storyteller

It's close of business again, well, a little past close of business and I'm on my way home. Fresh out of a 12-hour shift, I can't decide if I'll eat first when I get home or just collapse into slumber right at the door. In the matatu, I could swear everyone is deliberating the very same decision Iam. Soft music plays on classic FM as if trying to remedy our tired bodies and mind. Just about everyone is on their phones. If I listen intently enough, I can almost hear the pitter patter of their thumbs going at it with the keyboard. In essence, everyone is in their own little world, only brought back to this realm by the conductor demanding his due. He passes around a tiny piece of paper with his mpesa number on it and we, who are cashless, calmly wait for our turn. After confirming the mpesa receiver's name, everyone runs back to their screens but not without throwing a pitiful glance at the long, long chain of cars also called Thika road. Iam not a mind reader but I ...

Iam sitting here staring at a blank canvas as it stares at me back as if to mock me for my apparent creative impasse. 'You're supposed to be a writer, so write', it gleefully whispers in contempt. Try as I might, I remain as blank as my canvas, only less smug.  I don't want to admit it but even a blind man can see I am suffering from a case of the writer's block. I'd blame it on lack of inspiration but even I am not that good a liar. If I'm being honest, inspiration is always there if I look hard enough. Normally, even something mind-numbingly mundane was enough to get my creative juices going, good old days those. Nowadays anything I write, I erase - if at all I can get out a couple of lines.  I suppose everyone is due a tough time once in a while. I just didn't read the part about self doubt and the whole accompanying shebang. 'You're not cut out for this, you're not even good', my still very blank paper rages on. Iam a very rainbows an...