All posts tagged: Arts

On The Farafina Workshop

The first thing I miss is waking  up to memories of last night’s Smirnoffs. Waking up to the thought of breakfast with my literary kindred:  litres of orange juice and mounds of French toast disappearing as we lament the fact that we have been irresponsible and not typed one sentence decent enough to be read in class, much less critiqued. Liars! I miss sitting in the Coaster bus, gossiping about our tutors as we wait for Buchi (perennial latecomer that she is) to prance downstairs so we can go for class. I miss  posing for pictures. I miss how the room brightened when Chimamanda walked in bearing apples and Ferrero Rochers (because we were such great students 😀 ) I miss the laughter during lunch at the Lagos Resource Centre where we held our sessions from 10 am to 5 pm (sometimes 7). The workshop was many things. New friends. Self discovery. Surprises. I would find out that Chimamanda did not read the entry I sent in; someone sent her the link to one of …

A Really, Really, Really Brief Writing Workshop

In a few weeks’ time, two writing workshops will begin. The first is organized by the Farafina Trust and hosted by Chimamanda Adichie. The second is organized by Fidelity Bank and hosted by Helon Habila. Understandably, not a few wannabe authors are anxious about being selected. The hosts are big names in the industry and for many people, yours truly included, the opportunity to interact with them is one to die for. Almost. The truth is that not everyone will get in. Sucks big time. Word on the street is that Farafina Trust received about four hundred applications. Only twenty people will get picked. Daunting odds. My stomach goes all funny at the thought of it. And so, to take my mind off it, I am reviewing everything I’ve learned about creative writing. If I don’t get in for either of the workshops (sigh), I’ll re-read John Gardner’s Art of Fiction and hope I get in next year. 🙂 So here goes. My mini creative writing workshop.  I won’t say I’ve been faithful to them …

The Question

(I wrote this at the writing workshop I attended recently. It was inspired by the most intelligent company ever, their intellectual discourse *straight face* and a bus ride :D) They sickened you. You couldn’t explain your visceral recoil at the sight of the IBB posters; your mood soured, your emotions plummeted and you lost your train of thought to a brief desire to kill.  It didn’t help that the campaign posters were everywhere. The aftertaste lingered curiously. Why are you angry? – I don’t know. You were not particularly politics-inclined. You had not been old enough to appreciate the evil the Genius had perpetrated. You weren’t zealously patriotic; the country could bloody burn and you would fiddle! Why did you care so much you lost your peace? And why was the fact that it made you lose your peace so upsetting? The Question haunted you as you circled the city on a bus. It fixed itself in your mind as you ate the sugarcane you filched from a farm. It cooed as you conversed with …