Day1

I really don’t like writing. I hate writing stuff because, I mean, I have to think and stuff and it just makes my head hurt. My publicist just says I should start writing stuff ‘cos it would make me more money. I mean, like, I would totally do anything for more money. So here I am, writing my daily memoirs, in between shooting my reality show, totally not being a mom (although I have kids) and taking selfies with my lips puckered like a duck from Peking that’s been roasted till it’s golden brown.

MY publicist says everyone wants to know what’s going on in my mind (not that there’s much going on up there) and seeing how much people have taken to everything else I’ve done (which, in my opinion have been a total waste of time. I could totally have used up all that time on more useful things like, I dunno, taking selfies in my bathroom?), I’ve decided to start writing these totally random events that happen to me everyday (they’re totally not scripted, by the way. My publicist says I should also write that previous sentence).

So I got up this morning and I was feeling all blue from all the work I had to do yesterday (posting pictures on Instagram really is hard work! Those hash tags are a complete pain to come up with) and the first thing I did was to take a picture for Instagram without any filters or make up (my publicist says that I should write that too, though it’s like, a total lie. I had a team of make-up artists do my face before the picture. You do NOT want to see what I look like when I get up without make-up. I look like Tyrion Lanister without a beard, lol). So after taking, like, a hundred morning selfies, my publicist went through them and picked just one. I’m like, oh my god, just one? Why not every single one of them? I mean, I looked awesome. MY publicist says I can upload only so many pictures each morning on my Instagram before Instagram ban me from posting or an angry mob comes to burn my house down, whichever happens first. Whatever, I think he’s just hating (K taught me that! I’ve been learning how to speak black and say things like shizzle, dizzle and nizzle and it’s like, oh my god, so cool! More on that later though).

So after posting the picture, my publicist and I had to come up with a hashtag for it. This took like an hour, because I had so many hashtags I would have loved to use but he says to pick just three. I wonder why he’s being so pinchy with posting pictures on Instagram and using hashtags. Like, do people pay for those? And even if I have to pay for them, I’m rich, duh. Eventually we settled on #allnatural (which is, oh my god, such a lie), #iwokeuplikethis (I certainly didn’t wake up like that) and #readytotaketheworld (after what I took last night, I’m not sure I’m in much shape to take anything else. How much more the world).

After we were done posting that, my publicist said we should look through my social media activity from last night till this morning and reply fan comments and messages. It does baffle me sometimes that I have fans, seeing as I don’t actually do anything, but the world is a crazy place like that. Also, I still do awesome duck lips in my selfies, so I suppose that’s something worth having fans for along with, I dunno, basketball stars, the President and those boring scientists looking for the cure for cancer.

So we decided to look through the comments on the last selfie I posted yesterday before going to bed (I didn’t actually go to bed after that selfie! *wink, wink* OMG, that’s like TMI!). Most of the comments were from the usual ass-kissers “I love you Kimmee”, “Would you leave K and marry me, Kimmee?”, “You look awesome!!!” (IKR!) and soon I was getting bored with reading them. I was about asking my publicist to go call one of my personal assistants to get me breakfast when I spotted a particular comment.

“You look like Tyrion Lanister without a beard.”

OH. MY. GOD! Why would people say such hurtful things about me. I mean, technically it’s true, but it’s just so hurtful and I started crying while my publicist immediately handed me a hanky from the large box of white handkerchiefs beside my bed. I mean, it’s just so hard! I try so hard to look so much less like a dwarf from Game Of Thrones and I was beginning to think it was working, only for some random bitch (my publicist says I shouldn’t call anyone a bitch, like, ever, but this is my memoir so the bitch can go to hell. Hope he doesn’t read it though. That’s unlikely, since he’ll be the one publishing it online. He’s, oh my god, such a queen!) to come tell me the truth? I felt really hurt and I cried for, like an hour till K said I was beginning to piss him off for the morning, so I had to shut up.

That really hurt though. Actually, it still hurts.

Gimme, a moment, I need call my publicist to get me a white hanky.

http://theopenlibrary.upbuzzed.com/2016/02/28/memoirs-of-a-kimmee-kay-day-1/

Okay, before I start this, let me take a moment to break a few hearts: this won't be a funny story.(dun dun dun!!!!). So those of you that have been on the nairaland literature board long enough would know this isn't my first foray outside writing funny short stories. I once had a series I (unfortunately) never completed (not sure if I even went halfway with the plot I had in my head). Anyways, that was a long time ago, and I've lost THAT plot. This new series I'm starting now will be published twice every week at exactly 11:11 am on Mondays and 11:11 pm on Fridays on my blog before being posted here as well. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy it and I really, really, sibcerely, to-the-very-depths-of-my-heart hope I won't ababdon this one as well. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you (dun dun dunnnn!!!!!!!) 11:11

11:11

Tyler glanced at the large clock that hung over the doorway to the security post. Forty-one minutes since his shift started. And he had spent at least thirty minutes of that time going through the rooms and exhibition halls to make sure nothing was amiss. It was a daily ritual, performed with the regularity of someone who had been at the same job for over a year. He would resume at 10:30 pm, spend the next thirty minutes locking up after the three guards he took over from, checking around the museum to make sure everything was in place before settling in at his desk in the security post by 11. For the next hour, he would keep an eye on the CCTV monitors. After which he would take a quick walk through the museum that usually took him less than fifteen minutes if the past hour had turned up nothing unusual. Then it was back to the desk for a nap that lasted at least till an hour before his shift was due to end.

Initially, he felt guilty about sleeping on the job. After all, he was supposed to stay awake to watch the CCTV monitors whenever he wasn’t patrolling the museum perimeter. But in over a year being the security guard working the night shift at the Central Samtep Museum, he had rarely ever encountered anything that warranted a second check. The only two times he had thought he had seen shadows move while watching the CCTV monitors, they had turned out to be a stray cat that had somehow gotten into the museum building. After those two occasions, he had started taking short naps. Then longer naps. Then naps that lasted almost as long as his shift.

The guilt had since left him. It was a boring job, being the only security guard working the night shift. At first the fascination of the things he was keeping watch over and the thought that they were probably all priceless artifacts kept him wide awake and dutiful. But that fascination had since worn off what with seeing them every day except weekends when he was off duty. And then he had learnt that most of the artworks were basically not worth stealing. Whenever the museum was displaying any important or valuable work, it would never be kept on the museum premises at night. And even then, two other guards would be added to his shift to deter any intending robbers. Not that the museum regularly displayed important artifacts. That had happened only once in all the time he had worked here, and it wasn’t even the type of artefact anybody would go through the bother of robbing the museum for.

He glanced at the clock again.

11:11.

By this time usually, he would be playing games on his phone while casting occasional glances at the CCTV monitors but since he had returned to the security post after his routine check, his eyes had been riveted on the CCTV monitors – at one display in particular, for reasons he couldn’t explain. He had only broken his gaze to glance at the clock. That was also inexplicable. He rarely checked the time while on his shift – at least not till he had woken from his shift long nap. But twice he had glanced at the clock and taken note of the time, like he was expecting something.

Like he was waiting for something. He glanced at the clock a third time.

11:11

A minor chill descended on him. He certainly wasn’t waiting for anyone or anything. And nothing had seemed out of place when he did his routine checks. Probably there was something he had subconsciously noticed but hadn’t checked out. It occasionally happened but had never disturbed him this much before.

He pushed his chair back, grabbed a flashlight and stepped out of the security post.

He scanned the museum front yard that lay on his left, running the beam of the flashlight along the length of the short fence and the main gates which he had locked after the curator left. Nothing amiss. He walked the short distance that separated the security post from the entrance to the main building, keeping the beam of the torch trained on the large, solid-looking wooden door that had first been a pain to open and shut but he had since gotten used to, like he was expecting someone to burst forth from within.

Or something.

He made it to the door without anything emerging to surprise him. Still, he felt a sense of unease. The last time he had felt this uneasy was the first time he had worked the night shift alone. Since then he had gotten used to the eerie silence that permeated the isolated museum block, even coming to enjoy. But now he wished there were people milling around like during the day.

He put the key in the lock and turned it. There was a small click and it turned. Then another click that told him the door was now open. He pushed the right door inward slowly with his right hand, his left hand pointing the torch into the atrium within. The door creaked slightly as it opened till it was open all the way in and Tyler stood in the doorway and flashed the beam of the torch around the circular atrium. Everything was as he had last seen it. The pair of marble lions that flanked the stairs seemed to glare directly at him from where he stood. He had found it unsettling in his early days and always looked up the stairs whenever he stepped into the atrium from outside instead of at them. Since then though, he had found their familiar gaze normal. Friendly, even; and had named them Jules and Abe.

Tonight however, the menacing quality in their stare seemed to have returned. Tyler averted his, choosing to look instead at the two hundred years old grandfather clock that stood at the very center of the atrium where it, apparently, still kept the correct time – with occasional winding. The sound of each tick echoed around the atrium, breaking the silence each second. Tyler wasn’t sure if it was the ticking that heightened his apprehensions or the gaze of the lions he knew was still trained at him where he stood in the doorway.

Or the fact that when the beam of the torch hit the face of the clock, a now familiar time was thrown back at him.

It was still 11:11.

So that's the first installment. To keep up with all the minisodes, you can follow this link: http://theopenlibrary.upbuzzed.com/tag/1111/ . And for those who might be interested, I'll also be writing a Harry Potter fan fiction series soon, hehehe. Keep an eye out for that, people!

Have you ever read a book or watched a movie and just didn’t like the way it ended? Or didn’t like the fact that it ended at all an you would like to pick up where the writer left off? (I was a bit heart broken at the end of the Harry Potter series). Well, there’s no rule that says you can’t rewrite the end of a story (or even reinvent parts of the story altogether). Fan fiction is pretty much what it defines, fiction written by fans of a book or movie. Even before the end of the Harry Potter series, fans had already started cranking out their own endings and alternate endings to the series (I read one particularly crazy HP fanfic that ended up revealing that Harry was a middle aged porn star that dreamt up the entire thing while being high on weed). Fan fiction gives fans the satisfaction of ending (or continuing) a story the way they please. This is probably it’s biggest attraction.

Is It Legal?
Considering most (if not all) fan fiction require lifting parts of characters, settings and sometimes plots from the original, there’s always the question of its legality. This question has never satisfactorily been answered and most times, it’s down to the author’s decision on whether or not to allow fan fiction on his/her work to be allowed to continue. However, most authors are either indifferent or sometimes actively encourage fan fiction as it ultimately promotes their original work. Some authors even end up borrowing from fan fiction to complete the original (I think I read somewhere that certain parts of the Game Of Thrones series were gotten from fan fiction and combined with the plot of the original – A Song Of Ice And Fire with permission from the author, George R.R. Martin). Seeing as most fan fiction are written for other fans of a particular work (and not as originals themselves), they are usually seen as mainly legal.

So What Can Fan Fiction Do To A Story?
As I stated above, fan fiction is about the fan writing based on characters or settings from an original work. This means that the person doesn’t have to stick to the plot or idea of the original and, a lot of times, fan fiction tells a way different story from the original (like the Harry Potter being a porn star example I wrote above). Fan fiction allows the fan’s imagination to run wild not limited by the plot of the author’s original to create new endings or even new stories based on characters or settings from the original work. In this sense, fan fiction can (and often does) change the story to suit the fan’s intents.

Can I Write Fan Fiction In A Genre Different From The Original?
Well, it’s completely possible, as far as you can logically explain any changes in genre (or at least satisfactorily explain). The Lord Of The Rings can change from fantasy to a romantic tale by focusing on two characters from the series or even creating new characters within the series’ setting. The problem with changing genres from the original is that it might make the fanfic too fantastic for other fans of the original work (like Luke Skywalker suddenly becoming a neurosurgeon or Frodo being a drug lord). It’s not impossible, as I said, but it would certainly take quite some explaining.

Can I Combine Two Different Original Works In My Fanfiction?
Certainly, as long as you can make sense out of the combination. Say combining characters from Stephen King’s and Dean Koontz’s books shouldn’t be too difficult since they covered pretty much the same type of subject matter. Even when the settings and characters are totally different, it’s still possible to combine them in the same fan fiction so long as you can explain why characters or settings from two different universes are merging in one.

Can I Use The Names From The Original In My Fan Fiction?
Of course, asides the titles of the work itself. Names of characters, places, objects or creatures from the original are normally used in the fan’s fictionalized version of the story. It’s these things that tie the fanfic back tot he original so it’s expected that they are used when writing. When naming your fan fiction, you would also want to modify a bit if there’s a bit from the original in the title. For instance, if you’re writing Harry Potter fan fiction, whatever title you use shouldn’t be exactly the same as any of the original Harry Potter books (i.e you can write Harry Potter And The Battle Of Gringotts – since no such book or movie exists in the original series but not Harry Potter and The Prisoner Of Azkaban).

Can I Commercially Publish My FanFiction?
Commercial publication of fan fiction (selling for money) is generally not advised. While authors are indifferent or encourage people to make use of their original works in their fan fiction, most authors view commercial publication of fan fiction as an expression of infringement on their copyright. Free distribution and online publication (for free) on’t count as commercial publication and authors can overlook that. However, fan fiction should never be commercially published without the express consent of the author or creator of the original.

What Are The Advantages Of Writing Fan Fiction?

Asides the one stated above (writing your own ending or continuing the story), fan fiction is a bit easy to write because you already have characters or a setting or a plot or all three to work with so you don’t need to create from scratch. All you need do is take what exists from the original and make use of it in your writing. This doesn’t mean you can’t create your own characters or plots or settings as you go however. Fan fiction means you’re now part of the story telling, so also be creative and come up with new ideas and characters to make yours unique.

Also, sometimes, writers of the original end up collaborating with fan fiction writers or even outsourcing work to them if their fan fiction is good enough. Yes, really. There are fan fiction that are almost as good as (I’ve heard there are better but I’m yet to see any) the original.

Fan fiction doesn’t mean you’re a lazy writer. It just means you have your own ideas of how a story should go and you want to see it happen. So why not get creative on that story you feel was left unfinished? But please, I beg you, don’t turn Legolas into a porn star!

From UpBuzzed's The Open Library: http://theopenlibrary.upbuzzed.com/2016/01/31/why-not-try-fan-fiction/

While I find your use of sarcasm rather amusing, this is not the place for this post of yours. It doesn't directly deal with literature and creative writing and, as such, should be moved to the religion section.

Mods, please do the needful.

Akposb:
One major feature of your work, brief, concise and reflective of our environment. No need to say the obvious, always looking forward to the next.

Thank you!

Alexebo:
senbon !! na you I just see 4 free so?......abeg carry go

lol, na me o! Happy New Year guys! Hehehehe

Segun sighed as he approached the street gate. Finally, he was home, after the absolute hell of a day he had at the office. First, the internet service had been down from the moment he resumed work, the result being that he had to deal with irate customers who, from their complaints, hisses and minor insults, had probably never used the internet before. Added to which the IT department were absolutely no help at all. The senior manager had yelled at him almost nonstop till he felt like yanking the ID card lanyard hanging around his neck, throwing it at the man’s fat face and yelling “I QUIT!” Like they do in movies. Except he knew if he did that, he would probably be broke within a month and homeless within a year. Insults were swallowed, the lanyard was left hanging and the dramatic quitting was put off for some other time.

He had set the alarm on his phone to go off at 6 o’clock so he would shut down and flee his voluntary incarceration, at least for the next twelve hours. For some reason he couldn’t explain beyond it being the work of high level witchcraft, the alarm hadn’t gone off and he only realized it was past six thirty minutes after. He hastily shut down, grabbed his bag, bid absolutely nobody goodnight and took off.

He barely made it to the office gates before he got a call from the senior manager who had left three hours previously. He needed a phone number from a particular document and apparently, only Segun could retrieve it. Thoughts of a dramatic resignation bubbled up again and were quashed. Better done in person. He sighed, turned around and headed back into the building.

The file turned out to be in a folder from an account they hadn’t opened in over a year, meaning he had to dig through piles and piles of more recently used folders, punctuating the task with swear words muttered under his breath and vows that he would never pick any calls from the senior manager after work hours ever again. One hour later, sweaty and his shirt flecked with dust, he pulled out the folder and was about flipping through to retrieve the document when the senior manager called again. Segun had never been so furious at his phone ringing, even that time he told Sade he wasn’t home only for her to still show up at his door and dial his number. What did the man want now?

Segun swore aloud and nearly threw the folder back into cabinet. Wrong document. Meaning wrong folder. And this time, the correct document was from an account that had been closed for two years. That was before he even got the job. This time, Segun didn’t bother about orderliness when searching for the folder. He drew folders out of the cabinet and dumped them on the floor, eyes blazing and sweat pouring down his face, his shirt soaked and dirty. The office was now practically empty and the only sound to be heard was paper being drawn and folders being dumped. Thirty minutes finally produced the folder and Segun flipped through it till he found the document. All this stress just for eleven digits! he mused, furious. He made for his phone to call the senior manager when it started ringing.

The senior manager.

Segun eyed the phone suspiciously. What again? Wrong document? Wrong account? Was he calling to ask him to sacrifice his mother or donate a kidney?

Segun hissed. He wouldn’t answer the call. He would let it ring. Whatever it was the man wanted he would have to handle it himself. He would send the phone number in an SMS then switch his phone off. If the senior manager asked why his phone was switched off, he would tell him his battery died. He started shoving folders back into the cabinet. His phone rang again. He ignored it. Three times it rang, three times he ignored, focusing instead on getting the folders back in the cabinet. He had just shoved the last folder into the cabinet when his phone vibrated.

An SMS. Smart man. Segun considered ignoring it as well but realized there was no way the senior manager would know if he had read it or not. He picked the phone, unlocked it and opened the message. It was predictably from the senior manager.

“Number not required anymore. Was on my phone. Thanks.”

http://theopenlibrary.upbuzzed.com/2016/01/24/stress-manager/

Okay, i'm really not thrilled to report this, but Uplibe's launch that was initially scheduled for the 1st of November has been shifted forward by 15 days due to a few issues with site. Don't worry, there won't be another postponement. Last last, we'll just launch it like that . The new unofficial launch date for Uplibe is now November 15 2015. At least this gives a longer window for pre-registration so if you're not pre-registered yet, you can head on over to [url]upbuzzed.com[/url] and drop your email address to so you can be notified as soon as Uplibe launches.

Again, my deepest apologies to you guys. Thanks for understanding!

(If you don't know about Uplibe, read about it on this thread: https://www.nairaland.com/2651460/uplibe-social-library-project-free . You can drop any questions about Uplibe there.)

Pre-registration update!

There's recently been an issue with submitting email addresses on the pre-registration form. The issue has been fixed and you can now pre-register for the Uplibe

avicky:
Seb, did you say anything relating to 'fall out'?

What you sow, you shall reap.

hehehe

Leopantro:
Would donate 3000+ e-novels, also have some e-magz. Love reading books but with work I don't have the time. Send a PM and I would send a link to my online store.

3000!!!!! That's more than generous! Thanks!

Warlord3000:


Sebonzakura is back again

Hehehe, I never really leave though.

My first day at work - as a music teacher at a junior secondary school. I was nervous; who wouldn't be? Not because I was going to be seeing a lot of strange faces - c'mon their kids. Or because someone might throw up (I have a pathological fear of people throwing up) or worse still, faint. It was nervous because students can be tiny demons sent from the very depths of hell to torment their teachers and drive them to borderline depression. How do I know this? Mainly because I was one of such tiny demons once.

I've stood before my mirror and tried "teaching" myself for the past two weeks to be sure the wasn't anything about my speech that students could pick up on and laugh at me about. Back in secondary school, we had a Christian Religious Studies teacher, Mrs. Olusegun, who always pronounced "Abraham" as "Abraiham" for some reason I really don't know. Ironically, the most stubborn and bone headed student in my class was named Abraham, so she always had to scream at him and, in the process, call out his name, much to the delight of we, the students and we would quietly snigger, while the poor woman wondered what was funny. Things got to a head when, one day in class, she asked which biblical character is known for being the father of nations. Tolani, Abraham's wife-in-trouble stood up and said, without batting an eyelid:

"Father Abraiham."

The whole class burst into spontaneous laughter. I'm sure till now, the woman would be wondering what was funny about an answer that was obviously correct.

Or Miss Jide, our Home Economics who always pronounced "measure" as "meyor". One day, she burst into the class during prep and was ranting at Tolani about how dirty her younger sister was (she was also house mistress). Eventually she calmed down and asked Tolani what her sister's name was. Tolani simply replid: "Treyor" and the woman left, satisfied. Treasure must have been wondering why Miss Jide kept calling her Treyor without realising it was her elder sister's doing!

Well I hoped I didn't have any such problems. Last thing I wanted was for students to giggle whenever I showed up for class. I hoped that whatever classes I would be teaching would have just seriious students that wanted to learn - not class clowns that would turn a serious class to a laughter fest - for the other students. For the teacher, it would be Nebuchadnezzer's furnace. Like Arinze who's very existence seemed to be driven by the need to turn each class to his personal comedy show. Once in Yoruba class, the teacher had asked students to provide examples of nouns and Arinze raised his hand to answer. She was surprised as he had never wanted to answer questions before so, probably out of curiosity, she asked for his answer.

"Bolu" He said, meaning ball. She was impressed and asked the class to give him a round of applause. No sooner had he sat down than his hand was up again. The woman was astonished. Arinze actually seemed to be getting it and was enjoying her class, to the extent of providing answers to questions! Again, she ignored other raised hands and asked him for his answer. The camel got up and said:

"B. Bolu".

She didn't know B. Ball was what we called basketball but the laughter that followed the answer told her shenanigans were afoot and she asked him to go kneel outside.

Then the nicknames. Probably the worst part of being a teacher. The same way the students gave themselves nicknames was the very same way they gave teachers nicknames - only worse. You didn't know you had a nickname till it was in wide circulation and you would usually find out in the most amazing ways. Mr. Hippolyte, the other C.R.S teacher was known as Mr. Hippopolatus, a name that became so widely used in the school that most students forgot the man's actual name. And he was oblivious to the fact till one day, a student he had punished reported the matter to his father, who promptly showed up at the school the next day to complain. After listening to the complaint, the principal asked the boy which teacher had inflicted said punishment.

"Mr. Hippoplatus." The boy replied, deadpan.

"Mr. who?" The principal asked.

"Hippopolatus." The boy affirmed.

"We don't have any teachers by that name in this school."

"MY C.R.S teacher." The boy explained, more to his father than the principal.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Hippolyte?" The baffled principal asked.

"No," the boy answered, shaking his head vigorously. "Mr. Hippopolatus."

As providence would have it, Mr. Hippolyte chose that moment to make his appearance outside the principal's window as he made his way to his next class and the boy immediately signaled to his father that his punisher was passing.

"Mr. Hippolyte." The principal called. The man kept walking.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hippolyte." Either the man was hard of hearing or he wanted to act like he wasn't hearing the principal's calls because he kept right on walking. The principal promptly upgraded his call to a yell:

"MR. HIPPOPOLATUS!"

I don't know if that's what actually happened, but the boy swore it was. And the boy was Hassan, my best friend in school.

So i'm standing in front of a class of fifty beady-eyed students that seem to be staring at me to figure out what ridiculous nickname to saddle me with for the remainder of my stay as a teacher in this school. Or just waiting for me to say something silly. Or say something like "meyor" or "Father Abraiham". But i'm prepared. I've been preparing for this for weeks. I'm ready.

I start teaching and soon get rather at ease. The students are responding well, there's no idiot that tries to make fun of whatever I say and I clearly have no speech defects of any kind. After thirty five minutes, the bell goes to signal the end of the period. I'm pleased at how my first class has gone. This could be easy afterall.

It's pretty windy and looks like it's going to rain. I would have to get back to the staff room pretty soon if I didn't want to get caught in the rain, so I pack my books and head out of the class. Just as I stood in the doorway, a strong gust of wind slams the door shut, pushing me out of the doorway....

....And flat on my face on the corridor outside the class.

That roar of laughter will haunt me for the rest of my life.

And my nickname?

Fall-out boy.

I need a new job already.

Thanks for taking time out to read this! Want to use this medium to tell you guys about UpLibe, a social Library startup i'm working on. It's a platform for borrowing, lending, exchanging, giving out and reviewing books for free - with online book clubs included. You can read moree about it on this thread: https://www.nairaland.com/2651460/uplibe-social-library-project-free . Ciao!

So for a really long time, i've considered the question of how to improve reading amongst Nigerians and, to be frank, I don't quite have an answer yet - most Nigerians seem to be pretty stubborn about reading! However, I came up with an idea that would at least grant those that want to read greater access to more books without exactly costing them an arm and a leg. So I came up with ULibe: A social library project.

The idea behind Uplibe is to provide a platform for Nigerians to lend, borrow, give out, exchange and review books all for free. The open platform means an increased number of books available. The library allows books in every genre and of every type - hard copy or digital copy (e-books) and all types of publications including journals, magazines, reference materials and picture books.

While the site is almost ready, it won't officially launch till the 1st of November but you can pre-register at [url]upbuzzed.com[/url] so you can get notified as soon as the site is ready. Please, if you have books you don't mind sharing or giving out, we would love you to be a part of this. So far, we are starting out with a hundred books already available and we'll soon put out a form for those who want to add more books to the library.

Let's do something about Nigerians' reading culture together.

Thanks!

pamcode:
nice writeup finally competition for naijasinglegirl. I throway salute

Thank you!!!

Dyoungstar:
Dyoungstar came here.

Dyoungstar was shot here.

may01:
Hahaha This one don pass neighbour oh, he's now a leech.

You know this!

Kaycee7:
Ah, Senbon. Really nice and comical text U dropped here. On point lyk nip,ples as usual.

LWKMD.....like nip,ples....

So I don't know if anybody else has noticed but it seems like The Hub at The Palms, Lekki have shut down their books department. Probably weren't making enough sales or something which is pretty sad. Anyway, they've put most of their foreign fiction books on sale at 50% off the markup price while others are sold in bundles of three for between N1000 for children's books and N2000 for other books. So if you didn't know, you might want to drop by there needy time you're at the mall. Cheerio!