Hello Bloggren, it’s my birthday and as this new year begins for me, I promised myself that I would blog more than once every three months. I hope I hold myself to this resolution. I wrote this story a while back. At the time, I was trying to break free of the comfort zone I had found myself in. The comfort zone of writing in the first person. If you’ve been a long time reader, you’ll notice most of, if not all my stories are first person stories. However, I suck at giving my stories titles, just see what happened …
Dearest anon I have been contemplating writing this letter to you for a while now and I finally got the courage.
Dear Future Mable Forty years from now, I get to be you. And that’s exciting as it is scary. This letter is born out of this fear/excitement.
Okay, so I’m continuing this from Kyagaba’s #chain 3 But it was started by Dj Twonjex and verse 2 was by Kirabo and then it was continued by Patricia Kahill and Shanita Kyagaba Here it goes….my continuation
I could not resist jumping in on this one.. Sharon’s Fifteenth Love Letter I hope I do it justice
This is a hostage situation, Mable’s blog is being held hostage! Call 911….wait that doesn’t work in this here Uganda, call 999! Seriously though, today, on this final day of blog week, I have the privilege of hosting one of the brightest minds I have the pleasure of knowing, a person who also happens to be one of my closest friends. Nga I begged and cried and threw tantrums (OK this is a bit of an exaggeration) for him to put something to paper and finally, finally he did…and its a promise, a contract of sorts, for him to write …
I take your hand. You look away, I’m almost sure, you don’t want to be here. But I want to be here and I know I’ll maybe pay for this later on. You turn to me and kiss my cheek, and whisper how you love me. I try to not to smile, but I can’t help it. Damn you and your charm. My friends look on, I can see how jealous they are and for a moment I enjoy their envy. The song “mbakubye equalizer” plays in my head. And indeed, I have, I’m so gleeful. I remember everything they …
Hello Blog-o-sphere So, its been a minute, well a whole lot longer than a minute and I have been, not writing doing so many things.Here now is a story I wrote for the third edition of the Short Story Writing Competition organized by a Facebook group called The Gathering which sounds like a cult now that I think about it. This gem came in 7th.
Donald Trump is running for the highest office in the most ….. super (?) country on earth. Donald Trump used to be a TeeVee star where he popularised the three words, or two depending on the primary school you went to, that every employee dreads or welcomes, also depending on who your boss – ahem: former boss- is…was(?). Donald Trump has also been called: the cinnamon Nazi, an over ripe orange, the guy with the best hair style (I do hope sarcastically intended), the Bringer Ofthemuch Feared….and honestly anticipated…. Apocalypse and Donald Drumpf (by THE Quintessential John Oliver).
Did School make me better? The answer to the above question is……….. I have no freaking idea. I loved and loathed school in equal measure. Loved because it brought me closer to my one and only love: books…..and I am a bit of a nerd. Well not just a bit, a whole lot. I am not ashamed to say that I was teacher’s pet. However I was not one of those kids that looked forward to assignments, homework, tests and stuff…those kids are crazy. I just loved learning for learning’s sake. Still do.