Hell yeah. In fact it's all I wanna do. I have a blogpage but it's empty. That's so cuz I don't wanna ever miss a day when I start it. Plus I'm paranoid about stuff I write. I would very much like to write for a publication as long as it free and not laced with some kinda propaganda. Your turn to holla back, Beaubrains.

Here's some more of the book. I hope y'all don't bar any wicked comments. Tell me as it is.



Cafe Contessa was a very charming place. It was largely so because of its homey appearance. From the authentic wool rugs of many colours to the sofas that are quite new but sport an old look. The space in the cafe was large and broad with the sofas scattered all over in no apparent order. Most of the sofas had TVs and PS3 game consoles in front of them. There were computers with flat screens and conservatively ‘tucked in’ keyboards and CPUs. There was a serving area where beverages and confectionery could be bought. The lighting wasn’t glaring in the unconcerned way obtainable in modrn offices. Instead it was cool and even. Cafe Contessa embodies what a cybercafé was meant to be according to the dictionary. This was a favourite saying of the cafe owner, Maryam Lawanson.
Maryam was in many ways like her cafe. This is so because she designed the place herself. She was a very pretty girl and so with very little effort. Her beauty was subtle and never lost on anybody. It wasn’t the ‘in your face’ beauty archetypical of movie stars. She had lovely dimples and a smile that could break the heart of a psychopath. She always covers her hair but everybody imagines how fluidly it’d bounce if she freed it from her scarf. She was a slender girl of twenty-three and a graduate of Economics. Her real passion was baking, thus the cafe. She was an only child, born of a wealthy father who refused to marry after her mother died.
Maryam was now removing some freshly baked cookies from the oven.
‘Hmmmmn, ’ she said.
‘Hmmmmn is right’ said Victoria, one of her many friends.
‘I’m still waiting for the day when you’ll burn a good batch of cookies’ Ada, another one of her many friends, said jokingly.
‘Then be prepared to wait a very long time, girl’ replied Maryam.
Victoria and Ada often came to keep ‘poor lonely Maryam’ company but Maryam suspected they’d come anyway, ‘poor lonely Maryam’ or not.
‘Ada, could you arrange these cookies for display for me, please. I gotta go take a leak’
Ada threw her arms up and let them fall theatrically and said “When will I enter the pay roll around here? And who says ‘take a leak’ anymore?”
“Ada, you eat more cookies than I pay anyone around here.” Maryam called already almost at the restroom.
“Who, me?” Ada asked, already nibbling on a cookie.
Victoria who usually doesn’t talk much but is fond of delivering one-liners said “I don’t even know what to say. You’re a real piece of work though.”
The door bell rang. This meant that someone was either coming in or leaving. Maryam thought it was a nice touch to put in a ‘real door bell’ that sonorously announced anyone’s entry or exit. It was indeed a nice a touch. Victoria and Ada looked up inadvertently to see Jamal walking up towards them. They both inadvertently again adjusted their clothes.
“Hi girls” he said cheerily after he was done greeting the fellows who seemed to have a second home in the cafe.
“Hi Jamal” the girls said in unison.
“What have you both been up to? I don’t get to see very much of you guys anymore. What gives?”
“We could say the same about you, Jamal” said Ada taking the initiative, naturally. “We are here almost as much as Maryam is”
“Yeah, we just don’t seem to be here at the same time” Victoria added.
“Well, okay, whatever you say. By the way, where is Maryam?”
“There’s nothing ‘by the way’ about that question. We all know why you’re here, Romeo” Ada said chuckling.
Victoria shot her a disapproving look.
“What? It’s true!”
Victoria looked away embarrassed and looking to end the present line of discourse.
“Okay, let me rephrase that.” He clears his throat comically. “Maryam, Maryam, Where art thou, my Maryam”
“Here she is.”
They all looked in Maryam’s direction.
“Speak of the sibyl” said Victoria.
“What’s that? Sibyl? Don’t even tell me. I don’t wanna know”
“I hope it means something good, Vicky. So you guys have been gossiping about me, eh?”
“Don’t flatter yourself” Ada said.
Victoria had about had it with Ada’s leaking mouth. “Oh dear, I just remembered Ada and I are have to go to the salon”
“We are? But I, ” Ada started to protest but this time her brain was thinking faster than her mouth could talk. She caught on. “Oh yeah. How could I forget? We’ll see you guys later”
“Okay guys, take it easy.” Jamal said. “Be good now.”
Maryam just waved as the duo shuffled animatedly out of the cafe.
Jamal watched with amusement as they left. He wasn’t fooled by their theatrics but he was grateful for he really didn’t want them around.
“They always this wacky?”
“They try. Victoria’s Brain and Ada is Pinky. Only it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see through their antics”
“What’s up, buttercup? You missed me yet?”
“Only you can make a black woman blush, darling.”
Maryam was smiling broadly and her dimples were in the full glory. He was fond of calling her a lot of pet names. Jamal was staring at her intently, almost dreamily. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. He half-expected the world to come to a stop save him and Maryam like in the movie Big Fish.
“Jamal stop looking at me like that! Jamal?! Ja, ”
“Wha--. Did you notice that Ewan McGregor had bad teeth? Like Austin Powers.”
“What on earth has that got to do with anything?”
“Have I told you I love you today?”
“Not verbally, no. But in other ways, jeez, stop staring!”
“I do love you. You rock my world!”
“Why, thanks. I love you too. And you rock my cosmos. But keep the creepy gawp to yourself, okay!”
“Hey, it’s not like it’s my fault. Those dimples are entrancing.”
She smiled, like this was enough excuse and kissed him chastely on the cheek.
“I’d buy you a drink if it wasn’t already your place” Jamal continued.
“Well, you can take me out tonight. I’ll be closing up by six. And that’s, oh, forty-five minutes from now”
“Are you asking me out Miss Maryam Lawanson?” he asked feigning unbelief.
“Oh, indeed I am, Master Jamal Adams”
“Well then, since my thoughts on this issue are obviously forfeit, I’ll pick you up say seven-thirty? Hmmn?”
“Certainement” she said in passable French accent.
“Am I supposed to take a cue? You know I hate French food.”
“I didn’t know there were French restaurants in Abuja.”
“Guess not. I was just kidding. “
She punched his shoulder lightly and said “See you tonight then”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead and held her hand momentarily before taking his leave. The door bell loyally announced his exit.



Joan! Where'd you go? I really need your help here. Please. Pretty please with cherries on top.
Please ignore typos. Those I can handle. Check for grammer and construction and lexis and all that stuff you know about Joan.

@Bluespice. The savage thing was meant to throw u off my trail. I'm pretty sure I'm who you think/thought I am/was. And I'm not crazyboy. Jeez, my sobriquet is more pizzazz. I was tempted to post here with my real id but that'd give me away like a giant zit on Paris Hilton.


@Joan. You're impressed I'm taking ur criticism well? Are you kidding? I'm impressed you criticise so well. Too well if anything. I'm tipping my imaginary hat to you.

@Bluespice. The savage thing was meant to throw u off my trail. I'm pretty I'm who you think/thought I am/was. And I'm not crazyboy. Jeez, my sobriquet is more that just a sobriquet. I was tempted to post here with my real id but that'd give me away like a giant zit on Paris Hilton.


You're impressed I'm taking ur criticism well? Are you kidding? I'm impressed you criticise so well. Too well if anything. I'm tipping my imaginary hat to you.

@Bluespice. The savage thing was meant to throw u off my trail. I'm pretty I'm who you think/thought I am/was. And I'm not crazyboy. Jeez, my sobriquet is more that just a sobriquet. I was tempted to post here with my real id but that'd give me away like a giant zit on Paris Hilton.

@Bluespice. The savage thing was meant to throw u off my trail. I'm pretty I'm who you think/thought I am/was. And I'm not crazyboy. Jeez, my sobriquet is more that just a sobriquet. I was tempted to post here with my real id but that'd give me away like a giant zit on Paris Hilton.

First lemme tell you how grateful I am for such a detailed analysis. I'm unusually lucky u came. Unfortunately I'm just an amateur writer. I have absolutely no formal training whatsoever but I know this is no bar. Just makes the hill steeper but the hill's still surmountable. I made you a proposition on my thread. What do u think?

You sound mighty confident Bluespice. I'm a guy, yes, apparently. Girls rarely think savagely. I'm a lil curious who you think I am though.


@Joan, I can call you that right? I'm thinking about some sorta personal correspondence. You're the genuine article. You're actually in the business. As regards my story, it's just a rough draft. There'll be lots of fillers later on. So you may not bother with minor errors as I should be able to weed em out

Thanks Joan. I want HEAVY criticism of course. I'm at a threshold. I need to know if I cut it

Fair is fair. And since we're being frank I gotta say it's a juvenile story targeted at little kids. That doesn't mean it's badly written. I like the looks of it. Let's see where it goes.

I feel like revealing my real persona. This cloak and dagger thing is really unlike me

This here is a book I'm working on. I'm a regular user on nl but can't risk my rep. The story is disjointed and stuff. I'll decide how I wanna separate it into chapters later on. For now y'all just tell me what you think.



He looks dashing in his BMW coupe. He cruises the streets for the third time in the last half hour. Looking, searching, trying to find the right specimen. It’s a dark moonless night and it’s hard to draw attention. His car is black and unassuming in the darkness. But some of the girls still were starting to notice. They mistake his subtle pass for shyness or naïveté. Their undoing. At least for two of them.
‘They always are, the first time’ said one of the girls
‘Afterwards they become raving animals’ observed another. They both giggled.
The first girl, Betty, was very tall but still wore impossibly high heels. Her blouse was really not a blouse at all. She had on trousers that were literally a second layer of epidermis. How she managed to get into them, would probably defy laws of physics.
Betty’s friend, Regina, was shorter but didn’t go easier on the heels. She had on a mini-skirt barely containing her more than ample rump. As if that wasn’t enough cause for alarm, she had it slit almost halfway on both sides. She was wearing a low-cut jumper, displaying an enormous cleavage.
‘He’s sure to come around again,’ said Betty. ‘Then we’ll approach him and see if we can coax him out of his shell.’
‘Are you suggesting a tag team?’ Regina.
‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘No, no. No problem. He seems a big enough catch to reel in. Besides it’s getting late, and I still wanna show up on campus.’
‘Poor you. Why don’t you just try to-’
‘Look, here he comes again!’ interrupted Regina.
They both train their sights on the sleek black Beemer as it slowly makes its fourth pass on the dark road. The girls make their approach, parting ways to lean on either of the front windows.
The car came to a halt. Betty, on the driver’s side said, ‘Hi, sugar! Your car is handsome and so are you. What brings you both to these parts?’
He looked from one girl to the other and back again. The tall one might have been beautiful once, in another life, he thought, but the other one was out rightly ugly. But she did have a nice set of tits and they were on full display as she was leaning over his door. Two birds with one stone. That wasn’t his MO, but variety, they say, is the spice of life. He thought all this within two seconds.
‘There’s no one else here but me’ he replied mockingly bewildered.
‘She meant you and your car both’ Regina helped.
‘Oh, ok. Just cruising around town’ he replied with a knowing smile.
‘Oh really? Anything you might be looking for, this beautiful night?’ Betty again.
‘Not really. Anything you might wanna offer this beautiful night?’
It’s standard to talk cryptic, like this. Just in case some dirty cop wants to collect the proceeds for the night. But, she thought, this guy ain’t no cop.
‘Well, it’s my and Regina’s business to fulfil the wildest dreams or fantasies of our clients’ She said ‘fantasies’ in an extremely suggestive manner. It only made him more eager to end her life.
‘For free?’
‘Of course not, honey. Is there any free meal in this world anymore? Not in these parts I’m sure.’
Oh you’ll be free alright, he thought, you both.
‘How much are we talking about here?’
‘For you sweetie, ten grand. Apiece that is.’
‘It’ll be worth it’ Regina piped in.
Until now, Betty thought, she had been pretty content with giving the poor bloke eyefuls of her immense pair of kegs. Betty noticed again that he didn’t flinch when they mentioned the fee for their services. It made her suddenly regret not asking for more. Well she could always charge him for some other special service.
He didn’t flinch mainly because he could afford to throw away ten times that sum but also because he knew he really wasn’t going to pay any ten thousand apiece to anybody anyway.
‘Ok, we have a deal’ he said after making a show of contemplating the cost. ‘Get in the car, ladies, if you please. I have a room at the Purple Heart’
Regina’s and Betty’s eyes connected for a moment. They were both thinking ‘Jackpot’ in different languages. They slid into the car.
He decided to give them their first dose. ‘Sweets?’ he said extending a handful of expensive looking chocolate sweets. They both took two each. More than enough. Maybe there’ll be no need for subsequent doses. They always take the sweets he thought.
The BMW pulled out and was soon doing eighty kilometres per hour. ‘And what do they call you, sugar?’ Betty asked. Her voice had already begun to slurp.
‘Just call me Lover Boy’
Within minutes, the two prostitutes had fallen asleep. Lover boy smiled to himself. They are sleeping now but they’ll wake only to realise that they’re going into another kind of sleep. The type you never wake up from. Not in the real world they anyway. He felt smug with his play on words and the irony of the situation was not lost on him. ‘I am Lover Boy, sleek as a cat.’ He smiled to himself and drove into the night.


They were driving down to Tinapa, really to see what the fuss was all about more than anything else but nonetheless it’s going to be some family time. They looked like the finished article. The father driving, mother riding shotgun and three kids in the back.
They pulled over at a filling station and everybody voted for snacks. Everybody except Jamal. He acted aloof so that they’d have no ‘moral basis’ to ask him to get them. His plans were futile.
‘Jamal, would you be a darling, and get the stuff?’ his mother asked him. But it wasn’t really a question.
‘Oh, come on, mom! At least, I’m not eating anything. Why don’t you ask them?’ he replied gesturing at his sisters
‘Jamal, I told you not to say no to your mom, especially when she asks you nicely. Just so, you’ll remember next time, go get the stuff.’ His father handed him a thousand naira note. Jamal wanted to say something but thought better of it. That was always the drill with ultimately the same outcome, he thought. They’d get you angry and then punish you for getting angry by doing what got you angry in the first place. Sneaky bastards!
His sisters were looking straight ahead, trying to keep straight faces as they were brimming with laughter. But that was dangerous as it might change the tides, and they’ll soon be the ones doing the buying. He made a face at them and got out of the car. He passed by the station attendant, who smiled at him wielding his nozzle. Jamal didn’t smile back and trudged right to the store.
He was in the store and had almost collected everything when he saw some vinegar flavoured Pringles. He bought it because he knew his sisters infinitely preferred the peppered type but since they are absolute suckers for Pringles, they will still shove this one down thinking about what could have been. He chuckled. 1-1 he thought. He was about to pay for the items when he heard the first gun shot.


Another vehicle, a truck, actually had pulled up at the filling station. An unshaven, dishevelled fellow was at the wheel. He had a knife scar across one of his eyes. Rashad was about to pay for his fuel when he glanced at the guy in the truck and did a double take. The truck driver noticed.
‘Honey, that guy over there in the truck’ he was suddenly out of breath, ‘he is, he is’
‘Take it easy, dear. Take a deep breath and tell me what you need to tell me.’ She was getting scared but someone had to keep his head. Or her head, she thought, morosely. Besides the kids were beginning to become apprehensive.
‘He is the most-wanted man for the Bank massacres in Onitsha’, he finally blurted.
‘He’s Innocent Ajaga? The one they call the shape-shifter?’ she asked in a hushed tone brimming with urgency. He nodded impatiently and said, ‘I have to arrest him, I-‘
‘You don’t have to do squat! Don’t even think about it, Rashad,’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘Don’t you think about it even for a second’
‘I have to do this. I can’t leave a killer criminal at large like this. People like him should be killed immediately or locked up forever at worst. How do you think I’ll sleep if I let him go?’
‘You don’t have to do anything, you fool! What, you’d sleep better if one of us got killed, or even all of us? If you insist on getting him, you might be worried about waking up because you’ll be dead. Besides you’re not even on duty. Now let me tell you what we’re going to do, because I know you only too well, Rashad. We’re going to get Jamal and get the hell outta here. And in the other direction from this psycho, too.’
She looked at the girls. They were not dummies and they knew they were in potential danger. They were petrified stiff. Good, she thought. She didn’t like them petrified but she liked them stiff.
‘Ok, let’s go get Jamal,’ she said to Rashad. Rashad was still debating in his mind what to do. The cop and the father in him were at mortal war. The result was that he was indecisive and almost catatonic.

Innocent drove into the filling station and asked the only attendant there to fill his tank after he is finished with the African Brady bunch. His eyes connected with the man driving the station wagon and he saw recognition in his eyes. He knew these things and that was why he had lived this long. That meant 9 out of 10, that he was a cop. A big shot cop. Shit!
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he retrieved his .38 Smith & Wesson and his 9mm glock. His two favourite guns in the world. Especially the .38. He waited a little, watching the little commotion going on in the vehicle when one of the girls stole a glance at him and the woman checked him out through the rear view mirror. Lucky I’m wearing these shades, he thought. They can’t see that I see them. He went through hell to evade the law in the east. Now he was going up north, where he hoped to enter Niger republic. From there he could leave the freaking continent. He wasn’t about to have his cover blown. He got out of the truck. He shot the guy filling up his tank as if he was a mannequin. His slug struck home between the attendant’s eyes. He was dead before he could register surprise.

Jamal heard the first shot and dropped his bag of goodies. He went to the window and peeped through it. Someone had shot the station attendant. The killer was moving away from the body. God, he’s moving towards our car, he thought. Why is daddy not driving away? The old man at the counter was whispering harshly and urgently for him to get away from the windows, but he didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him and wouldn’t hear him. The killer was by now at the driver’s side of the car. He could see his dad scrambling for something in the glove compartment. The killer shot his father from behind and his skull blew away, spraying gray matter and blood across the car. His sisters were stunned like they couldn’t wrap their minds around what was happening. His mother was pleading for the killer to have mercy as the killer raised his gun one more time, shutting his mother up forever.
Jamal had begun to tremble at the window and the old man had reached his side tugging at his shirt. He shimmied free and continued looking through the window. The old man then picked him up dismissing his physical protests. He was taken through a door that led to a garage. The old man put him down beside a cupboard, barely three feet high. He asked him to squeeze in. He was about to complain when he heard two gunshots within moments of each other and he knew he would never see his sisters again. Not alive anyway. He promptly folded himself into the cupboard and the old man closed it. He held on to the protrusion of a screw used to fasten the cupboard’s door knob. He could hear the old man hurrying up to the main shop.

Innocent was feeling the way he felt when he killed a lot of people. Invincible. Invincible and careless. No loose ends, he thought. He approached the store, reloading his guns out of habit for he hadn’t even used up to a quarter of a clip. He walked towards the store and entered it. There facing him was this old man. The man looked a lot like his father. He hated his father. The old man was apparently scared shitless but was fronting bravery. Innocent could see through him like glass. He could see the fear in the old man’s eyes. He could almost smell and taste it. Wait, he could taste it. The old man seems to have shit his pants. He found this quite amusing. He imagined the old man was his father. He was going to enjoy this.
“What’s wrong old man? Your old rectal sphincters gave way?”
No answer.
“What? Your vocal cords too?”
No answer. The geezer was just staring back like a picture on a billboard. This wasn’t fun anymore. He suddenly remembered he had to get out of this place. He had a sudden rush o anger as this old man like his old man was spoiling his fun for him. He trained the gun at the man and the old man didn’t scamper for cover or anything. This really got him worked up. He shot the old man through his lung. He’d slowly die. That’d teach him. He approached the counter and noticed a NOKIA phone. He picked it up and examined it. The old Bleep had been trying to call the police. He chuckled again. First there’s not signal all the way out here and if he did manage to get the cops, the cocksuckers would not show up until he was long gone. They’d come sirens blazing and guns menacing like the heroes they were not. He went to a soft drink vending machine and used the old man’s proceeds to pay for a Coca-cola. He downed the drink in four gulps. He was feeling that invincible feeling again. That alerted him. There could still someone hiding somewhere in here. He would do a quick but thorough search and get back to his truck and to his Johnny Walker bottle and the hell out of here. He went around the shop searching. Satisfied he went down to the garage. No loose ends.

Jamal, upon hearing the last gunshot, knew he was the only remaining survivor. He had forgotten about his dead family and was filled with only one desire. That sole will to live. His trembling instincts were geared towards only preservation. The absoluteness. He did not want to die. He prayed.
The door to the garage opened and he stopped breathing. He was convinced that his heart had stopped beating too. He could hear footsteps around the garage. He held the screw tighter. There was silence for a moment, and then he heard the footfalls again. Getting louder and louder as they approached his sanctuary. The footsteps finally seized and he could hear the killer breathing. He was wound tight and taut. Ready to spring. The cupboard door opened as the killer opened the handle. The door opened uninhibited for his purchase was so little. And he was just six years old. He acted purely and savagely out of instinct. He passed out.