Achievements

Let's Talk Paulo Coelho
We all know the novelist Paulo Coelho. He became a household name after his 1998 novel 'The Alchemist' became an international bestseller.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Writers
Juba Secondary Schools Mini Competition, second edition, kicks off
The second edition of the Juba Secondary Schools Mini competition kicked off on Tuesday, 1 July 2025, with eight participating schools. This year’s competition categories include Spelling Bee, Speed Challenge Quiz, Speech, Academic Debate, Music, Dance and Drama, as the last two listed items are being introduced into the contest’s experience for the first time.
By Excellence Foundation for South Sudanabout a year ago in Writers
From Concept to Creation: How Tripo Studio is Revolutionizing 3D Design
For decades, 3D content creation has resembled an exclusive club with steep membership fees: years of technical training, expensive software suites, and high-end hardware requirements. Even for professionals, the traditional pipeline involves a frustrating dance between multiple specialized applications—one for modeling, another for texturing, a third for rigging, and yet more for optimization and rendering. This fragmentation doesn't just create technical barriers; it disrupts creative flow, turning what should be an inspiring process into a technical obstacle course.
By sammmyabout a year ago in Writers
Baby steps
One day I decided to not look up. Maybe not "decided" but it just happened. I saw my shoes, the floor, dirt and gum wrappers. I saw footsteps in the mud and pebbles laying idle. I counted the shoes in front of me and the steps I took. All rhythmic. If I was sitting I'd tap my feet in a specific way: Once on the left foot, once on the right, repeat again, tap both twice. I don't know why I chose to tap twice for each one but I do remember thinking about it immensely and coming to the conclusion that two times was optimal. 'Optimal for what?' you might ask. Frankly, I don't think even I knew.
By Nawrah about a year ago in Writers
Poe-Found Winners
ViMs June Prompt is officially over, all the entries have been tallied, and I'm here to announce the winners of the challenge.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Writers
Our Independence Day
Our Independence Day, at its core concept, is the independent gasp of a nation—an intangible instant condensed into history, memory, and legend. It is not so much a date enumerated by flags and parades; it is a throb of liberty, a transcendent liberation from the silences of servitude. By definition, Independence Day is the yearly celebration of a nation's freedom from foreign rule, colonial occupation, or tyrannical authority. But under this technicality is a maze of feelings, philosophies, and obligations beyond the ink of historical proclamations.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Writers
Erotic Accomplishments
My poetry has been published in a variety of lit mags and online journals. I have even self-published two collections of my poetry. Ripping the Scales from My Eyes; Unmasking Myself, and Rhythm and Muse (I am currently reformatting those). I regularly submit poetry and the occasional short story or memoir piece to stay recently published, and the most recent genre I've added to my repertoire is Erotic poetry.
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Writers
Hooked: How My Phone Became My Drug
I never thought I’d be the kind of person who couldn’t put down a phone. Growing up, I watched adults at dinner tables, their faces lit blue from tiny screens, and silently promised myself I’d be different. I would read more books. I’d be present in every moment. I’d never let a machine control my mind. But somewhere along the way, the glowing rectangle in my pocket turned into something I couldn’t live without. At first, it was innocent. I downloaded a few social apps to stay in touch with friends. I told myself it was just for convenience—to answer messages, share photos, keep up with the news. I had no idea how easily it would all spiral out of control. In college, my phone became an extension of my hand. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and instinctively reach for it, scrolling through notifications I’d already seen hours before. My mornings started with feeds full of other people’s highlights: selfies on beaches, engagement announcements, luxury vacations. I couldn’t look away. Each perfectly curated post seemed to whisper that everyone else was living a more exciting life, and I was falling behind. The worst part was, I knew it was happening. I could feel my attention span fraying like a cheap sweater. I struggled to read even a single page of a novel without checking my phone three times. I started to notice phantom vibrations in my pocket, my brain conjuring notifications that weren’t even real. I wasn’t alone. Every time I looked around—a waiting room, a bus stop, a classroom—everyone else was staring at their screens too. It was as if we’d all silently agreed this was normal. But deep down, I felt sick. I knew my phone was stealing my time. I knew it was rewiring my brain. But I didn’t know how to stop. One afternoon, I decided to check my screen time stats. I was curious, maybe even a little smug—I imagined I’d be under the average. But when the number appeared, my stomach flipped: 8 hours and 37 minutes. Almost an entire workday, wasted on mindless scrolling. It was a slap in the face. I started to think about what I could have done with those hours. Learned a language. Exercised. Written a book. Called my grandmother. Instead, I’d watched strangers argue about politics, liked hundreds of photos I didn’t care about, and read the same headlines over and over. That night, I lay awake wondering what my life would look like if I didn’t feel tethered to a screen. I realized I hadn’t been fully present in years. Every conversation was punctuated by glances at my phone. Every moment of silence felt uncomfortable without a distraction. I wish I could say I woke up the next morning and simply quit. But addiction doesn’t work that way. It took months of trial and error. I deleted apps and reinstalled them when loneliness crept in. I tried turning my phone off for a day, only to find myself restless and irritable, like I was missing some vital part of myself. I’d go hours without checking, then binge-scroll for an entire evening to catch up. Slowly, though, I started to claw back control. I began by charging my phone outside my bedroom. The first night felt unbearable. I lay in the dark, my mind craving the glow, the constant updates. But as the minutes passed, something surprising happened. I started to breathe more deeply. My thoughts slowed. When I woke up the next morning, I felt rested in a way I hadn’t in years. Next, I set time limits for social apps—30 minutes per day. I turned off all notifications. I stopped bringing my phone to the dinner table. The world didn’t end. In fact, it started to feel bigger again. Without the constant drip of dopamine from my screen, I began noticing things I’d ignored: the warmth of sunlight on my face, the way my coffee smelled, the quiet joy of simply existing without an audience. I read books. I journaled. I sat in silence without reaching for distraction. It wasn’t easy. Some days, I still slipped. But over time, the grip loosened. Now, I think of my phone the way I think of junk food. A little won’t kill you, but too much leaves you bloated and hollow. It’s designed to be addictive, to keep you craving more. You can’t rely on willpower alone—you have to set boundaries. If you’re reading this and feel like your phone has become your drug, you’re not alone. It’s not your fault. These devices are engineered to hijack your brain. But you’re not powerless, either. You deserve a life that feels real—not just another highlight reel on a screen. Put the phone down. Look around. You’re still here. And there is so much more to life than likes, followers, and endless scrolling.
By Kim Jonabout a year ago in Writers
Ed Strachar and Healing Genius®: Awakening the Body’s Natural Healing Power
In today’s fast-paced world, many people are searching for effective, natural methods to enhance their health and well-being beyond traditional medicine. Ed Strachar’s Healing Genius® offers an innovative approach to self-healing by combining scientific principles with spiritual wisdom. His work empowers individuals worldwide to tap into their inner healing genius and live healthier, more vibrant lives.
By Ed Stracharabout a year ago in Writers
The Rusty Bell: A Story of Regret and Redemption
In a sleepy little village tucked between rolling hills and fading traditions, lived an old man named Rehman. He ran a modest clock repair shop—just a room filled with ticking walls and the scent of oil and brass. Though he was not wealthy, his work was known far and wide. People brought more than just clocks to him; they brought trust. Rehman’s life was simple. He lived alone after the passing of his wife, with only memories and ticking timepieces to accompany him. His only daughter lived in a nearby town and was often unwell, dependent on medicines that Rehman could barely afford. One foggy morning, a boy no older than fifteen entered his shop. His name was Sami, a curious-eyed orphan raised by his grandfather. In his hands, he carried an old, rusted bell. “This bell used to hang on our front door,” he explained. “It belonged to my grandfather. Every time it rang, he would say, ‘Live honestly, and you’ll never fear any sound.’ It stopped ringing after he passed away. Can you fix it?” Rehman examined the bell. It was made of aged bronze, dulled by time but rich in sentiment. “I’ll try,” he said, gently. After the boy left, Rehman placed the bell on his workbench—but a storm brewed inside him. He hadn’t sold a clock in weeks. His daughter’s medicine bill lay unpaid. The bell was made of rare bronze. If melted and sold, it could cover his expenses for a month. “It’s just a bell,” he whispered to himself. “The boy is young. He won’t know.” That evening, driven by desperation, Rehman sold the bell to a scrap dealer. The next morning, he replaced it with a similar but cheaper bell and polished it to shine. When Sami returned, Rehman handed him the fake. “It was too damaged,” he lied. “This is the best I could manage.” Sami looked disappointed but didn’t argue. He held the bell close and softly said, “I used to think this bell carried my grandfather’s voice.” Rehman’s heart skipped. He remained silent as the boy left. That night, Rehman couldn’t sleep. The ticking of every clock in his shop sounded like a lie. The bell’s absence rang louder than its presence ever did. Days passed. Then weeks. Guilt built like rust on iron. Rehman tried to locate the scrap dealer again, but the shop had vanished. Driven by remorse, he decided to visit Sami and confess. But by the time he found Sami’s home, it was too late. The house was locked. Neighbors told him the boy had moved to the city for schooling. No address. No contact. Years passed. Rehman grew older, lonelier. He hung a replica bell in his shop—not to deceive, but to remember. Every morning, he rang it once before opening the shop. It became a ritual. A reminder of his mistake. Then, one rainy afternoon, a well-dressed man stepped into his shop. He had a kind smile, neatly combed hair, and a familiar glint in his eyes. “Do you remember me?” the man asked. “I’m Sami.” Rehman stared, stunned. Time had passed, but those eyes were unmistakable. “You came here once… with a bell,” Rehman said, trembling. Sami nodded. “I never forgot that day. I held on to that bell for years. Even though I knew it wasn’t the original.” Rehman looked down, ashamed. “I lied to you. I was desperate. I melted the real bell. I’ve regretted it every single day.” Sami was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. “My grandfather used to say, ‘A lie can travel fast, but the truth always catches up.’ You didn’t just return the truth. You carried it all these years.” Rehman’s eyes filled with tears. “Can you forgive me?” “I already did,” Sami replied. “That’s what the bell truly symbolized: not perfection, but the courage to admit when we’re wrong.” As Sami left the shop, Rehman rang the bell once more. But this time, it didn’t echo regret—it rang with relief. --- 📖 Moral: Mistakes are human. But it takes real strength to admit them. One moment of truth can undo years of guilt.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)about a year ago in Writers
How to Develop a Candy AI Clone: Features, Trends & Cost Breakdown
Candy AI has left many developers and entrepreneurs, including myself, pondering the possibilities of creating a candy AI clone. The growing appetite for virtual companions with sophisticated features, especially in the NSFW space, has driven a surge of interest in replicating platforms like Candy AI.
By John Millerabout a year ago in Writers
Hamlet: The Tragedy of a Prince Torn Between Thought and Revenge
Hamlet: A Tale of Madness, Revenge, and Tragedy In the cold kingdom of Denmark, a storm brews not just in the skies but within the soul of a young prince. His name is Hamlet, and though born to rule, he finds himself drowning in sorrow. Just weeks ago, his beloved father—the king—died suddenly, and before his mourning clothes could gather dust, his mother Gertrude married his uncle Claudius, who now wears the crown. The halls of Elsinore Castle echo with whispers. Something doesn’t sit right with Hamlet. He’s haunted by a feeling, a gnawing instinct that his father’s death was not natural. Soon, that suspicion is confirmed in the most chilling way possible. One night, Hamlet’s loyal friend Horatio and the castle guards see a ghost wandering the battlements. It is the spirit of the late king, pale and armor-clad. They bring Hamlet to meet the ghost, and under the moonlight, his father’s spirit tells a dreadful tale: he was murdered by his own brother, Claudius, who poured poison into his ear as he slept. The ghost demands revenge. Hamlet is shattered. His world, already unsteady, collapses entirely. He swears to avenge his father but must be cunning—Claudius is now king, and no one would believe the word of a grieving prince against him. To mask his plan, Hamlet begins to feign madness, confusing the court and causing alarm. Not everyone is convinced he’s truly mad. Polonius, the king’s advisor, believes Hamlet’s madness is due to heartbreak over his daughter Ophelia, with whom Hamlet has had a complicated romance. Claudius and Gertrude send spies—Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hamlet’s old friends—to uncover the truth. But Hamlet is always one step ahead. He distrusts everyone, speaks in riddles, and questions the very meaning of life. His most famous soliloquy—“To be, or not to be”—is not just about death, but about the weight of existence itself. Why suffer life’s pain? Why not end it? But he fears the unknown, the dreams that may come in death. And so he hesitates. To confirm Claudius’s guilt, Hamlet stages a play called The Mousetrap, mirroring the murder of his father. He watches Claudius’s face closely during the performance. When the scene of the poisoning plays out, Claudius storms away—guilt written across his brow. Now, Hamlet is certain. Yet still, he hesitates. In a moment alone, he finds Claudius praying. It would be the perfect time to strike. But Hamlet reasons that killing a man at prayer might send his soul to heaven—a reward, not justice. So he waits again, and the bloodshed begins to spiral. Mistaking Polonius for Claudius hiding behind a curtain, Hamlet stabs him to death. This act unravels what little stability remains. Ophelia, devastated by her father’s death and Hamlet’s erratic behavior, descends into madness. Her grief leads her to a watery death—an apparent suicide. Meanwhile, Claudius, now afraid for his life, sends Hamlet to England with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, carrying secret orders for Hamlet’s execution. But the prince outwits them, alters the letters, and returns to Denmark alone, his soul now hardened. Enter Laertes, Ophelia’s brother, who returns to avenge his family. Claudius manipulates Laertes into a deadly plot: challenge Hamlet to a duel, poison the tip of the sword, and keep a poisoned drink nearby, just in case. The duel begins before the court. The blades clash. Laertes wounds Hamlet but is cut himself in the chaos. Gertrude, unaware of the poison, drinks the fatal wine and dies. Laertes, dying, reveals the king’s treachery. Enraged and betrayed, Hamlet finally acts: he stabs Claudius and forces him to drink the poison. As the poison seeps through his own veins, Hamlet’s life slips away. But before dying, he names Horatio the bearer of truth—his voice to tell the tale. Fortinbras, a noble prince from Norway, arrives to find the royal family destroyed. He honors Hamlet as a fallen hero and takes control of Denmark. Thus ends the tragedy of Hamlet—a story of betrayal, madness, and revenge that spirals into death for nearly all involved. It is not just a tale of vengeance but a deep exploration of the human condition. Hamlet asks questions that still echo today: What is justice? What does it mean to live with purpose? And when is it right to act, or to wait? In the end, Hamlet is no simple hero. He is flawed, introspective, sometimes cruel, and always caught between thought and action. But perhaps that is what makes his story so enduring. We see ourselves in his doubt, in his pain, and in his search for meaning in a world that often seems senseless.
By Soul Draftsabout a year ago in Writers