Much Ado About Whom I Whom I Write

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Much Ado About For Whom I Write

Submitted: July 10, 2017

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Submitted: July 10, 2017



Much Ado About For Whom I Write

I call this piece "Much Ado About For Whom I Write", because this seems to be the Central Question of many to me as a writer.

In 20015, my auntie Mrs Rosemary Oladije who lives with her family in Walnut Street, Philadelphia, USA, took some copies of my books to a University of Pennsylvania Philadelphia based Nigerian Professor, who happens to speak my language. His name I won't call here.

After reading one of my books, he said"When I was reading The Local Champion", at a point I asked myself: was the writer mad when Writing this section of the story?",

Now, his Question above prompted Professor Lincoln of Creative Writing Department of the same University to read the book. When he did, he was so kind to use his close ties with Ethnologue.Com to give me a Research Grant, the money I was to use and publish another book.

So, I said to myself, what if the Critic didn't say that which prompted Professor Lincoln to read the book? What if?

This Critic asked me for Whom do I write and I told him I write for Jade, Udebuani Ozioma, and Jamila, to which he asked me what the hell is that?

Now, in the same 20015, Best Schools International Gwarimpa Abuja bought multiple copies of my book for her students and that was where those names above came from.

I was with Superstevvy Okonkwo when Jade's Mother, Mrs Dupe Omojola Mosuro called that her daughter, Little Princess Jade wants to speak with me. On the phone Jade told me, amidst tears, that she doesn't like the way I ended the story, "The Local Champion". In this story a little boy of seven years watches his mother fight with her last breath to survive breast cancer and no amount of tears from the little boy would bring her back. That is Jade's anger with me in the book.

This same dissatisfaction is expressed by Udebuani Ozioma who was the Head Girl of Best Schools International Gwarimpa Abuja and Jamila who was in Basic One.

Since that day, I started writing for Jade, Udebuani Ozioma and Jamila.

Now, the Critic wants me to write for him and I say Hell NO! But I am glad he is watching me like a Vulture watches a falling/dead meat, only I am not dead.

You see, this life is so unfair: if a man is about to make love to a woman, he puts on the romantic charm of removing her clothes, unzipping her bra, and the rest, but after she is fucked, she is on her own. That's who a bad Critic is. The one who can't or won't write.

Now, the Critic who also writes knows that a writer is one to whom Writing is more difficult than any other. I do criticism as much as I do Writing, the Certificate here justifies this claim. This is not being bragadacious but it's simply 'Call it What it Is'.

It's evident that textual formation and the dynamics of biographical criticism unifies the contrast between the "nka and the omenka", the craft and the craftman, but constructive criticism not just reveals the man behind the mask but bares the face of the mask and triumphantly holds up the revelation as a trophy.

My position is that criticism will benefit more if we focus on the internal gymnastics of thought and idea in the play of language which Literature is. I mean the Critic should criticize the Art, not the Artist. Writing is like Childbirth, after carrying your brainchild for many months in your womb, and finally birthing it, you know how it feels to be condemned unjustly.

In the introductory page of my book "The Legacy Of Our Forefathers" which appears in The Nigerian Pilot Newspaper, I qouted Francis Bacon thus: "Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discuss; but to weigh and consider"(1561-1626).

There is nothing in this life worth bringing somebody else down. The world is already too slippery, you don't need to push someone for s/he to fall.

So, don't fight a battle you stand nothing to gain in Winning. Don't. Please.

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