19 Jan My Blog – RoastCorn&Ube
My blog is calling me.
She doesn’t shout or chant or morph into a giant claw like my pens or Pencil; she just sits there and stares at me unblinking, transmitting those summons into my subconscious.
I hate her!
I hate her because I only created her as an outlet for the maelstrom of ideas whirling around in my head not as a constant reminder that I have to write.
I hate her because she draws people to her and I feel crushed by the weight of their expectations.
“I didn’t ask for visitors, comments or even friends.”
“But you’ve got them” Her silent, unblinking eyes transmit to me.
“So what”? I hiss back at her, saliva splattering over the monitor, who kissed her teeth in return.
“They are now a part of you and you of them. Like it or loathe it, you have a duty towards them. You may not have asked for them but it’s been thrust upon you…”
“…Thrust! See her, Miss Big Words! When did you become philosophical? Hian, my own creation kwa!”
She didn’t even dignify my diatribe with as much as a glitch.
I wanted to suspend her; to delete her like I did her older sister, three years ago. Who was she to crawl her way into my bloodstream, my very nexus, to give me ord…
“…While you are at it, don’t forget you promised Kachi a story…”
“…While I am at what”?
“At thinking your foolish thoughts. Don’t forget that you’re owing our family the rest of ‘Taken’.
“Our family kwa?! Heeeiii! I had to suspend my murderous thoughts to respond to her latest absurdity. “What foolish family?”
“Not foolish, just family – Adaezenwa, Malemika, Kachi, SpeaknoEvil, Ego, Eso, Hrh7…should I continue? We even have a new family member, Naijamum…”
“Shut up! Shut up!! Shut your big mouth up!!!,” I shrieked, kicking my pens and Pencil out of the way. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you just get it? I can’t! I can’t!!!”
“Can’t what”? She inquired calmly like a mother with endless patience for her recalcitrant toddler.
“I want to start writing a piece and finish it! I want to write a book but it’s too much…all those details…I can’t…I can’t…I can’t do it and still have time for you…people are being published…I don’t know what I’m writing…Ten Tips to Writing…How Writers Achieve a Bestseller…How To Have An Online Presence As A Writer..Write in small, short bursts…Write consistently at the same time each day…Have a writing space…Declutter before you write…write about what you know…write about what you don’t know…write this…write that…arrrghhhh!!!
I shrieked myself dry.
I doubted I had any more shriek left in me.
My blog was silent and then she blinked.
“Did you enjoy ‘Things Fall Apart’?”
“Immensely,” I whispered hoarsely
“Deliciously”, my voice was still hoarse from all the shrieking.
“Who Fears Death?”
I was determined that all my answers would be adverbs for the bizarre reason that it showed I still had some fight in me despite my hoarse voice. What made me think that, only God knows. My blog however wasn’t interested in my adverbial one-word replies.
“All written by the same author”, It was a question not a statement.
“Of course not!”, I snapped back, some of my initial fire being re-kindled by the absurdity of her question.
“Did one stop the other from being published?”
“No, let me re-phrase that, did reading one stop you from reading the other?”
She hadn’t quite finished.
“Did writing one prevent the other from being written”?
I took a deep breath. It quenched the small fire within.
She was trying to tell me something I already knew but refused or was too afraid to acknowledge.
“ọkan’ube,” she looked directly at me this time, “Stop worrying and just write.”
I released the breath I didn’t know I was still holding.
“Just write. Write big, write small, write when you can and read when you can’t. Write in bits and pieces until it makes a whole. Write when you read and read when you write and when you can’t write, write.”
And with that, she went back into her static unblinking mode.
“Thank you,” I whispered silently.
“You’re welcome”, she transmitted, her gaze unblinking.
“Oh, one more thing”, she turned a micro inch to the left, “Never, ever threaten to suspend or delete me again except on the pain of hacking or I will fill your head with so many ideas that you’ll burst trying to express them. Now, write.”