The Coach

One of my favourite collaborators isn't an artist, photographer or fellow writer. He's very practical, logical sports coach, who also happens to be my amour (as in lover, not defensive shield). He doesn't get lost in the details or attached to any character or scene, he simply bulldozes his way into the heart of the problem #Coach #FTW. In a handful of stolen hours between my festive season responsibilities (opening champagne is a serious responsibility where I come from), I've been writing a short screenplay for a competition. The original idea met all the competition's criteria - most importantly, having an interesting female protagonist -  but the story evolved in the telling, and suddenly I had a great script without a meaty female lead. I've never had a story swallow my heroine whole. When the Coach pointed out - diplomatically - that I was still at my computer and wearing a beach sarong a mere 30 minutes before we were due to head out to dinner with...
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Go2Africa.com

For four years I put every dollar I earned back into my production company, saving money on food by swallowing all the BS international broadcasters dole out, and having the grotesque satisfaction of selling my gems for peanuts to make ends meet. Then I did some contract writing for a travel company called Go2Africa.com. It wasn't a quick thing with this brand and me. I fell in love little by little with its tiger bounce and equine elegance. I fell in love with its quirky people and rock solid expertise. Most of all, I fell in love with a company that's even better than its marketing spiel. And once I was in love with this brand, there really wasn't much point resisting an offer to join their team as Creative Director. I had more than a few pangs letting go of all the boulders I'd been pushing uphill for so long, but mostly it felt right... like a pair of jeans that...
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