What have i done and what can i do?
Since my literay Lords haven't been quite favoured towards me, hence they've lost chances of being my 'rites' guardian. You gotta crawl before walking but at the time jumping best suited the occasion so i jumped, landed in mud and to tell the truth-the pix ahead kinda got me comfy in the mud.
Yes...the heart sinking disappointments of man. I started writing at a time comparable to when slaves were forbidden to read, when fellow fingerlins like me were better skilled at erecting sand-castles with bottle-tops and discarded plastic plates that had escaped the bin and started a host of compost and worms! When i got to primary school it was a saver. My enviable skill got me representing the forlone school in literary knock-outs which mostly ended well.
By the way i went to a public yoruba-speaking,every-friday-kpankere-submitting,sponge-and-omo-submitting, broom-submitting,hold-your-dress-close-to-your-bum-bloody-flogging hell of a public school!
Of course some really intolerable traits tagged along after graduaton but called it quits with my friendship after series of trashings from mum. Thats not the point.
Moving on to boarding-secondary school,it was a killer.
I wrote about a disabled senior-'Sister Loving'...loving my butt... and the page was let out of the book!The rest of my junior years saw me living like a roach; a life of sneaking in and out of the crevices of the school walls. Senior Loving chose to suspend the meaning of her name because of me till she graduated. Still, this isnt the point.
In university, it was my play tool. I used it in class, to win favours from my lecturers and of course-the guys. Seeing the credibility of my works, minus Senior Loving's own, i decided and started keepin tabs on them.
Now we are getting close to the point.
You know those moments after uni. when you're filled with so much combustible energy you forget you aren't flame(fantastic 4)? Well, i had my share of it and went on to give my first complete anthology to a dude who had his stakes in the literary soil. I believed it would gimme a head start of invasion.
In telegraphic lingua; 3weeks;no word> 7weeks;no word> 8 weeks;I ask; He in new office; book in old office> 10weeks; No visits or calls to office>12weeks;No book!
By the third month i confronted hGod help him if i see any part of it represim 'audibly' and it stil didnt produce my book five years and counting. God help him if i seepart of it represented as someone else's.
I have lost enough works to 'empty promising' people in high places that culda got me in contending position with Chimamanda- hope the spelling's right. After my last experience, i shutted down. Recently, the cries to restart have got to me with every creative work i stumble on until a particular phrase from the pit hit the roof;
..i told you guys she was a loser;no guts,no balls...
...you got that right...no ******* balls...three hits and she's down, let's ditch her...
This was while i was comfortable in the mud. Looking ahead i didnt think i could match up to time lost wadding in the mud. Laid before me were land-marks of literary successes. While in the mud i had witnessed passers-by fall, get up and toggle on ahead of me. It was then the true meaning of failure played itself. I had been a failure cos i fell and remained fallen.
The power to change that status rested in me and i decided to use it.
At this point i can boldly answer my question- i have fallen and i will rise!
This aint no clarion call, tis a decision.
My advice: dont wait till ur elements decide to abandon ship or drop anchor, as far as y'have it in you, keep sailing; though your clothes cake up in mud, keep walking.
