Don’t wait for the muse forever ― you have a right!
Today is a Thursday, and being a Thursday means looking back, right? I want us to look back together on the art of getting it done.
Back in the day our fore fathers did not know how to read write, not in the literal sense anyway, but they narrated wonderful stories with everlasting themes, teaching societies to get through adversity; drought, disease, suicide, sterility, witchcraft and wrath of gods. They also celebrated societal abundance like faith, rain, harvest, wealth, spiritual wellness, families, love and extra ordinary leadership. These stories would be passed down to subsequent generations.
Storytelling apart from the entertainment value it offered was also a great source of knowledge. It gave societies a chance to get a glimpse of their fore fathers’ wisdom. Most of these stories are still told to date. Because we want to know more; we sit and listen. These stories require telling even more. Documentation with pen ink is finally here. Documentation on software is finally here and stories, initially just limited to households, villages and towns can now traverse cities, regions and continents.
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A few years ago as I walked through the streets of Nairobi I saw a book that caught my attention. It was by chance actually. I had never heard of anything done by Stephen King that was not either a mystery or horror. The book had a black tattered cover, dusty and brown yellowing pages which appeared to have left the publisher’s store as white. The corners were either torn or simply bend. It had probably exchanged over ten hands or so, been slept on, fed on, and left out in the sun; anything but a book treated with tenderness or even a minute on a shelf. I picked it. Days later I perused the covers to read what was in them.
The book is called On Writing by Stephen King, now carefully shelved on my bookshelf and I have made a deliberate effort to read it once every year. I hadn’t loved a non-fiction book that much before. On Writing by King gave me the permission to write or tell stories as I like to call it. I don’t think I ever wanted to put my stories to ink that badly before until I read that book. In the book, Stephen King describes meticulously his journey to becoming one of the world’s most revered writers. I couldn’t put it down, not for the prose and the grammar― which are incredibly on point mind you― but for the spirit moving in it.
As an unpublished author myself, I was moved by his passion to write from a very young age. He narrates of how this one time in high school, his teacher reprimanded him for wasting his God-given talent by writing; a teacher certainly oblivious of what the craft meant to King, but not even that remark deterred him. He carried on. He studied and taught English and wrote novels during his extra time. It only goes to show how our lives as writers are. We don’t get to quit our day job just to pursue the craft; especially as beginners. I cried with King through his struggle with alcoholism as a young writer. I empathized with him feeling how he must have felt like when Tabby and the kids almost walked out on him during those difficult times. I enjoyed the humor in the book, especially on the tools of writing. Trust King to make you hate English adverbs! You’ve probably heard this quote “the road to hell is paved with adverbs”? Yep! The great king himself! I'm always in this crazy laughter whenever I read that book, shaking myself vigorously; my god! He has an incredible sense of humor. Trust King to show you how use animal metaphors on adverbs, jeez!
Literature has morphed greatly over the years but a good story, depicted with absolute honesty rarely leaves the reader for the rest of his or her life.
I especially related to the concerns by myself many young or upstarting writers who claim to have no time to read yet we want to be writers. This is exactly who I was before. I desperately wanted to write but with an eight to five work schedule, classes, among other commitments made me feel like I did not have time to read at all.
Don’t we all say that? Where is the time to read? Guess what, without reading, I never got any inspiration to write either. I just couldn’t. It is as simple as that― you can’t be a good writer if you neither have time nor materials to read. It doesn’t work like that. Reading and writing go hand in hand and that’s that!
I found out that there’s always time to read; even if it’s just one or two pages a day. In traffic, in the bus, in a matatu, on a train, on a plane, at lunch time, right before you go to bed, right before you get out of bed, at the hairdresser’s, during weekends and holidays…name it! Would I rather watch a movie or a soap opera or even news or read? Is it that important to watch both the seven and nine o’clock news bulletins ―Really? Not unless the news anchor is my husband; but still……All these are opportune moments to read and I have since grabbed them. I found out that the more I read, the more I write.
The more I go out there being with people, genuinely caring about their lives, the greater my muse when I sit on my table; to type away.
It also became a lot easier for me to use surface details of my own life in my fiction. I learned that I didn’t―don’t have to charge right into a fantasy world and tell only stories with which I couldn’t relate with or even comprehend. That we can use all the material at our disposal to make art and that it’s never that expensive if we choose to be more conscious of what is around us. We always see what we want to see, and if you look for a story, trust me; you’ll find it a story.
Slowly, I’d sit on my computer and type away. Most of the time, I didn’t even know what I was thinking about until I sat down to write. Writing became my life. Writing became my salvation. I did it, one word at a time. One sentence at a time.
The seed of writing had been innately dormant in me, remaining largely unused, until someone gave me the right.
When I can’t talk physically to people, this is who I talk to. My pen, my paper. My computer. I write and laugh through stories. Other times I cry when my characters suffer. I sympathize with them. I say ‘there, there’ when it’s necessary. I relate to their qualms. I congratulate them when they do well. These are not just characters to me, they are living people with families and feelings and shame and secrets and pain and resilience and courage and triumph and self-worth―like all of us. I don’t create characters, I create living people.
A book is the best thing ever invented since sliced bread? NO. Sliced bread was invented just the other day. Anyway, stories have been with us for many years, since the creation of humanity itself and stories will continue to be with us. The beauty is that stories are about everything in our lives. Stories are about human lives, about animals, about ghosts, about science, about music, love, triumph and conquer, about how people go on even after the most intense suffering and pain.
The kinds of stories I like best are those that bring out what it is like to truly live― the joys and sadness― oh yes, living is a serious business.
Nothing reveals a society as best as fiction. Non-fiction sometimes runs performance ads for people. Nonfiction compresses people’s flaws and amplifies their greatness. It makes them above board, untenable and flawless. Nonfiction is good― and don’t get me wrong I read nonfiction just as much― but there’s always an inclination towards sugarcoating areas of shame and pain and fear. A lot is hidden in non-fiction, making it subtly dishonest.
But nothing beats honest fiction. Nothing beats addressing stories as we know them. Stories about day to day people; stories revealing to us exactly what we’re like when all the everyday masks and hats we wear fall off. Stories that shake us open to what the human heart truly is like. The secrets we have; sometimes those we never plan to ever reveal to anybody. Good fiction is like having an encounter with a friend who lets you be exactly who you are; your messy self, your fears and uncertainties about life and all but still wants to be around you.
Stories tell us that no matter what is going on at the core, a large percentage of the population is always looking for better days ahead. That the human race is looking for forgiveness and love and hope and meaning for their lives; mostly all that is envisaged to be ahead. Nothing beats going on knowing hoping that tomorrow will be a better day. We will see the sun shine again. Because stories teach us how we go on. Every day. Every year. Every lifetime.
Stories don’t die. Stories live forever.
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The other day I was talking with a friend of mine about the influence I have received from the people around me. It is the way we start, people. I see everyday people surviving life against great odds. Sometimes a character in my story can originate from the collective personalities of a few people I know. Events can originate from events that have touched me or people close to me. All I’m saying is that it is ok to write what you know, for now and if you intent to do more writing, then your imagination will broaden with continued practice.
Writing, just like a muscle, becomes better and stronger with continued practice.
Nobody is born with great imagination―ok except for geniuses who are outliers of course― but for any successful fiction, just a little imagination is all you need to start. Imagination doesn’t spring from nowhere. Sometimes it does, but what I’m saying is that its ok to start by writing what you know, then get better at it as you progress to what you don’t know. Just like swimming, you start learning from the shallow end where you literally walk on the floor of the pool. It is what you know; walking. Afterwards, you will effectively plunge into the deep waters and survive without drowning; diving is a learned endeavor; a lot of learning people. The point is one stroke at a time; one session at a time.
It is premature of me at this point to claim to be an authority on writing but I hope this piece touches somebody, somewhere, somehow. That you have a Right to Write; that’s if you’re courageous enough to start. Because i started and so can you. You have the permission slip to write whatever you want to write. How beautiful is that? Whatever you want! Imagine that! Your memoir! You love science like Darwin, go ahead! You love food, how about putting down your favorite recipes on paper? You’re a hopeless romantic and you just can’t stop thinking about those beautiful poems in your head? Put them down today. You’re crazy about motivating others? Go ahead. Or you simply have some good stories about your kids, about yourself, your spouse, about your family and you want to document them in fiction or non-fiction.
But Kate, do you know at what age I will be if i decide to start writing my first novel now? Well i know― the same age you will be when you don't start.
Maybe you don’t even want to be published now. Maybe you want your memoir or biography to be documented someday. Anyone who can read can write.
Writing aside, you have a right to do whatever you want in life― if it is still not clear enough at this point―. Yes, whatever you want. You have a right to go back to school and do that degree, or masters or doctorate. You have a right to start that business you’ve always wanted. You have a write to learn the piano even at your ripe age of 50 years old, or learn a new language or sing or dance or try that one thing you may have failed. That it’s never too late to begin. Just get to it. Walk in the bank and get the capital to boost the business if that is what has to be done. You have a right to contest for a political seat and bring forth the change you believe you have. You have a right to leave some people behind if that is what it takes. You have a right to say ‘yes, this was a great experience but I can no longer live here,’ and forge ahead.
Like I said, the age you will be when you finish the novel, school, start your business, will be the same age you will be if you don't start now.
Nobody is born knowing how to spell or read. Stephen King gave me the freedom to explore art of writing fiction. That book On Writing changed me in more ways than I care to admit. My English teachers in high school gave me the right to write essays and fiction and letters and recipes and poems. A good friend of mine and an ardent poet gave me the permission to write poetry. Another good friend gave me the permission to read fiction. My mother gave me a right to be whoever I want in life. That’s why I say to all of us― we have a right! A right to do what we want! Just like King gave me that push, so do I give it to all of you!
Catherine Amayi is a Scientist, an author of both fiction and nonfiction.
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Email: ccamayi@yahoo.com