Hello you lovely people!
It's that time again. Time to send in your...okay, let me just put up the official statement and...yeah...
2014 Farafina Trust Creative Writing Workshop Sponsored by Nigerian Breweries Plc
Farafina Trust will be holding a creative writing workshop in Lagos, organized by award-winning writer and creative director of Farafina Trust, Chimamanda Adichie, from August 5 to August 15 2014. The workshop is sponsored by Nigerian Breweries Plc. Guest writers who will co-teach the workshop alongside Adichie are the Caine Prize Winning Kenyan writer Binyavanga Wainaina, Aslak Sira Myhre and others.
The workshop will take the form of a class. Participants will be assigned a wide range of reading exercises, as well as daily writing exercises. The aim of the workshop is to improve the craft of Nigerian writers and to encourage published and unpublished writers by bringing different perspectives to the art of storytelling. Participation is limited only to those who apply and are accepted.
To apply, send an e-mail to Udonandu2014@gmail.com
Your e-mail subject should read ‘Workshop Application.’
The body of the e-mail should contain the following:
1. Your Name
2. Your address
3. A few sentences about yourself
4. A writing sample of between 200 and 800 words. The sample must be either fiction or non-fiction.
All material must be pasted or written in the body of the e-mail. Please Do NOT include any attachments in your e-mail. Applications with attachments will be automatically disqualified. Deadline for submissions is June 30 2014. Only those accepted to the workshop will be notified by July 22 2014. Accommodation in Lagos will be provided for all accepted applicants who are able to attend for the ten-day duration of the workshop. A literary evening of readings, open to the public, will be held at the end of the workshop.
Okey Adichie
For Farafina Trust
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Where were we?
I've used that as a blog title before, haven't I?
Hmm. Oh well. Where were we?
Edited two more stories for the anthology. We're getting closer.
Finished my Reading Challenge ages ago, and this even after I went up to 100 books. Obviously, reading is no challenge. Now, if I can get myself to read fewer romance novels and more...other stuff like...sigh...the classics, I suppose.
Sigh. I will. I did love To Kill A Mockingbird and Anna Karenina. Read them last year but a classic is a classic. And I did read No Longer At Ease this January. So, not bad.
Half bread is better than Donut.
Hee hee.
Anyhoo, The Goo is up and requiring Social Direction (or if we're calling a spade a spade, Mummy's undivided attention), but I promised you pictures. And you shall get them, 'cos I got a camera for Christmas (oh yeah!).
Here's a few (three, actually). More tomorrow (maybe).
Hmm. Oh well. Where were we?
Edited two more stories for the anthology. We're getting closer.
Finished my Reading Challenge ages ago, and this even after I went up to 100 books. Obviously, reading is no challenge. Now, if I can get myself to read fewer romance novels and more...other stuff like...sigh...the classics, I suppose.
Sigh. I will. I did love To Kill A Mockingbird and Anna Karenina. Read them last year but a classic is a classic. And I did read No Longer At Ease this January. So, not bad.
Half bread is better than Donut.
Hee hee.
Anyhoo, The Goo is up and requiring Social Direction (or if we're calling a spade a spade, Mummy's undivided attention), but I promised you pictures. And you shall get them, 'cos I got a camera for Christmas (oh yeah!).
Here's a few (three, actually). More tomorrow (maybe).
 |
| Off to School |
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| Mummy's Little Helper |
Monday, April 14, 2014
Wowwy Wow Wow!
Just one post this year!
Wow!
I did not know that...I had put up only one post (so far) this year.
How did that happen? Well, I'm glad you asked.
First off, internet woes - here's looking at you Spectranet *wink*
Then, been busy busy busy - edited one anthology.
It's been sent off to a couple of publishers, now we wait with fingers crossed, on bended knees.
Then edited one book for a client.
Now in the middle of editing another anthology.
Details coming very soon (soon and very soon), just waiting for certain people to send in their stories. I won't be calling names or pointing fingers, but they know who they are.
Also been busy with non-work stuff - like being The Goo's Social Director and Stylist and Escort.
Participating in a Married vs. Single Ladies Cooking Competition (a cook-off?) at Church,
and just being generally busy, and tired and living life...like it's golden.
Hee hee.
Anyway, here's a little something something from me to you. Enjoy!
The recently developed off-planet colony of Nirvana was up and running. Marketed by the Relocate Earth Department of the United Nations as the home of the future for all who loved beauty and creation, it had drawn the brightest and the best of Earth's Recreative Movement. Of course, the brightest and the best needed their support system, so Nirvana was also home to maids, drivers, cooks, teachers, and spiritual directors.
Oh and Tech Support. You can't have an off planet colony running like clockwork without Tech Support. Enter T.
"Call me T", she was known to say. She loved Nirvana. She had always been idealistic, believing that Utopia was out there somewhere, so when she heard that the United Nations and a few Mega Corporations had been secretly developing an off planet colony just outside Earth's solar system, she was ecstatic.
"Nothing to get excited about babe", her friend Z, had told her, "I mean daddy says it will take forever before it's finished, and even then it will be an uber-exclusive set of people who will be relocated".
"I'll find a way", T had replied, and she had. Her friendship with Z had been instrumental. You see Z's daddy was a cosmetic surgeon. He straddled the line between recreative and support system. He was definitely getting on The Nirvana List.
"Big Daddy", T said to him, over the phone, "how are you going to get me on that list?"
"Why are you calling? Aren't you coming over?"
"Nah. Z asked me to go clubbing with her, and she'll get suspicious if I blow her off".
"Come home with her then. You can come to my room when she's asleep".
"Yes sir", she said, grinning, and hung up.
That night, he promised to think about it, but T knew he was lying, so she when she snuck back into her friend's room in the wee hours of the morning she put Plan B into play.
"Z, you know you and your dad are getting on the list".
"Probably, but The United Nations isn't as squeaky clean as it used to be. That list is going to be up for grabs to the highest bidder".
T sighed, "I wish I had money like you guys. I would so pay for a place on that list".
"Aaaw. Don't worry. You know you're my girl. I'll talk to daddy. We'll find a way".
Two days later, Z called. "T baby, guess what?"
"What?"
"Your name's getting on the list", Z screamed.
T screamed too, "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so much. You are the best friend ever".
"You know it. You’ll be on the list as my Backup Buddy".
"Backup Buddy?"
"Don't worry. It's just a new department. It's a not a lot of work, and you get paid Mega Bucks".
Mega Bucks? T was sold, in more ways than she realised.
When they got to Nirvana, Z and her daddy moved to The Estate. T moved to a nameless shanty town. A few days later, Z drove her hovercraft too close to a gas flare. She survived, but lost an arm.
Enter the Backup Buddy.
Two years in, and Z's reckless living had cost T two arms and both legs. Cutting edge technology ensured the perfection of Nirvana a la Z remained unmarred. T was support system. Perfection was not a requirement.
But at least she was in Nirvana.
THE END...so far
Tomorrow (hopefully) - Pictures and Stuff. Have a great day!
Wow!
I did not know that...I had put up only one post (so far) this year.
How did that happen? Well, I'm glad you asked.
First off, internet woes - here's looking at you Spectranet *wink*
Then, been busy busy busy - edited one anthology.
It's been sent off to a couple of publishers, now we wait with fingers crossed, on bended knees.
Then edited one book for a client.
Now in the middle of editing another anthology.
Details coming very soon (soon and very soon), just waiting for certain people to send in their stories. I won't be calling names or pointing fingers, but they know who they are.
Also been busy with non-work stuff - like being The Goo's Social Director and Stylist and Escort.
Hee hee.
Anyway, here's a little something something from me to you. Enjoy!
The recently developed off-planet colony of Nirvana was up and running. Marketed by the Relocate Earth Department of the United Nations as the home of the future for all who loved beauty and creation, it had drawn the brightest and the best of Earth's Recreative Movement. Of course, the brightest and the best needed their support system, so Nirvana was also home to maids, drivers, cooks, teachers, and spiritual directors.
Oh and Tech Support. You can't have an off planet colony running like clockwork without Tech Support. Enter T.
"Call me T", she was known to say. She loved Nirvana. She had always been idealistic, believing that Utopia was out there somewhere, so when she heard that the United Nations and a few Mega Corporations had been secretly developing an off planet colony just outside Earth's solar system, she was ecstatic.
"Nothing to get excited about babe", her friend Z, had told her, "I mean daddy says it will take forever before it's finished, and even then it will be an uber-exclusive set of people who will be relocated".
"I'll find a way", T had replied, and she had. Her friendship with Z had been instrumental. You see Z's daddy was a cosmetic surgeon. He straddled the line between recreative and support system. He was definitely getting on The Nirvana List.
"Big Daddy", T said to him, over the phone, "how are you going to get me on that list?"
"Why are you calling? Aren't you coming over?"
"Nah. Z asked me to go clubbing with her, and she'll get suspicious if I blow her off".
"Come home with her then. You can come to my room when she's asleep".
"Yes sir", she said, grinning, and hung up.
That night, he promised to think about it, but T knew he was lying, so she when she snuck back into her friend's room in the wee hours of the morning she put Plan B into play.
"Z, you know you and your dad are getting on the list".
"Probably, but The United Nations isn't as squeaky clean as it used to be. That list is going to be up for grabs to the highest bidder".
T sighed, "I wish I had money like you guys. I would so pay for a place on that list".
"Aaaw. Don't worry. You know you're my girl. I'll talk to daddy. We'll find a way".
Two days later, Z called. "T baby, guess what?"
"What?"
"Your name's getting on the list", Z screamed.
T screamed too, "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so much. You are the best friend ever".
"You know it. You’ll be on the list as my Backup Buddy".
"Backup Buddy?"
"Don't worry. It's just a new department. It's a not a lot of work, and you get paid Mega Bucks".
Mega Bucks? T was sold, in more ways than she realised.
When they got to Nirvana, Z and her daddy moved to The Estate. T moved to a nameless shanty town. A few days later, Z drove her hovercraft too close to a gas flare. She survived, but lost an arm.
Enter the Backup Buddy.
Two years in, and Z's reckless living had cost T two arms and both legs. Cutting edge technology ensured the perfection of Nirvana a la Z remained unmarred. T was support system. Perfection was not a requirement.
But at least she was in Nirvana.
THE END...so far
Tomorrow (hopefully) - Pictures and Stuff. Have a great day!
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Happy New Year!
How did you cross over?
Where were you and what were you doing?
Like most Nigerian Christians, I was at Church, praying my way into the New Year. My husband used to take umbrage at this way of moving into a New Year but he's married to me now so umbrage or not, we go to Church.
I'm going to try really hard not to be preachy but this is my first post of the year (Yay!) so bear with me...
And now I've lost my train of thought (yup, old age).
Oh well, let's talk about a much maligned word - Resolutions.
Do you have any?
I do:
Write. Finish a novel and edit 3 anthologies.
Read 50 books.
Be happy. Take deep breaths. Don't be so easily offended.
Be emotionally independent. Do not allow other people's mood swings swing your moods.
Love. Be patient. Be kind. Do not keep a record of wrongs.
That's it.
There should be something about weight loss and exercise but those aren't resolutions. They are on my to do list. Speaking of weight loss, here's a little sumthin' from the wonderful Miss Wana Wana. It's called Weight Loss. I saw her perform it at Bogobiri and I loved it and her. If you ever can, see her live.
Anywhichway, Happy New Year.
Make Glorious Mistakes. Make Glorious Art.
PS. I figured out (more like discovered) how to do this. Phew!
Where were you and what were you doing?
Like most Nigerian Christians, I was at Church, praying my way into the New Year. My husband used to take umbrage at this way of moving into a New Year but he's married to me now so umbrage or not, we go to Church.
I'm going to try really hard not to be preachy but this is my first post of the year (Yay!) so bear with me...
And now I've lost my train of thought (yup, old age).
Oh well, let's talk about a much maligned word - Resolutions.
Do you have any?
I do:
Write. Finish a novel and edit 3 anthologies.
Read 50 books.
Be happy. Take deep breaths. Don't be so easily offended.
Be emotionally independent. Do not allow other people's mood swings swing your moods.
Love. Be patient. Be kind. Do not keep a record of wrongs.
That's it.
There should be something about weight loss and exercise but those aren't resolutions. They are on my to do list. Speaking of weight loss, here's a little sumthin' from the wonderful Miss Wana Wana. It's called Weight Loss. I saw her perform it at Bogobiri and I loved it and her. If you ever can, see her live.
Anywhichway, Happy New Year.
Make Glorious Mistakes. Make Glorious Art.
PS. I figured out (more like discovered) how to do this. Phew!
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Christmas with The Goos
At this moment, I'm listening to my Riffs playlist filled with the lovely sounds of The White Stripes, 12 Stones, Muse, Vampire Weekend, Linkin Park, Sixpence None The Richer, Queen, Santana, POD, GS Megaphone and U2.
Papa Goo got back this morning from an 8 day location shoot and is still unpacking.
The Goo is running laps around the couch, watching TV and yelling commentary at us.
We have a tree and those shiny, ruffly, spangly Christmas equivalents of feather boas on our walls and 4 sets of Christmas lights. They are all on.
Because The Goo requested it.
It is Christmas Eve and I'm chilling, bracing myself for the last bit of work before Christmas Day proper. The last bit of ironing and folding; the last bit of sorting out the parlour and dining table; the last bit of cooking.
This is the first Christmas where it's just the 3 of us - me and my two Goos. I'm doing the traditional (Ghomorai) Christmas breakfast, and that's the best part of the day for me. After that, anything goes.
Merry Christmas!
Papa Goo got back this morning from an 8 day location shoot and is still unpacking.
The Goo is running laps around the couch, watching TV and yelling commentary at us.
We have a tree and those shiny, ruffly, spangly Christmas equivalents of feather boas on our walls and 4 sets of Christmas lights. They are all on.
Because The Goo requested it.
It is Christmas Eve and I'm chilling, bracing myself for the last bit of work before Christmas Day proper. The last bit of ironing and folding; the last bit of sorting out the parlour and dining table; the last bit of cooking.
This is the first Christmas where it's just the 3 of us - me and my two Goos. I'm doing the traditional (Ghomorai) Christmas breakfast, and that's the best part of the day for me. After that, anything goes.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 23, 2013
Here's Timi!
Before you say anything, let me explain - the modem in the house overheated, melted and died. We didn't get it replaced till sometime this month, and The Goo has been sick with illnesses that I've been assured are pretty run of the mill for toddlers.
So basically, I couldn't get online and then I was busy and not mentally here and now I'm just exhausted.
However, the 2014 Reading Schedule for The (Unnamed) Book Club is ready and it's a happy place for me so I got over my tiredness to share this.
Drum roll, please.
January - No Longer At Ease by Chinua Achebe
February - This is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz
March - Fine Boys by Eghosa Imasuen
April - The Neverending Story by Micheal Ende
May - The Housemaid by Amma Darko
June - The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
July - White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi
August - Emma by Jane Austen
September - Yellow Yellow by Kaine Agary
October - Young Wives' Tales by Adele Parks
November - Zahrah the Windseeker by Nnedi Okorafor
December - From 3rd World to 1st World: The Singapore Story by Lee Kuan Yew
I'll put up book covers when I review (I will, I will!).
In other news, guess who read 300 books this year *dusts shoulder*
Booyah!
My next post, I'll let you know what my favourite books were, beyond the obvious 5 star ratings and why.
Merry Christmas, people!
PS. Eat some cake and drink a coke for me. Gracias!
So basically, I couldn't get online and then I was busy and not mentally here and now I'm just exhausted.
However, the 2014 Reading Schedule for The (Unnamed) Book Club is ready and it's a happy place for me so I got over my tiredness to share this.
Drum roll, please.
January - No Longer At Ease by Chinua Achebe
February - This is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz
March - Fine Boys by Eghosa Imasuen
April - The Neverending Story by Micheal Ende
May - The Housemaid by Amma Darko
June - The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
July - White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi
August - Emma by Jane Austen
September - Yellow Yellow by Kaine Agary
October - Young Wives' Tales by Adele Parks
November - Zahrah the Windseeker by Nnedi Okorafor
December - From 3rd World to 1st World: The Singapore Story by Lee Kuan Yew
I'll put up book covers when I review (I will, I will!).
In other news, guess who read 300 books this year *dusts shoulder*
Booyah!
My next post, I'll let you know what my favourite books were, beyond the obvious 5 star ratings and why.
Merry Christmas, people!
PS. Eat some cake and drink a coke for me. Gracias!
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
For Your Pleasure: Cut
I fell asleep on my hand, and woke up with that numb, tingly feeling and the residue of a dream. This is the result. Enjoy!
My husband came back early from work today. We had been texting each other all day, so when he came into the house and headed straight for me in the kitchen. I knew he was going to kiss me, then drag me into the bedroom. I knew we were going to make love. Well, he was going to make love to me. I was in it for baby making purposes. After another attempt at biological alchemy, I knew he was going to ask for food, then notice that the house was in a mess.
He would say things like, "What have you been doing all day?"
"Why don't you clean up a little?"
"Kai, if I know say you dirty pass me, I for no marry you".
The last one would be an attempt at humour to diffuse what he would consider to be a tense situation. Tense because in response, I purse my lips, narrow my eyes and say nothing, but my look promises retribution.
Retribution never comes, but it is gratifying to know that the promise of it is enough. Usually. Tonight, I want my pound of flesh, specifically N2,000 worth of roadside peppered beef barbecue.
"Let's go get suya", I say.
I know he will say yes, because he just wants me to be happy, and if it is suya that will make me happy, then it's suya I'll get. He was like that when I was pregnant, traipsing round Ikeja to get me Asun, and Banga soup at odd hours. So we get out of bed, pick out track bottoms from the pile of clothes overflowing from the laundry basket, get clean t-shirts from our closet, and head out with slippers on our feet. I'm wearing my outside slippers. The pair my sister sent from the UK. They are tan with green rhinestones. I think they are pretty. My husband thinks they are garish. I have to remind myself to wear them, because I'm tired of hearing my husband say, "At least, they are better than bathroom slippers".
What's wrong with bathroom slippers? Who is looking at my feet? What does it matter in the grand scheme of things?
But I will not tell him what I am thinking. He will ask annoying questions.
We head out for suya at 10:13PM. There is electricity tonight, so the estate is uncharacteristically quiet. I can hear frogs and crickets, and they assure me that Lagos is not all concrete and hypertension. There is life here as well. I cross my fingers and pray that there's life in me as well. Maybe it's early, but it doesn't hurt to pray.
We walk past the estate gates, and the slumbering security men. My husband hisses. I laugh. I have always considered hissing a feminine tool. He hisses again, "Why are you laughing? They charge us thousands of Naira for security and this is what it comes down to - open gates at 10pm and sleeping guards?"
"If they were awake, they would have stopped us to ask 20 questions and delayed us".
"At least, I would know my money is working".
I smile at him, put my arm through his and keep walking. "Let's hurry up. I want my suya".
A man jogs past us. I squeeze my husband's arm. He squeezes back. We keep walking. Another man walks down the road towards us. I turn my head around, and notice the street is empty. Where has everybody gone?
The man walks past us. He is wearing a suit sans tie, and nods at my husband as he walks by. I am not offended. I am invisible. No one can see me so I cannot be harmed by the things that come out of the darkness.
Light bounces off something and there is a man in front of us holding a razor blade to my face. Where did he come from? I don't move. I don't breathe. My husband's arm is clamped in mine. He has moved his feet apart in a fighting stance.
"Guy, dey walka", my husband says.
"Egbon, just give me the money or I go use this blade for your wife".
"Guy, dey walka".
"Wo, you dey try me. I go spoil this your fine wife face o!"
I know what I must do. I take a deep breath, then everything happens quickly. I let go of my husband's arm, and go for the blade with my other hand. The vagrant moves to punch me, but my husband grabs his fist and hits him in the throat. The blade presses into my hand, and I squeeze. It cuts deep, and I squeeze some more. I am not afraid of getting cut. I cut myself all the time but usually with my little kitchen knives. The large ones leave marks I don't like to explain. There are no razor blades at home. The vagrant looks at my face as blood seeps through our joined hands. I smile. He is afraid. My husband clears his feet from under him in a sweeping move, and my smile becomes smug. I let go of the pleasure of the blade and its owner's hand so I am not pulled down with him. The smell of the blood dripping from my hand pleases me.
"Babe, you're bleeding. Let's go back home".
I nod. Who needs suya?
My husband came back early from work today. We had been texting each other all day, so when he came into the house and headed straight for me in the kitchen. I knew he was going to kiss me, then drag me into the bedroom. I knew we were going to make love. Well, he was going to make love to me. I was in it for baby making purposes. After another attempt at biological alchemy, I knew he was going to ask for food, then notice that the house was in a mess.
He would say things like, "What have you been doing all day?"
"Why don't you clean up a little?"
"Kai, if I know say you dirty pass me, I for no marry you".
The last one would be an attempt at humour to diffuse what he would consider to be a tense situation. Tense because in response, I purse my lips, narrow my eyes and say nothing, but my look promises retribution.
Retribution never comes, but it is gratifying to know that the promise of it is enough. Usually. Tonight, I want my pound of flesh, specifically N2,000 worth of roadside peppered beef barbecue.
"Let's go get suya", I say.
I know he will say yes, because he just wants me to be happy, and if it is suya that will make me happy, then it's suya I'll get. He was like that when I was pregnant, traipsing round Ikeja to get me Asun, and Banga soup at odd hours. So we get out of bed, pick out track bottoms from the pile of clothes overflowing from the laundry basket, get clean t-shirts from our closet, and head out with slippers on our feet. I'm wearing my outside slippers. The pair my sister sent from the UK. They are tan with green rhinestones. I think they are pretty. My husband thinks they are garish. I have to remind myself to wear them, because I'm tired of hearing my husband say, "At least, they are better than bathroom slippers".
What's wrong with bathroom slippers? Who is looking at my feet? What does it matter in the grand scheme of things?
But I will not tell him what I am thinking. He will ask annoying questions.
We head out for suya at 10:13PM. There is electricity tonight, so the estate is uncharacteristically quiet. I can hear frogs and crickets, and they assure me that Lagos is not all concrete and hypertension. There is life here as well. I cross my fingers and pray that there's life in me as well. Maybe it's early, but it doesn't hurt to pray.
We walk past the estate gates, and the slumbering security men. My husband hisses. I laugh. I have always considered hissing a feminine tool. He hisses again, "Why are you laughing? They charge us thousands of Naira for security and this is what it comes down to - open gates at 10pm and sleeping guards?"
"If they were awake, they would have stopped us to ask 20 questions and delayed us".
"At least, I would know my money is working".
I smile at him, put my arm through his and keep walking. "Let's hurry up. I want my suya".
A man jogs past us. I squeeze my husband's arm. He squeezes back. We keep walking. Another man walks down the road towards us. I turn my head around, and notice the street is empty. Where has everybody gone?
The man walks past us. He is wearing a suit sans tie, and nods at my husband as he walks by. I am not offended. I am invisible. No one can see me so I cannot be harmed by the things that come out of the darkness.
Light bounces off something and there is a man in front of us holding a razor blade to my face. Where did he come from? I don't move. I don't breathe. My husband's arm is clamped in mine. He has moved his feet apart in a fighting stance.
"Guy, dey walka", my husband says.
"Egbon, just give me the money or I go use this blade for your wife".
"Guy, dey walka".
"Wo, you dey try me. I go spoil this your fine wife face o!"
I know what I must do. I take a deep breath, then everything happens quickly. I let go of my husband's arm, and go for the blade with my other hand. The vagrant moves to punch me, but my husband grabs his fist and hits him in the throat. The blade presses into my hand, and I squeeze. It cuts deep, and I squeeze some more. I am not afraid of getting cut. I cut myself all the time but usually with my little kitchen knives. The large ones leave marks I don't like to explain. There are no razor blades at home. The vagrant looks at my face as blood seeps through our joined hands. I smile. He is afraid. My husband clears his feet from under him in a sweeping move, and my smile becomes smug. I let go of the pleasure of the blade and its owner's hand so I am not pulled down with him. The smell of the blood dripping from my hand pleases me.
"Babe, you're bleeding. Let's go back home".
I nod. Who needs suya?
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