I write short stories. I love it and it gives me such fulfillment.
The year before last, I submitted a story for judgement by the Commonwealth. It was a competitive thing and although I had high hopes, I didn’t get shortlisted. So I have been thinking seriously about submitting another story at this year’s regional competition. And I put it off for a while. Like last year when I started to consider sending something – anything – in at about 10.30 p.m. on the due date. Let’s just say the remorse for not having tried chewed me up pretty darn good.
So here I am on the due date thinking about sending in one of my 155 stories when I chance upon the word “non-fiction”. My life is great and full and boring and interesting, but I don’t know about sharing personal life stories with people in the East or Eastern African region. They are so many!!! People, that is. And I am too loud and blunt and open about too many things, but this is just different.
Well, I still have up to about 6 p.m. And I have to go to the bank too. Two banks. And I have two documents to work on before rushing to the bank. And there’s the Lele Ngoma concert at the Michael Joseph Centre tonight.
OH THE HORROR!!!