There are times when I feel like J.K Rowling, Ernest Hemingway and Chimamanda Adichie at the same time. On days like these, its like there's a satellite above, flooding me with worded manna.
The words are just falling, I'm not thinking, I'm not brainstorming, I'm just writing. Each word just seems to glide into the next like how Akpu soaked in drawy Okro soup slips down your throat. It's like my brain is spitting mad raps and my fingers are drumming on the keypad, catching every lyrics without skipping pace.
My armpits join the race, sweat dribbling out of them to show they're excited. And my pheromone hangs heavy in the room.
And then there are days, when the satellite connection goes down and I can't even get a trickle of word in.
My brain, he goes dumb and leaves me dry and hanging. My fingers feel heavy, like I've got arthritis.
The only thing moving are my eyelids. And when they blink, the screen cursor blinks back in mock mimicry.
How can something as unstable and irregular as Nigerian Nepa, determine how well and how much I write? How can I control it, and get it to come everyday like the caring messages of my telecom partner ,MTN, and my recent stalker NIMC?
Someone please suggest something to me, before this thing called 'my mood' turns around and spells 'my doom'.
No comments:
Post a Comment