Here’s to all women.
Here’s to all women.
“What! You are gonna read that entire book?”
Coming from a writer that was bizarre…
Having passed by a friend’s bookstore in town,
Looked for a new arrival and found none,
I decided to call my sister
Told her to bring me *book 3 of the sword of truth*
By Terry Goodkind
She heeded. And when she was handing me the book…
As ‘luck’ would have it,
I was with this writer ‘friend’ of mine,
An amazing writer, whose work I fell deeply in love with
But that question was quite a blow.
According to him, writing is a pretty full time job
It is for most writers, and I get it.
I am just saying,
The world needs more avid readers.
I do categorize myself as one, as I appreciate all writers
Try to read all books and articles that come my way
except for school books of course.
Most people write but rarely read, and that’s perfectly okay.
What they forget to do is appreciate their readers.
People read because it is their passion
It is what they do best!
Just give it a thought.
If everyone is writing and no one is reading,
It means, we are going to have way too many books on shelves
Waiting to be read or censured, by some intended future generation,
Or those critics who give a review based on a synopsis.
So then what’s the essence of writing, if no one’s gonna read the content anyway?
<><> frowns <><>
10 Things Only People Who Never Quit Will Understand
I was sizzling beyond boiling point
I’d had my day planned out
And this was not the picture I had in mind
My legs were shaking
My voice pulsating and my hands…
Seemed to take that steadiness challenge
“Nipe change yangu”
The boda-boda man scooched,
Getting me out of my comfort zone
I knew the route well,
Used it every day and certainly knew the fare,
It never could have hiked overnight
I was losing my patience…
Clearly I had my dad’s temper.
And it was getting the better of me
So much that my eyes protruded they’d swallow him up
Little did I know, they were taking the details
Yeah, every tiny detail
He had wild unkempt hair,
A screamy, old light green half coat
That one all boda boda men wore,
And he wore worn out Colombo pants,
What was I doing arguing with him?
It didn’t seem right.
I was irrefutably filled by compassion,
And tempted to give him all the coins in my pocket
But the words he uttered held me back
Then he handed me my change,
Empathy does work miracles
N/B My change was Ksh. 10