All posts filed under: fiction

A Really, Really, Really Brief Writing Workshop

Published by Osemhen

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 …

I Was Going To Write A Story (Really!)

Published by Osemhen

So I plugged in  my trusty Azure (she’s a solid black HP, not blue like her name says), booted her up and opened a new page in MS Word. My story was quite a simple one. A love story. A heroine. A hero. Boy meets girl. Crisis. Attraction. Love. Marriage. The End. Your typical M&B. Only Nigerian. My heroine was called Edel. Short for Edelokun. Edelokun means The river can’t ever be greater than the sea. A typical Ishan name. Wantonly boastful. I liked the name Edel, still do. It sounds exotic, doesn’t it? I mean, a girl called Edel, what would she look like? You see? Edel, however, did not like her name. “It sounds French, Osemhen. I prefer Elokun. It’s a more appropriate name for a proud, black, African woman.” And just like that she went from being a slightly light-skinned, tall, slim, size 6 chick with a fantastic Brazilian weave to being the colour of burnt sugar, with a size 14 figure and a full head of beaded dreadlocks tied up in …

Ugliest Girl In The World – Elaine Irabor

Published by Osemhen

On a lighter note, please welcome guest writer, the incorrigible Elaine! All opinions expressed herein are solely hers, and I”m hereby indemnified against any liabilities 🙂 For as long as I can remember, since I was old enough to be compared, (the instant I left that embarrassing A-cup stage), it’s been, ”Your Mommy is finer (sic) than you”. I smile and say thank you, at least it’s nice that one’s Mom isn’t an embarrassment. I try my hardest to ignore the second meaning, which is that a woman who has birthed four children, and is more than twice my age, still looks better than me, who’s supposedly in her prime.  I got used to that though, and saying my thank yous  that is until my little sister started growing breasts. I’d always known she was going to turn out better than me: It’s the curse of the first child to sit back and watch younger siblings get the best gene combinations. All the ”errors” in me are corrected in my little sister: My crowded teeth …

Hashim's Story

Published by Osemhen

She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Hashim approached the counter holding a loaf of bread and a can of insecticide. Yesterday, it had been a bottle of bleach and a six-pack of Imperial Leather. The day before that, a year’s supply of candles and two tins of Kiwi polish. Tomorrow? Detergent, cereal…and maybe, maybe he’d work up the courage to ask her out. ‘Nicole’ her name tag said. She looked … like a Nicole. Artful make-up, perfect manicure, caramel complexion, thin braids that cascaded down her back. When his turn came, she flashed him a quick grin. “Hello.” He decided he liked the lilt in her voice. “Hi.” Say something more, you doofus! – Like what! – Like… say something! “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Seriously? Are you kidding?!! That the best you could do? “Yes, it is.” She scanned the insecticide, arched a perfect eyebrow. “You were here yesterday, right?” “Uh.” Great! Now degenerated to muttering grunts. Perfect, Hashim! “Yes… Nice shirt.” Dude! –  It’s a blue shirt! I like blue! “Thank you.” She …

My Dad's Will

Published by Osemhen

I found this while searching for my birth certificate. My Dad can be pretty wry at times, but this just cracked us up. He wrote this in university, way before he met my Mum. Her name’s not Marianne, by the way. Or Elizabeth! To my wife, Marianne, I leave her lover and knowledge that I wasn’t the fool she thought I was. To my son, I leave the pleasure of earning a living. For twenty-five years, he thought the pleasure was solely mine. He was mistaken. To my daughter, I leave N100,000. She will need it. The only piece of business her husband did was to marry her. To my chauffeur, I leave my cars. He almost ruined them… and I want him to have the satisfaction of finishing the job. …And upon the death of my wife, Marianne, the executors of my will should in no way bury her in her rightful place in the family vault next to me. I want to rest in peace. To one Elizabeth Parker, whom through juvenile fondness …

The Question

Published by Osemhen

(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 …

Letter to 10 year old me

Published by Osemhen

So a while ago, I rummaged through my diaries and ‘wrote’a letter basically to me. Ten year old me (she answered to Jennifer) wrote to 21 year old me. You can read it at http://eurekanaija.wordpress.com/2010/06/24/10-year-old-me-vs-21-year-old-me/ This is the reply. Dear ten year old me, Hi, there.  You’ll be happy to know I turned out pretty ok considering what a nuisance you were! 😛 I now live in Surulere (bet you didn’t see that coming!). I’m through with Uni; ended up going to Unilag, oh! It’s not half as bad as you imagine, don’t worry. And no you(we?) didn’t flunk one bit, contrary to what you might think! The next few years are going to be the most tumultous of your life; two major tragedies and a house move. Mega sucks, but you’ll cope. Understatement! You’ll astonish yourself with how strong you are. You end up being best friends with Folake Dosunmu (you don’t even know her now!) and Ebiere Oki. Yes, Ebiere Oki!! And you’ll find them the best things that could happen to you …

10 year old me vs. 21 year old me

Published by Osemhen

Ten year old me was average height, skinny with a slight pot-belly, very tan and had a boy’s cropped hair cut (will locate picture soon). Ten year old had only one wish: more jeans, less housework. Ten year old me had no idea what she wanted to be in future and was flunking Math. Ten year old me held the 58th position (academically) in a class of about 80. (in my defense, the average age in that class was 11 :)) Ten year old was just a regular kid, period. Fast forward, eleven years, and I’m taking stock of my life, wondering if the younger me would approve. The image in my head is of her penning me a letter (email?) so here goes. Dear 21-year-old me, Hi. Glad to see that you (I?) finally figured out what to do with yourself (myself). I would’ve chosen something more glamorous than engineering, though. Oh well… You write? Cool! Can’t understand why you haven’t completed a book, though. Nice book collection, by the way but why no …