Rianna Shaikh's Blog, page 14

Your morning croissant is here…

 

Consider this a little welcome. To go with your morning croissants Et latte. I imagine coffee to be for the weak ones. Expresso shots are good to. I was told. I don’t drink coffee, I suffer from panic attacks.

Oui it feels like running from a huntsman in the forest, oh look at that piece of writing, It’s my beautiful, my most profound quote,

EVER.  You are welcome,Rianna Kate Shaikh

Now this is my run song. I know it’s a bit much for a lady like me

 

Runaway. Kanye west.
I prefer the piano version.

Wall Street hustlers

 

 

 

Dearest,Oh I know what you are thinking what do I know about hustlers. You know, I am wondering the same bloddy thing except I have been on instagram too much, so I have been learning a lot of wordly slangs.
So this here is why I write. When I was younger my self Et I were rather indeed, Indeed obsessed with all things Wall Street. Like most of you. But there is a saying, “the hustle never stops.”
That’s a man thing. Because my hustle stops at Louie.Sounds painful. In actuality I do that daily. I write, I work myself to a point  of quiet exhaustion. I often sit down in my writing quarters Et wonder what am I doing? I have so many books in private publication.
Like this is a disorder. A productive one I assure you. Henceforth I must tell you a secret, come closer, sit, like Chance says to Sophie in book 3, “asseoir sophie.”Gosh he was a real douche bank That’s an insider Wall Street joke. Hence, secret time, I get a lot of emails and I am not interested to be represented by anyone. Like,  I like stacking books, that’s Better than stacking Louie bags, non?

Well atleast I told you. For none of my books is about money. I bought the world in my twenties. Swam through the darkest clouds in my thirties Et here in the forties, I feel very pleased to tell you, that I am over a lot of things. Welcome to maturity.

I’m going through some things clearly. I honestly cannot write more, but you ought to know, your writer  is going to wake up one day, pack her things Et fly off to France.Then a lot of you are going to be out of jobs. Oops I said that.  I don’t apologize for my honesty. Because apparently being a writer isn’t my job, it’s my life. And honesty is what i shall vow.I bid you adieu but think about it.
Now go on, life your lives (as it’s says, not other way around).
For time waits for no man. None. Et Money does not buy time dearest world. It also buys trees though.
Merci to monsieur Warren B.
For the lesson of course.         Your writer,Rianna Kate Shaikh

 

The joie

 

dearest,I sit soundly missing all my deadlines. I am definitely going through the loss of certain things. You know life happens, Et somehow you got to deal with it. A very hard time I’m having catching up with my focus Et ma vie. Oui?   Xoxo,Rianna Kate Shaikh

Mind your business, she spoke

 

What a photograph. I am glad to be off bed rest, I was unwell for a bit. I hope you are well world?

It is always something no? Such is life I reckon.  Anyways I had such an outpouring of letters from readers/ followers over my strut back on social media. Overwhelming on both sides. But the amounts of dms is a tad insane. I barely have time to run. I don’t know how this marathon training is going to be Hence, today a few years ago my birth mother had died. Very sad. But I sat in my writing room thinking about it all. I never had a long relationship with her, though I wished better of that.
Long rest #Ireland.

On with the hurrah…
So I have been wrapping up projects, rehiring a few market consultants etc. I know, look at me doing social things. Hastag proud  

I honestly missed my crew. My desire to be in public somewhat is daunting. But for things I cannot do I will have someone help with the uncomfortable parts. Like hate messages and a lot feigned relatives etc.
um let’s make This clear, I don’t have siblings. My father lives in Provence, Oui France, my French blood is apparent, and as you read my dearest maman is mort. So let’s wrap up the fake news on my platforms please.

I am only out there as a  writer. Nothing else. My work load  is insane. But yah, did you read the top, a kind instagrammer  sent this to me.

  I thought it would help a lot
of you.As the struggle is enormous when
you are
becoming public. I have no choice
because
I have written 31 books to date.Thank you my friends up there.

   Kindly, 

Rianna Kate Shaikh 

Bonjour my dears!

 

   It’s Saturday,I am finally free for the day. There’s no light in the skies. Let me be an example to all of you trying to become. It matters not, you must use your time wisely.I don’t know if I shall ever fit it in right. But you see lately I am Beyond busy.
Hard work comes with many SAcrifices.
Did I even spell it right

But I wanted to keep my diary au courant. My readers, my followers, my golly I thank you. So darn much, I write with the hopes that one day soon, we would be lucky enough to have an isbn on all of my books.
Big Et small.
I mean that, as you can see above, I am trying hard to understand what it’s like to be a real writer Et allowing myself enough space to become a little more public. Because at the end of the day, or the year, my characters are my life.
they are. Very much so.

Do know it’s my bedtime, it’s 6:48 pm. Gosh, this is exhausting.
I send you love.J’adore toi!

 

 Your writer, 

Rianna Kate Shaikh 
Ps. That’s my instagram yall!

Iris

       Dearest you,I sit writing as the walls of my writing room beckon…the words of iris.

 

“And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right nowAnd all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
And sooner or later, it’s over
I just don’t wanna miss you tonightAnd I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am.”         If this wasn’t love my dreary world I shan’t never know what is. It feels like you are submerged in the deepest of  waters, without mere light, without any signs of land, Et then you fight for your air, swimming with your last zeal to exist, coming up for breath. You exhale as if life had written you an abandoned note.i breath thinking of such depth.
That’s the kind of love I hope my mont blanc tells.
One day, un jour.        Bonsoir le monde,                       RSYou bleed to know your alive.

Au courant

 

My dearest  readers,

I think it’s the truth. We all hang our hats where we can’t reach. It was a very loyal lesson when I was a child. Years later,  I am actually in a Postion that i can write about any bloddy thing I choose. The greater part is I have an audience.
I j’adore you.
Funny thing is today I realized that my few years away from instagram was very important, but I am a writer, I only did 20 books in private publication. Whilst I kept in my private zone.
Though I need a public space where I can share things. According to team RS.
I am a Shaikh, which means everything I do has to be done appropriately. Everything
Hence, my work schedule is bizarre. But hey I do that with a different  approach!

 

Okay so today I am ….

well after great thoughts Et loud considerations, I will be getting back to instagram. Well 400k followers less, it matters not.
For my readers, I thank you for inspiring me back to the saddle. Though I am very weary of my role as a real writer.
Oh that was quite the midnight inspo!

  My husband said to me, “put on your heels, I’m sending you to France, in a private  jet.”

I laughed loudly because when I leave, I’m going to be  barefoot with my Chanel tweeds. A new look for fredooommm

um… what about the children, yah?

Oh gracious, I swear I don’t know what adventure ou fun is. Lucky I write books.

But France, to France…  I’m glad I’m getting what I always wanted.

       Yours ever so grateful,

    RS 
Ps. My new fav!“C’était un long chemin et Maman l’a pris
Elle m’avait dans la peau, huit mois et demi
Oh oui, huit mois et demi
On a quitté la maison, c’était la guerre
Sûr qu’elle avait raison, y’avait rien à perdre
Oh non, excepté la vieJe suis née ce matin, je m’appelle Mercy
On m’a tendu la main et je suis en vie
Je suis tous ces enfants que la mer a pris
Je vivrai cent mille ans, je m’appelle Mercy!”

bonne journée Monsieur giraffe

      Dearest world,

I am actually up. So early. I figured I have to get up to be up to be Productive and yes, I wish I could be doing nothing. But like they say, it’s really hard to do nothing when you are use to doing something, rigorously et routinely. I have this disorder it’s call routine.
Hence, working by the way—— I am starved
oh send me a chef. I am not begging. Non je ne suis pas.
But i am working, then my husband texted, needed me to put down my work  Et find him a giraffe.

 A giraffe. Being the  stern wife I am, I found him this guy, Et I must name him…

 

 Captain Arthur Edward “Boy” Capel.

Oui, he was the first real love of coco Chanel’s life.
un homme de coeur. The reason why she had C avec C.

Coco, capel.

I know, genius. Just look at him, he’s handsome, I need to put him in a book.

truth is, what the heckins!I have work to do. You must go now, trot away, let me focus, while I can. Because I am so darn productive. I must stay that way.
Please dream of warm brioche pancakes Et maple syrup with baguettes toasted avec buerre Et jam, strawberry with hot cocoa, coco chaud, Et whip cream. With a banana sliced atop like my Angeli use to make. Et a side of  fluffy Madelines dipped in my frothy Coco.Oh. Hallo.We don’t eat flour, earth to RS. Miss Kate.concentrer!

Alrighty then I am disconnecting my phone. Too many distractions.

      J’adore toi,   rS

 

 

 

Your clock Et tea Mrs RS

 

     Dearest,Well this is not even half of it. Pure madness non? I am so bloddy exhausted. I think I have overdone myself- yet I cannot stop.
My desk. I should lock myself away from any other place, but I fear 5 books back to back is like an

indecent proposal.

Okay. For reals like M would say. Oh thank heavens I have so many children to keep me on line, or is it in?
I am listening to my back to basics this am, funny fact my husband wanted to remove our music system through our current house, Et I bet yah he now regrets it. Because I listen to so much classics that I am surprised they still have ears as it flows throughout. East west north south, you bet.
They are all becoming like moi.

Well let’s not so far, there is only,  one queer me. 

Anyways did I mention I am exhausted? I am but there’s this saying on Wall Street then atleast,

Fire in the belly, is all that’s needed. Meaning, when you have zeal, energy, focus, you stay working darlings.
So, about that marathon, how on earth am I going to do all of this?
one word.

Merde.On with this hurrah. 
except it’s not exactly feeling
like a hurrah. 


Send help. Not people. I beg you.
Rabbits. 
send rabbits, s’il vous plaît.

    Yours sometimes truly,    Rianna Kate Shaikhps. I am never cleaning up my writing rooms ever. I do not care how messy I am. Send me Martha. Not Stewart, heck she’s a people. Uh that won’t work.send me  ’s   Et  ’s. Henceforth, we can make smoothies… duh.
You are slooow.terriblement lent.

 

 

Your fairy tale

               Dearest,  I have attended some of the most notoriously spent weddings in my life. Only to sit in my frou frou Et judge the bride in her fancy athliered gown Sewn by a person at the brink of her career waiting to be a Chanel.My darling Coco.
    I never had one of those. Fancy things, trails I could trip on, glass monolos if you may.Hence,  I would often watch the bride in her forever feigned smile, like the best day ever.Years later, Was it?

Maybe it was ou wasn’t. Either way It mattered not, because when daddy dearest finds you, bisou, bisou,  better hand over the Prenup. Because your fairy tale isn’t one, unless it’s stamped

You are welcome. Love will make you all homeless if not done right. I kid not.
In all ways. Exhibit 1: the Brookvilles.

I’m learning that from my dearest Sophie B.
book 4.

I scream for her bruised assets Et winded heart. Don’t ask about mr Aston, speeding  down the 495 like he owns a damn thing.

l'amour est une chienne à valentino.   Do I really have to write that?

 

  Being a writer is penning all wars, 

          Rianna Kate Shaikh