My village. My Discovered Writing Gem.

I also trekked to the village. With a few gifts & my laptop in the bag. Seems like it’s one thing I can’t live without now.

I had some articles to finish. Gosh. I have suffered with writing. Nothing has come out of it yet. People have given me emails to send to but it seems these e-mails last worked in 2017. There’s that reply that says “this e-mail no longer receives mail blah blah blah”. Some were generous to let me know that mail has been received only for these replies to also stop coming. I’ve covered myself in my WordPress site but from a few likes & follows, there’s nothing major. Hope 2019 will smile down on me kubanga, I have hustled. Ako kalango.

So I reach the village, Kakoni. I am a homeboy so there’s no Kampala bull shit to put on show here. After greeting a few people mzee has lined up for me to, I retreat to the house. Grandpa had gone somewhere & in the corner I see his chair. It’s around 6 PM. I plug my Dell into power & go to my articles folder. There’s so many of them I’ve left hanging. Writer’s block isn’t a sexy thing. But here I am. In the comfort of my old man’s rocking chair. It’s facing the road. A quite busy, neat tarmac snake. People are driving like they robbed stuff out of town & now can’t wait to reach the village to share the spoils before the police come in & swoop down on them.

I go to my mixes folder & open & put in a 2hrs long oldschool RnB mix. Confession, I can hardly write if I don’t have any music playing quietly in my ears. When music mixes with my feelings, the articles that come there after. Mmhh mmhh. Pure class.

I open the first leftover of an article. The cool village evening air blowing me kisses through window. I am at peace. Left to my own. The insects are chittering in the opaque darkness. I start massaging the keyboard. The words flow.

I am having an orgasmic explosion of literature. The place gets dark, I strain my eyes to balance the light. I can’t move to get the light switch on. That short journey to the switch may render me impotent of all the words that are flowing. I stay put. Someone comes in & helps. I hardly notice who they are. I type away. One article to another. By the time I realise I need to live with the others, I have about 5 articles slayed & many more sorted.

I need to get me a rocking chair, set it by a window in a silent corner, stock my music & that will be my writing spot. I’ve finally found how to make my next life bliss.

Merry Christmas to you all this 2018. Happy seasons πŸŽ…πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ””β„

Categories: Christmas, life, love, mood

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