You become a lifelong devotee of the Indian Ocean because you’ve not had any nasty stings from plankton.

Sea urchins provide maximum enjoyment by not making an appearance until the last day of your holiday and only to wave good-bye.

It’s possible to forget the pain throbbing on your lower back, when you’re staring at the Coral Gardens.

Google Maps on your mobile does keep track of your whereabouts and tells you that you are indeed in Watamu. Not quite paradise but getting there.

When you plan to adopt a turtle nest, you must give advance notice and not do it on the hour of your airport shuttle departure. The person-in-charge doesn’t always hand over, when he leaves for two days, so you’ll start feeling grumpy that you couldn’t do something nice for the nature you love.

“Me time” truly doesn’t have an agenda to follow. It’s just about you reconnecting with yourself.

Clearing the Mind of Clutter

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In the two years since Master Publishing started as a business, I’ve not had a single month of inactivity. It’s either I had been in the middle of an ongoing contract or just about ready to sign a new one. Research. Writing. Editing. Proofreading. Design. Training. Consulting. These were the to-dos that filled my days (and, very often, even nights). Clients talked about me to others and so more people came knocking on my door.

But even good things truly have to come to an end. Very soon, as soon as my current crop of contracts are finished, Master Publishing will no longer be involved in prepress work (research to design). Instead, I will train people to do that, in the hope that what they learn will be a life and professional skill that can take them a good distance. After all, there’s a growing need for great writers, editors, and designers in the publishing market. We’re just having a shortfall of the real deals.

What I’m really saying is that I hope to streamline the work of Master Publishing and to pave the way for the creation of a publishing school. That’s what I meant when I wrote the title, “Clearing the Mind of Clutter”. Master Publishing is not quite closing down, just paving the way for the new breed of publishing people to rise up and take their rightful place. I’ll still do the publishing consultancy as well. It’s just another facet of the training/schooling that must be offered to everybody who wants to listen and learn.

Next week, I’ll be offline for some days in order to energise and prepare for the big push. Hopefully, 12 months from now, there will be a semblance of a school already. Any takers?

Another chapter begins.

Writer’s Block

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I am not in a happy place today, in my role as writer. I’m trying to clear my writing backlog, so I can move on to new things, but I’m stuck. My mind is as blank and as black as the computer screen above. You might wonder, “So how come you’re able to blog?” Well, blogging is like breathing, so it comes out effortlessly. But writing books?!

And it’s not even like I’m trying to do everything else but write. I’ve deliberately sat down in front of my laptop today to do nothing but write. All in vain. I ended up doing a different set of backlog work: editing. That came out easily enough. I’ve just recently accepted to use the tracking changes of MS Word, so my screen is currently filled with multicoloured lines, words, and arrows.

I’m usually great at dishing advice and suggestions when it comes to writing. But today is very different because this writer’s block I’m experiencing is almost a real weight on my brain. When I stare at the screen, waiting for my Muse to set me on fire, all I see are pixels. And I know that the more I force it, the likelier I will hurt my neurons.

Best way to overcome writer’s block? I’ll just have to call it a day and give up. Today is not the day to work with words. Maybe tomorrow.