din't think i could let the month go by just like that, with hardly any more than 4 posts, now could i? It's been a hectic month and my mind and fingers along with the pens...key boards have had a hard time coordinating to produce anything magical or worth reading , so my brain has stored all that i hoped to write and i hope that when this season of business in someway becomes manageable (coz i see myself busier) then i guess i shall put something down worth guzzling.)
not forgetting
my Literature teacher passed on..
. i recieved the message with shock and memories of her flashed before my eyes in little snapshots,
snap!
playing scrabble at her home after running out of school to avoid being dragged onto the field for 100metre runs on the shool's sports day with her daughter, who taught me to be a rebel.
snap!
listening to her correct our phonetics and pronunciations first day in the literature class, telling Julian, a gal in my class,that that possibly cant be her name, its a boy's name, she must be 'Juliana' and you would think she was the midwife at birth. oh and telling me my surname is no where on the Native language radar of Uganda. 'Chihandae? where is that from?'
and Jaque that that is incomplete for Jacques a male name..so she better write her name as Jackie or Jacquelin
snap!
asking me to clean her chair and pulling out the largest biggest tissue roll i had ever seen and telling me to keep the rest.
Snap
asking me why i had failed literature paper two (plays and her paper) and giving me the greatest ever motherly advise that took me through that lit class. i remembered feeling elated, feeling i could do this for Her, to make her keep feeling proud of me
and i vowed never to fail that paper again... i didn't. my life was changed by a teacher who believed in me and let me know even when i had failed that i was a champion.
snap!
listening to her talk about her younger days
snap!
i just got nostalgic, thinking about secondary school, my literature class
oh and yeah being the teacher's pet then... of all my literature teachers.
being class prefect of the lit class, being privileged to go to their homes or be sent to their homes and being able to get presents from them, chocolates and etcs
i guess i owe my literature teachers alooooooot for my writing now, they pushed me to realise my potential. cant forget Mr Mugasa encouraging me, one day to the deadline for the writing competition with NABUTO to write... i wrote all night, running on coffee, a dim corridor light to compile my poetry collection.... and finally coming second in secondary level, scooping an award,and a prize....!
may you rest in Peace Mrs Tiromwe
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
the leak
(A single from my anthology 'the elegy of love)
The leak in the ceiling had been getting bigger and bigger and when she left, we were both not sure if we had been too blind to see the empty cold clammy fingers of the raindrops that filtered into our lives- our beautiful home.
I am sure I can remember now what I had seen when I had dismissed it two months back as an insignificant dot. It never occurred to me that something so small could be a colossal invasion into a delicate structure put together with so much warmth and care- a year since we moved in. Suddenly the little dot, like a little weed was a leak crumbling the very core of what was¬¬¬¬¬¬¬__ home.
I wish I did not miss her, the way she read the morning paper, the way she laughed when he tickled her, the deft way she poured coffee from the coffee maker for them both and the way her hair gently blew into her narrow face when we walked together. I wished I did not miss them together.
The picture is all different now. Sam lives every day in a bubble, floating in and out of some dream and the puddle forming in our lives on the floor of our boarding has turned into a cold breeding nest for whatever vermin that aims to feed off the rotting tissue.
Once or twice he’s picked up a few boards, a saw and even a hammer and after a few haphazard attempts, we were back to where we were a few days later…awaken in the middle of a storm with the icy cold blob of a leak embracing a bare back or foot. When she saw it she tried to get it fixed, they talked about what was wrong, she did all she could, but I guess it was too late, the leak had eaten into the plaster so fast we had not noticed it was peeling away and yet, he was always tired, too tired to fix the ceiling.
Back then, it was nice to saunter in and sit by the fire, eat meatloaf with baked potatoes and have the usual trend of conversation passed back and forth punctuated with Becky’s loud shrill hearty laughter about the usual things- the zany neighbours and their outlandish kids that seemed to belong to the Addams Family, crazy traffic, work but most of all, the wedding plans. I loved that bit, I knew now we would be a family- a huge step into transforming the warmth engulfed in the house into something more intimate. After the hearty meal, as seemed the tradition cans of Heineken kept us absorbed in our Tuesday night show ‘I love Lucy.’
But since the leak grew, we talked and laughed a lot less and a lot tensed. There hung a cold apprehensive presence in the atmosphere…and when it was all silent, I could hear the faint drip drip drip sound, soft, slow almost impalpable but definitely there. It carried an uncomfortable dump draught with it and very soon a stale odor.
I heard them quarrel for the very first time a month before she left. She complained he was always tired, they never touched. Love that made them and brought them together was a strain tearing them apart and she was not sure he wanted to go on with it. He told her not to be crazy. There was nothing wrong. He wanted to get her pretty things, make money for them both to be happy and comfortable and she told him, for her to be happy, he needed to see the leak and fix it, the house was beginning to rot. They fought more and often; love was dying. She ate dinners alone, the leaks grew as frequent as her own tears widening the chasm within their lives, dampening all our spirits. Till we woke up one day and she was gone. And there was a bigger puddle at our feet. Overnight the leak had eaten into the wall and seeped progressively onto the ground.
Now as we sit back on the couch, two desolate bachelors staring at the bucket fill up with grimy water for the nth time that evening, the rugs stuffed against the weeping wall, Sam will lean back, flap my ears, kiss my shaggy head and sigh.
‘Why didn’t I do it earlier? Why didn’t I see it coming?’
I stare at him knowingly. ‘I didn’t not realize we were growing apart so fast.’ He will run his hand over my tawny tangled hairy back every night now. ‘I thought I was doing it for us; working hard for a life for us.’
I will bury my head between my paws and whimper, my thoughts always the same. We just refused to see the leak.
The leak in the ceiling had been getting bigger and bigger and when she left, we were both not sure if we had been too blind to see the empty cold clammy fingers of the raindrops that filtered into our lives- our beautiful home.
I am sure I can remember now what I had seen when I had dismissed it two months back as an insignificant dot. It never occurred to me that something so small could be a colossal invasion into a delicate structure put together with so much warmth and care- a year since we moved in. Suddenly the little dot, like a little weed was a leak crumbling the very core of what was¬¬¬¬¬¬¬__ home.
I wish I did not miss her, the way she read the morning paper, the way she laughed when he tickled her, the deft way she poured coffee from the coffee maker for them both and the way her hair gently blew into her narrow face when we walked together. I wished I did not miss them together.
The picture is all different now. Sam lives every day in a bubble, floating in and out of some dream and the puddle forming in our lives on the floor of our boarding has turned into a cold breeding nest for whatever vermin that aims to feed off the rotting tissue.
Once or twice he’s picked up a few boards, a saw and even a hammer and after a few haphazard attempts, we were back to where we were a few days later…awaken in the middle of a storm with the icy cold blob of a leak embracing a bare back or foot. When she saw it she tried to get it fixed, they talked about what was wrong, she did all she could, but I guess it was too late, the leak had eaten into the plaster so fast we had not noticed it was peeling away and yet, he was always tired, too tired to fix the ceiling.
Back then, it was nice to saunter in and sit by the fire, eat meatloaf with baked potatoes and have the usual trend of conversation passed back and forth punctuated with Becky’s loud shrill hearty laughter about the usual things- the zany neighbours and their outlandish kids that seemed to belong to the Addams Family, crazy traffic, work but most of all, the wedding plans. I loved that bit, I knew now we would be a family- a huge step into transforming the warmth engulfed in the house into something more intimate. After the hearty meal, as seemed the tradition cans of Heineken kept us absorbed in our Tuesday night show ‘I love Lucy.’
But since the leak grew, we talked and laughed a lot less and a lot tensed. There hung a cold apprehensive presence in the atmosphere…and when it was all silent, I could hear the faint drip drip drip sound, soft, slow almost impalpable but definitely there. It carried an uncomfortable dump draught with it and very soon a stale odor.
I heard them quarrel for the very first time a month before she left. She complained he was always tired, they never touched. Love that made them and brought them together was a strain tearing them apart and she was not sure he wanted to go on with it. He told her not to be crazy. There was nothing wrong. He wanted to get her pretty things, make money for them both to be happy and comfortable and she told him, for her to be happy, he needed to see the leak and fix it, the house was beginning to rot. They fought more and often; love was dying. She ate dinners alone, the leaks grew as frequent as her own tears widening the chasm within their lives, dampening all our spirits. Till we woke up one day and she was gone. And there was a bigger puddle at our feet. Overnight the leak had eaten into the wall and seeped progressively onto the ground.
Now as we sit back on the couch, two desolate bachelors staring at the bucket fill up with grimy water for the nth time that evening, the rugs stuffed against the weeping wall, Sam will lean back, flap my ears, kiss my shaggy head and sigh.
‘Why didn’t I do it earlier? Why didn’t I see it coming?’
I stare at him knowingly. ‘I didn’t not realize we were growing apart so fast.’ He will run his hand over my tawny tangled hairy back every night now. ‘I thought I was doing it for us; working hard for a life for us.’
I will bury my head between my paws and whimper, my thoughts always the same. We just refused to see the leak.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
i dont huv a title... yet
Revenge is a dish best served cold
Meaning: This saying suggests that if someone does something bad to us, it is better to pay them back later in time, not immediately. Vengeance may be more satisfying if it is not inflicted immediately.
I was watching Kill Bill the other day, actually all weekend, then before that on Friday, i watched Inglorious Basterds... i am so oozing Quentin Tarantino, his gorey yet hilarious way of 'skinning a rat,' makes him a Maestro at his film plots. now next to Mel Gibson, i think this guy is phenomenal . if you haven't watched Inglorious Basterds, i urge you to, i think Quentin outdoes himself in this movie. a must watch... only it has got my thinking twisted. next time i need to carry out some sick revenge
i will brood over it for years, then tell the victim, over a cup of tea or wine what i intend to do. how interesting, i used to think he was one of a kind, now i truly believe Quentin is the future for cinema...
Meaning: This saying suggests that if someone does something bad to us, it is better to pay them back later in time, not immediately. Vengeance may be more satisfying if it is not inflicted immediately.
I was watching Kill Bill the other day, actually all weekend, then before that on Friday, i watched Inglorious Basterds... i am so oozing Quentin Tarantino, his gorey yet hilarious way of 'skinning a rat,' makes him a Maestro at his film plots. now next to Mel Gibson, i think this guy is phenomenal . if you haven't watched Inglorious Basterds, i urge you to, i think Quentin outdoes himself in this movie. a must watch... only it has got my thinking twisted. next time i need to carry out some sick revenge
i will brood over it for years, then tell the victim, over a cup of tea or wine what i intend to do. how interesting, i used to think he was one of a kind, now i truly believe Quentin is the future for cinema...
Sunday, November 01, 2009
rejection....soulful....
i am working on my second book. yup second coz i already have my first book published by fountain publishers, 'Brave Kemi,' can you imagine... it was the first coolest shortening of a name that came to me.... hope you don't mind Mrs B2B...
ANYHO , so i am working on my second book, a collection of short stories which i have changed twice coz the computer died and ate the stories so i hat to retrieve some and changed them... still searching for a title coz the first title was ...exact...now... i am still searching for something deeper....i am looking at the heart of the stories. my first rejection came then.
i wanna publish form out there, somewhere. so i sign up to this agent looking for writers to promote and l look at his work contact him...blablabla. anyway so i send him samples of my book
and i get the response after two days. i did not feel so overly turned away when i read his 'sorry, i dont promote this sort of genre but you can try someone else. thank you for keeping in touch.'
ouch!
i recalled so many writers that were bestseller authors after 40 rejections and a twinge of excitement shot through me, i was now one of them... a to-be- bestselling author!
anyway despite that hopeful thought i have been really slow about posting my work to another publishing house that is hounding me down to send in my work ASAP. and i think the first rejection really got to me.
anyho, I've been sleeping at 4am trying to patch up the stories. my only companions, tea and my top three songs,(they are all number ones in my book,) play repeat until i am done
1.Sean Kingston - Face drop
1.Shayne Ward- No, you hung up
1.Simply Red and Michael Bubble's version of - A song for you
oh ho, you need to listen to that song, soulful, melancholic, deep, meaningful(to me at least) this one version is by Donny Hathaway, it was danced to in the 1st season of 'so you think you can dance,' that's when i first fell for it after hearing its remix by Bizzybone
ladies and gentle men, i present y
to you..
a song for you
enjoy
Donny Hathaway - A Song for You
I've been so many places in my life and time
I've sung a lot of songs I've made some bad rhyme
I've acted out my love in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you
I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I've treated you unkindly but darlin' can't you see
There's no one more important to me
Darlin' can't you please see through me
Cause we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you
You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding
I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding
I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
ANYHO , so i am working on my second book, a collection of short stories which i have changed twice coz the computer died and ate the stories so i hat to retrieve some and changed them... still searching for a title coz the first title was ...exact...now... i am still searching for something deeper....i am looking at the heart of the stories. my first rejection came then.
i wanna publish form out there, somewhere. so i sign up to this agent looking for writers to promote and l look at his work contact him...blablabla. anyway so i send him samples of my book
and i get the response after two days. i did not feel so overly turned away when i read his 'sorry, i dont promote this sort of genre but you can try someone else. thank you for keeping in touch.'
ouch!
i recalled so many writers that were bestseller authors after 40 rejections and a twinge of excitement shot through me, i was now one of them... a to-be- bestselling author!
anyway despite that hopeful thought i have been really slow about posting my work to another publishing house that is hounding me down to send in my work ASAP. and i think the first rejection really got to me.
anyho, I've been sleeping at 4am trying to patch up the stories. my only companions, tea and my top three songs,(they are all number ones in my book,) play repeat until i am done
1.Sean Kingston - Face drop
1.Shayne Ward- No, you hung up
1.Simply Red and Michael Bubble's version of - A song for you
oh ho, you need to listen to that song, soulful, melancholic, deep, meaningful(to me at least) this one version is by Donny Hathaway, it was danced to in the 1st season of 'so you think you can dance,' that's when i first fell for it after hearing its remix by Bizzybone
ladies and gentle men, i present y
to you..
a song for you
enjoy
Donny Hathaway - A Song for You
I've been so many places in my life and time
I've sung a lot of songs I've made some bad rhyme
I've acted out my love in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you
I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I've treated you unkindly but darlin' can't you see
There's no one more important to me
Darlin' can't you please see through me
Cause we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you
You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding
I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding
I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
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