#News.1: Accepted For Creative Writing Masters degree At Edinburgh University

Dear all,

I have received great news as I am sure you have understood by the title, I have been accepted for a Masters degree in Creative Writing. My hopes are that this will allow me to perfect my writing and become by tenfolds a better writer!

Furthermore, at the end of this degree, alumni are published in a literary magazine. This would be spectacular and could help get my name out there which would by extension enhance my chances of getting a literary agent and being published!

I will continue to post as regularly as possible and keep practicing my style which undoubtedly will improve dramatically throughout the year as I plan on working very hard on bettering my writing.

Kind regards,

Issa Dioume

Style Training With Ursula K. Le Guin, Exercise.2: Am I Saramago {1st attempt}

The instructions for this 3rd piece of writing practice are as follows:

“Write a paragraph to a page 150-350 words of narrative with no punctuation (and no paragraphs or other breaking devices).”

As always, here is my 1st attempt at this exercise, ENJOY! :

“The birds were falling in mass from the sky and people were rushing and running about all over the streets as though red ants had crawled down their trousers they clamoured about and elbowed their ways across the stream of people outside desperate to avoid getting hit and some were seeking shelter in cafés and bars while others just ran desperately with bags or briefcases over their heads as they hurried to work or wherever it was that they had to be and I stood there simply looking up at the sky wondering why this was happening at all as I recall it had started off a couple of weeks ago when suddenly a hailstorm of lifeless birds had been observed falling off the edges of the sky in gallops around some beaches of Spain close to Santander and very soon the phenomenon was reported happening all across the globe the experts naturally claimed it was some sort of flu or something to do with the pollution in the air but I knew as I stood there watching men bumping into one another violently I knew as they hurried about still trying to maintain a semblance of  civility amidst this catastrophic event as they continued to head to their jobs despite the horrible forecast weather of well bird rain that had laster for so long already obviously it was perfectly normal as this had never happened before everything had remained perfectly sensible and logical and controllable but suddenly chaos had erupted and nobody had any idea how to carry on with their lives with this weather  and cars could no longer drive calmly down the streets as they would undoubtedly get pierced by a falling pigeon or falcon should the schools be closed down was what questioned one political figure on some tv show I saw last night he did not have an answers for why this was happening and seemed very reluctant to admit the reality of what was happening but I do yes I know now as I did then on the very first day all this began taking place that there was no explaining it the world had simply gone mad and that the weather and seasons we had for so long been able to trust and take for granted had all been completely spun around on their heads my theory was proved a few months later when came what would be remembered as the moowinter when cows began spouting out of the clouds overhead in hoards but sadly that was only the begining”

I had a lot of fun writing this one hahaha. I hope it will prove as enjoyable as it was to write. The aim is to understand where punctuation is necessary for one’s punctuation style and what does a lack of said punctuation bring to one’s work for one it can bring a certain style or a feeling of a rush or speed all of which are stylistic attributes which can be used to elevates one’s style depending on the story one is attempting to write. I recommend testing out this exercise writing a scene where something hectic is happening, I think it truly helps translate that feeling onto paper.

– Issa Dioume

Poem by Issa Dioume: ‘Tumor, tu meurs’ {Experimental, Bilingual Piece}

Tumor, tu meurs
Like budding petals of a fleur.

Tumor, tu meurs
Like a languidly beating Coeur.

Tumor… Tu meurs
Like the mots of passants.

Tu meurs, tumor
Like the life of mes parents.

Tumor, je meurs
So be it, il était temps.

Tu meurs, ils pleurent
These are the tears des enfants.

Tôt le matin, j’irai cueillir la rosée, des fleurs du lendemain.

– Issa Dioume, 2018, 15th April
Click for more on writer’s website

A TUMULTUOUS VOYAGE, Part. 6 [Short-Story Series] by Issa Dioume

[…] Bramin, walking up drawn-out alleyways, carried a flyssa sword on his back ; a green-white pearl bracelet gifted to him by his mother ; a satchel leather bag with a long-gilded strap, which allowed enough room for flexible movements. That was why he wore it, as he was fully aware of the dangers which accompanied the hazardous journey he was pledged to. He might, one day, find himself in a situation where a quick reaction would be primordial.
The pearl bracelet was a keepsake he wore to never forget what had set him on course to find the treasures of the wild jungles of Azerkah. The pearls – imbued with T’ien’ttai – held magical properties of slight healing and better-than-average fortune.

Ahead of him stood a bundle of huts topped by thatched roofs of straw, sedge and other types of vegetation – all huddled together. They resembled a band of bandits hiding behind bushes in a dark forest waiting for an unsuspecting prey to pass them before furtively pouncing at it. Bramin walked cautiously past the huts, ready to draw at the first sight of any movement. He began climbing his ascension up an inclined stairway leading to the centre of the city. However, trouble came quickly his way. An unfamiliar young man walking up unfamiliar streets armed with a sword – an easy target for conspiring bands of criminals –  is but a fruit ripe for the taking.

A party of three dubious looking individuals surfaced further along the road. But, Bramin instinctively guessed they were not alone. Animated shadows danced about behind the huts, eyes threw daggers his way from hidden cramped  side-alleyways. The three shady looking individuals moved up to block his path. One, who acted like the leader, was tall; wore grey rounded spectacles on his nose; and a black cloak. Another, who looked like an everyday stooge stepped forward, chest heaving up proudly, beckoning Bramin to come closer – an omen of misadventure. The last one, a young boy looking only fourteen or fifteen at best – seven years my youth thought Bramin gloomily. The young boy wore a red bandana and at his side rested a sharp curved dagger along with what seemed like star-shaped throwing darts. Bramin did not want to be forced to hurt an immature pup barely off his mother’s tit.

As he moved along, his hand gripped the rugged handle of his sword – ready to unsheathe if given no other choice. […]

Written by Issa Dioume

Click for part 5 of ‘A TUMULTUOUS VOYAGE’

Author’s website for other writing: https://thebiligualwriter.com/coffeebreak/

A Tumultuous Voyage (part 4) #shortstory #writing


           […] Bramin and the crew ran left, right, straight and back desperate to get some of the water off the deck as quickly as possible. Frantically trying their best to avoid sinking to the depths of the ocean blue – pausing only to throw panicked looks at their captain, waiting to see a sign of hope or reassurance. And he- at the helm of the ship- displaying only a uniquely resplendent face of dread. The kind of dread a man shows when he thinks his time has come. The kind of dread that instantly sends chills down the spines of the crew.
The little boat its laborious attempt at climbing to the top of this perilous path; much like a David against a Goliath. But, with an aggrandized exaggerated disparity between the two.
The climb was proving increasingly exceedingly strenuous for the little boat as the great wave steadily coiled in on itself, unhurriedly- much alike a giant king cobra or a shark with its wide-open gaping jaw- covering the little ship.

~ Badoom ~Badoom ~ Badoom  beat the captains’ heart, as he steered his Braided Maid up this tortuous path. And as the ship slowly neared the top his heart threatened to stop as he looked down and saw how high he was but notwithstanding this, to say the least, ‘complicated’ situation he steered on even as the ship scowled under the pressure of the wave and its planks growled in pain and the ship floated at a perpendicular angle menacing to fall off the wave at any given moment and sink to the deepest corners of Davy jones’s locker. He prayed to the sea gods to let him sail the sea another day. The next time, he swore, I will not tempt fate and sail without an Windwhisperer.

The Braided Maid crept up the wave and to the top of the wave. When it reached the top, the crew breathed a sigh of relief – as if they had each held their breath through the whole ordeal. As Bramin looked around he noticed that everyone looked weather-beaten and aged; this experience had likely taken decades off their natural life span.
However, the captain kept his focused as he knew that the descent could prove just as dangerous as the wave came crashing down on the other side- he used the momentum created by the wave and steered right into the currents, following them; as water splashed and swayed the boat. The boat dashed on the water surface at full speed, quickly escaping from the jaws of the Queen of the ocean.

Bramin joined the captain on the upper-deck of the ship and starred off into the distance with hope and adventure already gleaming bright in his eyes. The weather had suddenly settled and the sun seemed to be on the cusp of rising in the horizon.
And, Bramin thought he could see what looked like the cliffs of Gravenfall, the city of the dead […]

Written by Issa Dioume

Author’s website: Thebiligualwriter.com

A Tumultuous Voyage (part 3) #shortstory #writing

… The wave came, surly, bringing with it a vivid silence. Except the soft creaking of the boat slowly being pulled closer by the wave.

Small sea waves lapped about the ship. The sea captain, with a qualm heart, chose wisely – fighting the sinking dread urging him to steer the ship against the ebb- to let the currents guide the boat instead of opposing them. The planks of the ship rattled madly, but nothing moved besides the ever-closing wave; and the soft lapping of its offspring’s. A general state of inertia seemed to have settled in.

The drummer aboard the ship understood immediately that the time had come for him to play his role. As he began hitting the drum – slowly at first then gradually increasing the pace – the heartbeat of the men returned along with the drumbeat.

du-dum du-dum du-DUUM du-dum Du-DUUM DU-DUUUM

Spirit seeped into the bone marrow of the men each time the sound of the drum echoed. The once restless sea now appeared unresponsive as the only visible movement for miles in every direction was a little ship climbing the giant belly of a beast.

Above the men, a square sail -white as the feathers of a dove – flapped and fought ferociously the unrelenting wind. As the little ship slowly made its way up, dark clouds hung in the sky – drifting in vast mournful veils foreboding a sad end. Tears of rain came spurting out from their eyes. The rain hit the deck squarely, the sound of the droplets echoing loudly in the air.

As an ultimate insult, Bramin thought he saw one of those overhanging puffs of water particles eye him with pity.

The pull of the water ceased abruptly. And, the wave came crashing without warning sending the ship flying into the air. With the swaying of the ship Bramin’s grip slipped and he was sent hurtling through the air into the mouth of the raging sea. But, by pure happenstance and rapid reflexes his leg hit a stanchion which he grabbed thereupon.

The ship, pulled back by gravity, descended. Brutally landing onto the surface of the sea. Water came in from the sides inundating the deck and pushing some overboard. But still, the drum DUMed on. […]

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