Rianna Shaikh's Blog, page 27

Wall Street to France

 

dearest,

Was there ever a street that could glisten like a thousand strand of van cleef, it was this. The youth of a Gatbsy meets the charme of ritz Paris adorned EN coco Chanel.

Bedecked in my pinstripe suite, holding my leather Bourse, I pressed the elevators to the 28th floor. I was just a girl becoming a lady.
I was intimidated by the poise of such a grand scale of wealth et masculinité, as I exhaled learning what my first panick attack was.
Literally.
As the grand doors opened there I stood amongst 1,000 men suited in brooks brothers, the shiniest of shoes et Rolex exagéré.I counted till 10, being directed to an office in glass, overlooking all the pheasants, the nobody’s, the streets of the working class. The ones that could of not made it up this high.
Pompous pompous.Well sure that’s what they tell you at the bottom of the waiting room, on the 1st floor, sipping coffee eagerly waiting a secretary who by the way looked liked she was  missing her skirt. She was important, nevertheless, she called Upon you to take you to the glass room of rejection.  I was just a girl. Only 19. Here amongst sharks et foxes et pure egos, très incroyablement, wealthy ones. The kinds that you ought to marry. Well to heck with bloddy Cinderella, it was the Cinderella of dreams. Except this isn’t a castle, et these men were des hommes avides d’argent. I smiled looking at the glares, walking into Mr greats office.A little man really but what power. He reminded me of lord Farquaad, from Shrek.
I laugh.
Oh the Power et the Mount Everest of confidence.
Oh please, men like this reminded me of boys that were to little to become ceo’s of daddy’s firm  et too manly to embrace their parents.Mr great the small, didn’t believe that a girl like me could get leads, like the grands garçons, oui the big boys. But I was forever fascinated with the tailored behavior of little boys en Aston Martin’s, with egos as tall as the Empire state.Wall Street you made my little heart fall in love. Et you made my life what it is today. Why, I could embrace you like a child et spend you at Barney’s. For the little ones with big attitudes, rêves dans le ciel.Thinking of Wall Street to France, missing it’s glamour, for bûT 20 seconds as I read my 3rd novel.Exhausting world. 

 

Unfinished business this is, 

RS

 

 

The pictured room by Sandro Botticelli

       Dearest,

There was a time, a day past when life felt oh so terribly grey. The days et the night past et I stood silent glaring at the walls.

lost in the display YêT a million strokes to another day, depression at its beauteous bay.

I spent my days not looking for tomorrow, I didn’t know what day or night looked like, my days were lost in the art of Sandro Botticelli. Plastered to the wall, oui right there before my fall. 
I found my zeal to be simply be.
But I lost my way somewhere in the garden Primavera.
I spent eight months hidden away, from the lows of the world day to day.
Didn’t see the sun of day. But nevertheless, I wrote my life away. 20 books today on display.
So today I stepped  into that room, et I sat on the floor looking at the walls that saved my fall. I exhaled, I thought, lucky you to have fought.
The Puissance of art cannot be bought, simply sought.To all the painters et artist, quelle chance d’être toi.en pensant à hier,RS

New book

My dearest rabbits,

I was up early am writing. So good to be so busy, non? 
I’ll tell you about it, I was very upset for not being able to do the book of my dreams, an orphan book. 
I remembered when I was actually on Instagram I was writing a book, an orphan tale.
That was 2 years ago. It’s rather haggling on oneself when you can’t finish a book that would mean so much too. 
 Hence, this am I completed my book, Orphaned. 399 pages, full color. Full pain.Full honesty.Full contentment. So that’s it, my moto is work, workEt work more.Ironic as I tell everyone I’m retired Well carry on darlings, I bet you are most busy.

Xoxo,

Gossip girl ( joke)!

RS

Ps. Thank you self for roses et ladurée Paris!

Accept criticism they say

Dearest you,

 I down frown on this matter. But first I strike a pose like Madonna suggested…Many years ago, As with one manuscript facing the big leagues I actually sat down with someone from the great world of publishing. It was my 1st book, Milly goes to Montauk.Critique was impossible to take. For me. But I did after all this lad was from a. Division of Simon.
Oui oui, does not get better.  His comments:“ firstly,  it’s a dark  bookits how many words?what’s your story line?How many have you sold?Do you have a agent?

How long have you been writing?

My Writing children’s book is daunting, not for everyone.”oh I see. Thought I. Practically your first book is merde. If you are fortunate to be unfortunate you’ll have had this experience, this was years ago. Today my one pathetic manuscript is actually 4.5 years later, a 24 -28 book production.I am a lunatic. A real one. Because I dare you find anyone that will stick it out and write like a madhatter et not care one damn penny if no one reads it. Hence, the good news?I actually cared so much that I sat down  et took all of his criticism. It was brutal. I was a rookie. So if you are out there crying yourself to sleep because all the agents hath rejected thou, keep crying.Because no one will look for you or find you or think anything of your work. Because writing books isn’t to satisfy your ego or prove anyone anything, darling you it’s a 

 

story. One that will one day, depending upon your determination will become a book.

For the rest of us, there is a pill, called 

Prozac.
The writing world isn’t worth money it’s worth characters that’s worth stories. 
Et then there’s the Simon person that comes along and tosses your first book in the trash can, because it’s 

 

Oscar material.
like the puppet not red carpet.Don’t worry it gets worse. Then you realize you cannot write, you don’t have a plot, your book is a shriveled up esparagus.
No one likes your story.no one thinks anything of you. 
Then you will allow yourself time to beat up yourself then you’ll recover, then, you’ll write more books than ever. And hopefully this time, you’ll actually believe in yourself.To bloddy hell with the world et their fancy antics, you’ll protect your story et then it shall be told. the end.

 

Bonsoir,

RS

ps. Mr Simon if you are out there, I hope you are reading this, and hopefully you fall of your chair, because your critical thinking did me so good, that now I give advice, take that et bank it sir.

Time is ever so unkind

Dearest you, They were once real. Full of vivre et lustful zeal. 
Their wavering sights and fancy nights avec bliss ‘till afternoon tea with a Mrs that belonged not to thee. Tell me you were there, hands on with affair, was she as beauty as her hair?
Did you care, did you fear?

Did you stand too close to hear them giggle Everywhere?

“Silly you, it’s a painting, just a painting my dear.”

 

bonsoir,

RS

 

Pierre my Augusto

Dearest you,Is this it? Is it the weary greens et blackberries you live for?Et Hey is that figs in your salade?I bet you Pierre Augusto is somewhere devouring this, thinking twice about his life choices.Twice.Bonsoir rabbits,RS

Un journal one (back)

Dearest you,

After my early am post yesterday, I was reminded that many would love to see the back cover. 

Bonjour world, I am absolutely glad that after my private stunt in 2019, I still have readers et some very kind ones reminding me, that they are eager for my newly private publications to become public.

In time my dearest readers,

in time!

Its not so simple, it’s a project that only a very great genius can accomplish. I have been told by a many few they are “coffee table books.”

At this point, oui, I would honestly speak to only agents/ publishers that can replicate this, simple complication.You see, I want the world of children to hold something that has not been done.
Example, when I open my books for darling Roo, he stares with greatest excitement et eager to listen.  My often, ever so often,  when I open my grande books, I feel as if it’s a trip to Disney world for him,or for any child that’s seen it but never nor once.I live for that gasp of anticipation of “Maman you are ridiculously good!”
Sorry world, that’s when you know you are a real writer. When the eyes of children bare a sense of confusion, wrapped in utter anticipation of what a writer hath bought to life, in books.
At this pinpoint, I want exactly what I’ve done.
Trust me, there’s a way, because there’s a will, silly rabbits, don’t  you know that?I kindly, refuse all publishers that shall want  to take my books et shrink it into a common print.

Quite frankly, I don’t think Pierre Augusto et Hem would appreciate such.

“yah not a fan!”

Off  to my Pilates, where I’m almost 99.8 percent sure I’ll hurt my back. Well the good news is, I have been banned from riding horses etc, fallen of to many saddles etchera, et etc.

I swear I should be getting a driver next, glly, Higgins et what the flipping frog has my life become?

we dont know.

Oh well life goes on,

RS

Un journal one, new publication

dearest world,

Its a bit late, but I’m actually perfecting the art of nothingness. Ridiculous plainly

Hence, the next book,  UN Journal one, a book on my natural skill, me blabbering abouts all kinds of things, situations, feelings, lalala. It’s my best book ever, said no one!

So, I suppose you could say I am actually building a library, the Rianna Shaikh library. Oui with all of these new private publications, every book gets bigger et heavier et well if I may, my dear husband is alarmed  Oh golly what to do, what to do.
Up late, working like a mouse making Cinderella’s gown for the ball. I however bid you good day.

J’adore toi,

RS

 

You are an ungrateful privilege!

       Dearest world,

Have you ever thought of such a thing ?

It gives me a bloddy headache the words they sing… on my ear  et in my heart I pout a gratitude with a scar….

“oui, oui what a privilege doltish fou you are!”

well obviously it’s in one of my books, I kid you not, never never so, those are the words from a woman with toads!

But, does she have toes, hey, we don’t know

hallo et au revoir,

rS

Ps. I am

fully aware of my theatrics

Et she spoke

let’s never confuse this, she screamed …

 

“you are not talented, you are but a broken girl.”

 

I frowned, I did but now where is she oh dearest world?

RS