One of the first things people say to me when they hear that I’m a writer is “Oohhhh, I want to write a book too!”
My response “You should!”
Followed promptly by, “…and you totally can!”
The sad thing is that 99% of those people never write anything and I know why. It goes back to the lie that’s been told to us for generations: YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
And everyone has a right to tell their unique story.
I’ve been working on helping other people find the courage to tell the story that only they can tell. To date, I’ve helped hundreds of authors get their stories out of the heads, into their hearts, onto their computer screens and then out into the world.
The courage lies in the ability to go beyond the lies. That lies that say: Your story? Ha ha! Who are YOU to be interesting? What makes YOU think that YOU have anything to offer to the world?Give it up while you still have some dignity.
As a writing coach, I make it my business to take my clients beyond that self-talk. Take my dad, for example who has been creative all his life. He sang his stories as an Elvis impersonator in his early years, sketched his way through many a childhood trauma, created poetry through his woodwork and told of his heartache with his guitar. He would laugh if I were to tell him that his stories are still in draft because he is yet to WRITE them. I guess I would laugh too. But only because I know I am write..I mean right.
I intend to win this one. And get him to write his memoir, Insha’Allah, as my muslim friends so beautifully say, “If God so wills it”.
Lee
If you would like to work with me, submissions are open now until the end of January 2023. Please get in touch for submission guidelines.
“What, Mama?” *insert shock-horror on the cutest faces you can imagine here* “So YOU write the stories…and they take the credit?” (“Do you at least get money?”)
I don’t know how it came about that I even brought GHOSTWRITING up with them. Or why…
Perhaps it was on that morning I was nearly bust being the Tooth Fairy and I grabbed a book in a lame ass attempt to show them something more “interesting”.
I’ve been a GHOST WRITER for many years – taking ideas and rough drafts, weaving and channeling my ideas around them and then handing them back to authors to publish.
I’ve never thought about the credit bit. I guess that’s not why I write. I write because it gives ME pleasure!
Have YOU figured out how to turn something you love doing into a business? I’d start with what brings you JOY.
That’s always the way.
xoxo
Lee
For more stories like these and a list of my services, please visit www.leemayimele.com
My mom’s sister who died quite suddenly. It was the first week of lockdown in South Africa when she passed.
We got news of her death around 9am and all we wanted to do was rush to the family home to be with her children and her 80 something year old husband, from who she really was inseperable. They were married for 60 years or so.
I was so sad but I could park that. All I really wanted was to see my loved ones and offer support. I remember when my own mom passed, those people who just turned up on the day and DID were a Godsend. I felt I could be that kind of person in this instance.
Being the absolute nerd that I am, I managed to convince my husband that we should pop into our local police station to ask them what we needed in terms of permission in order to make our way to the family home on the otherrrrrrr side of the world. We had seen visuals on TV and social media of the army, of cyclists being arrested and I must be honest, the general air of fear and tension was palpable.
“Good Morning” I said through my mask to the two policemen at the door. They were tense too, but they listened to my story and immediately decided that yes, I should definitely jump on the highway and make my way to the bereaved. “Family” the one guy said “Family”.
“So, I dont need a permit or anything to go there for a prayer service or for the funeral?…” I tried to add, knowing that my Catholic family would want to get started on the prayer asap, particularly for a woman like my aunty who loved her faith.
Screeeeeching from the other side of a room I did not even see someone flying towards us.
“Back home!” she spat. “What do you think this is? A party? Do you know what lockdown means? There is no travelling! No partying. No walking around and shopping….”
Everyone was stunned by the absurdity of the statements.
The two policemen looked down. I thought I was dreaming.
“Umm, no mam, I have just lost my aunt…literally a few hours ago and I am her next of kin, so I was asking about what I needed to…”
“I don’t care!” she said “No means no”
“L O C K D O W NNNNNNNN she said mockingly. “It means you go noooooooowhere, my dear”.
Now my tears were beginning to come. The floodgates really opened when I made eye contact with the two policeman. They were looking down and shaking their heads. I only realised then that they reported to her. She was their boss and they were not going to be able to do anything for me.
I was sobbing. I could not believe that another human being was speaking to me like that. In a room full of other people. When I had just been shot in the heart with grief.
My husband, who had said nothing up to this point had the look. I know it well. Gentle Giant was giving her the who the fck do you think you are talking to look, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head slightly. That look only comes out once every like 12 years.
“Umm, tell me something…” he said, towering at least 100m above her head. “Did you hear the part where my wife said she had just lost her mother?” (In his culture, my aunt WAS my mother. No lies there).
“I don’t care what story she has” the woman said.
“Ummm sorry, mam? We are just here to …”
“Wait, love” he said. It was a firm and gentle, but gosh it was full of conviction.
My husband looked at the two men. Heads bowed in shame. He looked at me. Put his hands on his hips.
There was a long silence.
“Are you feeling okay?” My husband said, looking the woman directly in the eye.
Two more officers arrived. The air changed from an emotional one to something that my intuition told me could easily escalate into something ugly, where we were perhaps thrown in a holding cell and handcuffed, or worse.
That’s when one of the two officers became human again and said to my husband “I think it’s better if you guys go, my brother…”
He didn’t mean that we should GO to the highway and GO to the funeral home and GO be with our loved ones (which is just what we did, masks and all). He was firing a warning shot to us, to say that if we did not get out of there, there would be trouble. I took my husband by the hand and pulled hard.
Heartbroken, disgusted and defeated we arrived at the funeral home. That’s when something magical happened. As I entered, I felt this incredible Light. I walked into the funeral home filled with a Spirit of compassion, love, strength, empathy and support.
That strength did not come from ME, and that’s really what this long story is about.
Friends tell me that strength is The Peace that Passes All Understanding. In my culture, the Holy Spirit. In yours, your Higher Self/God, perhaps?
Trust me it will come when you need it leaving you, the spiritual being here on earth to have a human experience, in awe. And, in my case filled with so much GRATITUDE.
These are the moments, friends. These are the moments!
Lee Mayimele - Writer 