Appreciating Readers; Even Those Who Never Write

“What! You are gonna read that entire book?”

Coming from a writer that was bizarre…

And awkward

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 <><>

Book three of the sword of truth

Sigh! My Today’s Miracle

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

They failed!

Nipe change yangu”

“Nishakupea”

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

smiling

N/B My change was Ksh. 10