Esohe Williams. The name had a nice ring to it, she mused, gazing down at the glittering, 3-carat rock adorning her slender finger. Energetic music – typically Nigerian, expectedly loud, deliberately dance-inducing – reverberating from every corner of the large hall began to recede as her reflections drew her inward. That teddy bear lover of hers had brought it along, unknown to her, on their trip. “I was going to ask you until you said yes, my love.” He stated when she finally let him slip the jewel, he’d been keeping all year following her countless rejections, onto her finger. How ironic. At the time of her acceptance, he hadn’t asked! She might not have recalled every detail concerning the twins’ birth but one moment stuck. The moment she regained consciousness, hours after the babies were out, when she was back on the hospital bed and beginning the slow recovery from the emergency Caesarian section surgery. Her eyes fluttered opened and the first person they fell on was Eddie, parked in the chair closest to the bed; one of his hands gently clasping hers as he whispered with his sister, Ade beside him, who noticed Esohe’s opened lids and nudged her brother. Before either of them could utter a word, she spoke, faintly at first. “Yes, Eddie.” He straightened and drew even closer, his tired eyes narrowing with concern. He hadn’t caught her words. “What was that, darling?” He asked softly. Her voice gained strength and volume by the second. “Yes, Eddie.” She repeated. “Yes. Yes, sweetheart – “ His expression cleared as clarity set in which was abruptly interrupted by Ade, who was still out of the loop. “Should I get the doc – ?” She began to ask but her brother’s hand gesture silenced her mid-sentence. He stooped low as Esohe continued. “Yes to being Mrs. Williams. Yes to you, my lo-.” He didn’t let her finish as his face dissolved into a smile, and closed the gap between them in a kiss which length and passion saw Ade giving them all the privacy. Three weeks had passed”more

Man proposes. Life disposes. In my case, woman disposes…, you get my drift, don’t you? The other day on Facebook, I saw a video with the man in it counting: “1, 2,3 – “, his fingers ticking off one book after the other in a pile balanced on a chair. “- 22, 23, 24 – “. Tick. Tick. Tick. “ -50, 51, 52. One for every week of the yea -. “ I clicked it close, a frown gathering on my forehead. I knew where he was headed with all those books and refused to acknowledge the nagging thought that I had, once again, fallen short of my target number of books per month and, consequently, annually. So, I shelved my tallying exercise until I could no longer procrastinate on it. Until well…today. Here’s my count for the year about to end. • Treasure Island – Robert Louis Stevenson Ashamed to confess that I’ve never read this classic. Finally did when it was one of the recommended reads for my son. Replete with photos too. • Steal like an artist – Austin Kleon A trade book to set me in the mood for my writing year. • Creativity: The Perfect Crime – Phillippe Petit As insane and delightful as his acts of tight-rope walking • Wake-up: It’s time for your sleeping pill – Robert • New Ways to Kill Your Mother – Colin Toibin I was stacking up on the trade books like I was running out of time. • After the Darkness – Sydney Sheldon First novel of the year from one of my favourite fiction authors • Prisoner of Birth – Jeffrey Archer Swiftly followed by another by yet another favourite of mine. Second time around reading this but couldn’t let it pass me by. • Digital branding – Daniel Rowles Back to the trade world. We live in a digital everything age now, don’t we? Let me improve on my digital footprints somewhat • The Subtle Art of not giving a F**k! – Mark Manson • Born on a Tuesday – El Nathan • Sycamore Row –”more

First thought: my worst ever. And to think I began prepping for this year’s writeathon from the second week of October. I completed a new story, sent it off and took a break from my Sunday routine to rest, recuperate and be in the zone for NaNoWriMo. By the end of October, I could be found outlining scenes for the plot I planned to focus on come November. Every day of this month would be spent either fleshing out previously outlined scenes or mapping outlines for subsequent scenes. Outline. Flesh out. Repeat. Every day in November. Until I finished the story which I began three years ago on my first NaNoWriMo run. In hindsight: it’s not all abysmal. Admittedly, the story in focus barely got my attention. I must have scribbled about 1,500 words or less about it. But 7,000+ words went to a totally different story, diary style, which had been swirling in my mind since september. Even jotted down a rough outline of it. Another 2,000 words each made up two different short stories which came out of nowhere (the inner recesses of my mind, perhaps). About 1,500 words each for three different episodes, of a series I wrote last year and planned to continue in the new year, also featured this month. In total, I wrote something in the neighbourhood of 17, 000 words, most of which weren’t about the targetted story for NaNoWriMo. Barely reaching the halfway mark of the required 50, 000 words. But feeling great with myself regardless. It’s the most I’ve ever written in a space of a month, and, notably, during, NaNoWriMo. An indication of my writing growth in the last 72 months. When I began NaNoWriMo three years ago, I struggled to fill out three pages, let alone write 1,660 words daily. I wasn’t even writing daily at the time. Another struggle I hoped to conquer as I attempted the writeathon for the first time. Looking back now, I am a far cry from the writer I used to be. My laurels include nailing the daily writing routine to a T;”more

21st Century Writing – Donald Maas Girl, wash your face – Rachael Hollis Confessions of a Surgeon – Paul A. Ruggieri, M.D. 27 Fiction Writing Blunders and How Not To Make Them – James Scott Bell.