Making space to write was one of the reasons behind my move to freelance.

So far, it hasn’t been working out too well. I’ve got a great method where I write down all the things I have to do, and then proceed to do none of them. However, today was a little different.

There’s been some talk of names abound and I feel I should share with you that the name Shaira means poetess.

Here follows what may or may not be part of my working draft for “The Daughter of No One Famous“.

…and thank the Almighty you did not emerge from her.

(An unedited excerpt from “The daughter of no one famous”)

Under the grey fleece of sunset, the muezzin called out for Maghrib.
She hated this time of day. It was lead on her brain, oppressive and dim.

The rent money was gone.
Sakinah-bhai pulled back the decaying lace curtain to look outside. The street was still empty, Razi was nowhere to be seen.
That the rent money was gone wasn’t her only trouble, it was how it came to be ‘gone’. How would she explain it to Razi without that twit passing judgement and running off to tell her mother and sisters?
Stupid woman. Stupid woman. Her hands brushed against the tasbeeh on the sidetable. She picked it up and proceeded to thumb each prayer bead towards her. Stupid woman. Stupid woman. It’s what happens when you mix in the wrong circles. You try to impress, fit in. And you fail.
And you lose all the bloody rent money.

I am ambivalence.

marianna qi
* Age: 27
* Gender: Female
* Astrological Sign: Libra
* Zodiac Year: Sheep
* Occupation: hedonist

There was another crazy person at the door.

This one had a pink plastic garden flamingo in a sleeper embrace under his right arm, while he authoritively left-palmed a faux-cheetahfur bound filofax. Looking very much like a sunday morning tv-evangelist with a god-struck devotee and a well-thumped bible, Alfred thought, squinting cautiously through the peekhole.

Yesterday’s one was an attractive brunette wearing electric-blue Manolohs.