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Enter the 2018 Caine Prize for African Writing

Entries for the 2018 Caine Prize for African Writing are now open!

A cash prize of £10,000 is up for grabs for the winning author and a travel award for each of the short-listed candidates (up to five in all). The shortlisted candidates will also receive a Prize of £500. The winner is also invited to go to three literature festivals in Kenya, South Africa and Nigeria.

Published authors who wish to add ‘Caine Prize contributor’ to their CVs have until 31 January 2018 to submit their entry via their publishers.

Take note – unpublished work, as well as children’s books, factual writing, plays, biographies and works shorter than 3000 words will not be considered.

The Caine Prize for African Writing aims to bring African stories and writers to a global audience via the art of short story writing.

Click here for the complete guideline.

’n Fantastiese bloemlesing wat kyk na die lief en leed van ouer tieners - ideaal vir die Kerskous!

Die perfekte brander en ander verhaleStories oor die pyn en vreugdes van verlief wees. Stories oor die waagmoed, twyfel en uitdagings van jonk wees. Stories wat jou sal laat glimlag of ’n traan laat wegvee. Stories wat wéét hoe dit voel om sestien te wees.

Bekende skrywers en nuwe stemme skuur skouers in hierdie fantastiese bloemlesing wat kyk na die lief en leed van ouer tieners.

Elizabeth Wasserman, Christien Neser, Nelia Engelbrecht, Leon de Villiers, Anzil Kulsen, Fawa Conradie, Nellie Alberts, Carina Diedericks-Hugo, Maria Vos, Solette Swanepoel, HemelBesem, Marlene Smit, Christine Barkhuizen le Roux, Jaco Fouché, Jaco Jacobs, Fanie Viljoen, Nathan Trantraal, Santie Nel, Dewald Koen, Tanya van Buuren Botma, Jan van Tonder, Eldridge Jason, Kobus Brown, Christo Davids, Madri Victor, Lynné Schoeman en Izak de Vries.

Jip, ’n bloemlesing met 27 splinternuwe verhale oor die vreugde, pyn en avontuur van jonk wees.

Ideaal vir die Kerskous!
 
 
Marieta Nel en Adinda Vermaak het as samestellers reeds twee topverkoper-kortverhaalbundels die lig laat sien: Sweef (2009) het al meer as 40 000 kopieë verkoop en Skreeu (2010) se vier oplae het al meer as 17 000 kopieë verkoop.

Boekbesonderhede

"Obviously no one but a fool writes fiction for money" - a Q&A with Trade Secrets contributor, Darrel Bristow-Bovey

Darrel Bristow-Bovey is a screenwriter and columnist who lives in Sea Point. He was won the Percy Fitzpatrick Prize and a Sanlam Prize for Youth Literature, as well several South African Film and Television Awards, and was a finalist for the Caine Prize for African Writing. His most recent book is One Midlife Crisis and a Speedo, a memoir about growing up and falling in love and trying to swim from one continent to another.

Joanne Hichens, curator of the Short.Sharp.Stories Award, recently interviewed Darrel who’s currently in southern Spain. In between sips of rioja, Darrel shared his disdain for authors having to explain their stories, why melancholy and poignancy are naturally funny things, and a short, sharp (sorry…) writing trade secret.

Darrel Bristow-Bowey, author of the Trade Secrets story ‘An Act of God’

 
In your story, ‘An Act Of God’, journalist Andrew misses a working lunch with the lead of a touring Irish dance troupe; he loses his job and begins to write obituaries. Is this tongue in cheek? Has he been diminished by writing the lives of ordinary dead people, in contrast to exploring the lives of celebrities?

No, not tongue-in-cheek at all. I also don’t think he’s diminished, although it might appear that way to the world, and even at first to him. I think he finds far greater dignity and creative purpose and fulfillment in writing the stories of ordinary people. Ordinary lives are rich and full and fascinating, and contain far more than the thinly presented lives of celebrities. The most interesting things don’t happen in public – they happen unseen in the lives of those going about their days around us. I also think he found his real material, and his real voice, writing about ordinary people and giving them the dignity and consideration that we all deserve, no matter who we are and what we have or have not done.

Your protagonist, Sarah, meets Andrew who happens also to be disabled, at an Italian class and so begins their affair… until Bella Lennon appears, a movie star of note! Andrew’s career again picks up, and he miraculously begins to walk again. Is there deeper meaning here?

No, I don’t think so.

Short and sweet! Let’s skip to the last line of the story, which ends with the words ‘…this is what it looks like and this is what it feels like…’ Is this a means to reinforce the ‘flow’ of life? To show an acceptance of what ‘is’?

I don’t know that I specifically wanted to show anything. I just wanted to tell a story about two people and a portion of their lives.

I often advocate, to newer writers, that a short story should stick to a time-frame, but yours transgresses this boundary as Sarah and Andrew, as time goes by, are married and divorced… the story spans time and place. What are your thoughts on this?

A time-frame is just the length of time something takes, isn’t it? Are you saying that time should pass at the same rate from the beginning of the story to the end? I can see no compelling reason why that should be the case. I think whatever a story needs in order to be told is precisely what it should have.

The story is coloured by a certain poignancy, melancholy even, a self-deprecating humour. Is writing humour a natural instinct for you?

I think poignancy and melancholy are naturally funny things, and vice versa. I think writing that is without humour, and without a degree of self-awareness, tends to be pompous and dull and life-denying. I am painfully aware that these answers fall into that category.

“Ordinary lives are rich and full and fascinating.” Bristow-Bovey on the significance of obituaries.

 

Surely some readers are interested in the writer behind the story? Why would you think the answers dull and life-denying?

By that, I mean that I am aware that I am not answering with any great verve or sense of humour, and I think the upshot of that is that the answers feel dull to me, and I find dullness to be a little life-denying. Why am I answering without any verve or sense of humour? I’m not sure – partially because I am writing this from southern Spain, in between other commitments, especially a commitment to a fine bottle of rioja in the small bar opposite the bullring in Ronda. Partially because I have a horror of sounding self-important or self-indulgent, and so as a counter-measure I am perhaps tending towards the non-committal.

Is it your opinion that stories be left to speak for themselves? (That bottle of rioja, by the way, sounds delightful!)

Look, obviously the purpose of these interviews is to publicise the book, so I totally get the point of them, and as far as that goes I think they’re a good thing. I also think the questions you’ve posed to people have been good and thoughtful. I am all in favour of the questions; it’s the answers I think we can all live without. I don’t think any story was ever improved by having its author explain it. In these our times, I see authors (or aspiring authors, more precisely) endlessly talking about their writing or themselves writing or their relationship to the writing life on social media, and I think it’s a little pitiful and doesn’t do their work or them any favours.

As a writer of both fiction and non-fiction, what does fiction offer you that non-fiction might not?

I write non-fiction for money. (Well, to be honest, I don’t actually write non-fiction, I write opinion pieces and personal columns, which isn’t fiction, but it also isn’t quite the medium implied by ‘non-fiction’.) Obviously no one but a fool writes fiction for money, and the act and process of doing something not for money, not because you have to, is freeing. It frees you from calculation and from the demands and constraints of professional work. When you’re writing fiction you can write whatever you want, and take as long as you like, and end it however you want, and there is no pressure from anyone else or yourself to do otherwise, or to account for it or justify it. Fiction gives me freedom, which is sometimes joyful and sometimes obviously not, but is something that I need.

Please share a writing Trade Secret…

Do some every day.

Follow Darrel on twitter at @dbbovey

Trade Secrets

Book details

"I am always amazed by the way in which women artists articulate pain" - a Q&A with Trade Secrets contributor, Megan Ross

Megan Ross is a writer, journalist and poet from the Eastern Cape. Her work has appeared in New Coin, New Contrast, Prufrock, Aerodrome, Itch and in several award-winning collections and anthologies. She is the winner of the Brittle Paper Literary Award for Fiction, and also the second runner up of the 2016 Short Story Day Africa Prize, for her short story, ‘Farang’. She is a Miles Morland Writing Scholarship shortlistee. In 2016 she travelled to Reykjavik as the first-ever winner of the Iceland Writers Retreat Alumni Award. Megan is most herself when she is in the Indian Ocean. Her debut poetry collection, Milk Fever, is forthcoming from uHlanga. Joanne Hichens, curator of the Short.Sharp.Stories Awards, and Megan recently discussed ‘Eye Teeth’, the body as memory, and subverting the patriarchy.

 

‘Megan Ross’s ‘Eye Teeth’ is a lyrical psalm of recovery written from the worst type of betrayal. This story reminds one that abuse all too frequently takes place in the home, by those we know and love. At a deeper level, this story is a rewriting of a trauma narrative by a narrator who reclaims the geography of her body, effecting both a re-imaging and a re-imagining of her past.’

You planted a question (or several questions) at the heart of your commended story ‘Eye Teeth’: how to speak the unspeakable? Did clarity come with the writing? Or did you have an idea of how you’d proceed?

I think because my process in life and in writing is rushing straight to the heart of things, which I think I do unapologetically, because it’s so personal, and so urgent a task for me, that clarity did arrive, eventually, mostly because it had to. Something cannot be spoken if it is unspeakable, but perhaps it can be shown, in another way, find life in new forms. I think this was where the tattoos came in. They are not just images: she specifically used motifs and scenes from her past that came to symbolize the horror she couldn’t verbalise, a private language she wrote across her body, with care and love. No matter how difficult it is to confront, my protagonist finds release, and nourishment, in realizing what has really happened to her, what her father has been doing, all these years, which has been blanketed by the gauze of denial, and of course, a life of being gaslit. I wrote the germ of this story years ago, and returned to it just last year, when the series of vignettes became known to me.

The story, about abuse so very much in the news, is also a reflection on memory. Can you tell us a little more about your understanding of memory, and concepts of time, ways in which memory is recreated as words, or images, and how memory is central to this story?

The idea of dipping into and out of the past came naturally to me because I find that time is most days, more circular than linear. The past is always very much disrupting and interacting with the present, which impacts on the future. I wanted to explore the idea of memory being its own entity, a ghost almost, but more living than that, something embodied, in the way that we carry our memories with us, our pasts are always present, in our bodies, in our minds, we take our emotional and psychic baggage along with us into every relationship, into every exchange with people. We also know that childhood trauma impacts the memory quite significantly, and anyone with PTSD will understand how a traumatic event is not returned to us as a flashback, as it is explained, but that the traumatic event is very much relived.

So there is this idea, for me at least, that until something is properly dealt with, which I am not sure is actually possible, by the way, that it will return, again and again, not as a reminder, but as itself. I myself have given birth only once, but I have relived its scariest moments many times: in the bank, in bed, in restaurants, in moments when I’d rather be doing anything but having a PTSD flashback. And during those moments it is not a flashback, perhaps that would be a comfort for people who experience them. No, it’s very much the moment, the hour, the day itself being reborn. So, for my protagonist at least, there is this sense of legitimizing her own passages of time, as circuitous as they are, with signposts and symbols personal to her, that form part of her own mental and emotional constellations.

You talk of the body’s memory too, ‘memory lives in the bloodstream’. Do you believe that memory is stored in the cells?

I think that if one has experienced a traumatic event, and has or has had PTSD, then we can really agree that memory is a very physical thing, at times. Certainly an experience can be lived countless times over a lifetime, simply because the body refuses to forget something that perhaps someone would rather not confront. But that’s the nature of abuse, and of being abused: there is sadly no escape. At some point, no matter how deeply trauma is buried, it will arrive, and demand to be felt and acknowledged. I was speaking to a friend who is a neuroscientist, and he was explaining how every single thing someone does, feels, thinks, believes, can be brought back to neuroscience, to the brain.

We know that events that occur at certain points in a baby or child’s life can impact their psychological health later on, perhaps precipitating a predisposition to being on the schizophrenic or mood disorder or autism spectrums. So in terms of memory being stored in the cells – there is definitely evidence to prove how memories both positive and negative will affect the chemistry, and makeup of some of the body’s most important cells, which is difficult for some people to understand because we still view so much of emotional and mental health as being these ethereal concepts quite detached from the body. Which they really aren’t. Serotonin and dopamine are physical, depression is physical: these are all events that take place within the body.

You talk of the body as an archive, of writing experience, over the experience already stored in the body’s memory. What do you mean by that?

The body already has its scars: its pains. It doesn’t lie. For instance, if you’re around someone who you don’t trust, you might tell yourself you’re being silly but you may experience a really visceral reaction to them – an aversion to their touch, a need to cross one’s arms over one’s body when they move closer. So, there is this intimate, instinctual knowledge that our bodies possess, an intuition that we should heed more often than not, and so writing the body is really narrating what is already playing out in the form of physical sensations; acknowledging that yes, this person gives me the grils, here I am, writing to that, and yes, this person hurt me, here lies my hurt, in the belly ache I get when I know I’m going to see them, in the inexplicable headaches I have before this meeting. Here I am, honouring that, by giving it verbal and written expression, by articulating it. I think great relief and catharsis comes from finally listening to one’s body.

My own experience with self-harm has taught me that sometimes inflicting physical pain on one’s self, and leaving a scar, creating a physical site for emotional trauma, is powerful, and addictive, because it feels healing somehow. In the same way that a tombstone can be a site for mourning, a place to locate and cement one’s grief, probably because, as I said in a prior answer, we still view so much of our emotional lives as being nebulous and untethered from the body. I don’t want to link tattoos to self-harm in any way, but I think what is interesting about creating a permanent web of images on one’s body, is that they are a private and wholly personal superstructure that command one’s body, that change its appearance and perhaps create for someone a stronger tie to their body, to their experience of it. Perhaps externalizing values and beliefs and memories that might not otherwise be known to anybody else, were they not plainly visible.

“I use writing to make sense of my life, and my past. The body is an archive, of writing experience, over the experience already stored in the body’s memory.”

 

The protagonist remaps her body with tattoos in order to tell her story and to reimagine her past. The reader is treated to a masterful insight into the artistry inherent in the process of creating tattoos. Do you have tattoos? Did the experience of having tattoos etched under skin influence the writing of this story?

Funnily enough, I don’t have a single tattoo, but my boyfriend is a tattoo model, and so I’ve watched as his body has become this incredible expression of his life over the last decade. He is also the father of my child and so the experience of his body is intrinsic to how I have experienced my own body; perhaps this is why tattoos interest me so much. Maybe if I had my own I wouldn’t be as fascinated by them, but being a voyeur in this instance, of his and my sister’s tattoos, and what they have meant to both these very significant people in my life, who have shaped me so much, influenced the way I wrote the story, and how I knew I might create these homing beacons for my character, who feels lost in her own histories, and needs some kind of lighthouse to guide her back to her sanity, to her sense of self. Which is not to define tattoos in this single light, far from it; but rather, I thought it an interesting way, and perhaps a method of creating understanding, and initiating healing, that I could get on board with, being a visual person who also very much admires the artistry of tattooing and the beauty of permanently altering one’s appearance.

In what way is this a process of reclamation? Is it possible to reclaim the body from trauma?

Tattoos, for my protagonist, are a way of making her body her own, and changing how it looks, as well, transforming it from the naked naiveté of its childhood incarnations to this vessel that is more in line with her spirit, using images from her past that are so vivid, and immediate to her, that they become this comforting armour when she wraps them around her body. Talismanic, in a way. Certainly I think she feels that she has taken steps to reclaiming her body from her father, whose distortion of her childhood, and body, and sexuality cannot be erased, but, perhaps, can be set apart from her. She steals her body back from his gaze: I think she manages to view her body away from his terrible, powerful gaze, and begin working against its distortions. The tattoos are another skin, a new body, as if she shed the old one to which so much happened, growing into this new, albeit scarred body, in terms of its history, that gives her confidence.

I think one of the most terrible things about being abused or hurt is that one loses one’s sense of self; it’s either distorted or simply lost, and a lot of people spend years trying to figure out who they are, why they have been hurt, if they are deserving of love, how to treat people with kindness when you have not always received it yourself, and it means that knowing what you want, what you like, your ambitions, your dreams, your goals, your talent, it all takes a back seat, because you’re just trying to survive. Knowing that you can choose, that you can have likes and dislikes and interests, that you can create a life very different to the one thrust upon you, takes a long time to understand, and accept.

Can you comment about feminism in your work in general, and the way women articulate pain?

My feminism and my writing cannot be separated. I believe that in writing – in bringing my subjective experience into the world – I am subverting the patriarchy. Writing is resisting silencing, and writing about the things that I want to: girlhood, womanhood, motherhood, the body, themes that are considered to be ‘domestic’ when written by women, are my own particular stake in the fight against the male gaze, in fighting for my right to express myself and to articulate freedoms and beauty and pain and wonder that are particular to me, to young girls, to women, to mothers. I feel fortunate to write and have my work recognised without having to use a male pseudonym, and in that way I am always amazed by the way in which women artists articulate pain: there is always such inventiveness, and creativity, and almost cruel incisiveness. Women have largely not had the luxury of articulating pain without being pathologised for it. And I still feel that now, very much. But I think that things are changing, and looking at the crop of young writers and visual artists that are rising to the fore on this continent, there is certainly not only a wealth of talent amongst women and non-binary artists, but an ambition, and single-mindedness, and sense of community that is making it possible for many, many more people to create.

What writing Trade Secret would you like to share?

I’m just going to drop one of the old clichés which has served me well the last two years, which is: persist. Through every heartbreak, through every shitty story, shitty rejection, shitty everything, persist. Keep writing. Never stop. If you want this, then you’re going to get your heart broken a couple times and it does every writer good to grow as thick a skin as humanly possible and keep focused on the end goal. Which is personal to every writer. Persist through trying times with your notebook in hand, and write all the junk out of your system, keep writing and writing and don’t feel like you have to publish everything you write because some of it is just the starter and you have to get to the main course, to the dessert, because that’s where the goodness lies, that’s where story is.

So, if you end up with an entire book, be it a novel or short story collection or collection of poetry, and you don’t like it, it’s not the end of you. You’ve just been writing out all the gunk, cleaning house. Write to the end of yourself and you will see that you too are round and the world doesn’t end at the horizon: you can keep sailing and writing and you will eventually, always, reach new land, discover new stories, articulate new truth, find a new way to describe something. It is the most exciting part of writing, this pushing-through, and part of it is being okay with failure, because it’s only by getting through each let down and rejection that we can get to the heart of what it is we’re trying to say, and improve and evolve as artists.

Trade Secrets

Book details

2017 South African Literary Awards winners announced!

This year’s winners of the South African Literary Awards (SALAs) were announced on Tuesday night, 07 November 2017 at UNISA, Pretoria Campus.

Authors, poets, writers other and literary practitioners whose works are continuously contributing to the enrichment of South Africa’s literary landscape were celebrated in an auspicious ceremony.

The SALA Awards have honoured over a hundred individuals in the past 12 years.

The 2017 South African Literary Awards (SALAs) winners are:

Category: First-time Published Author Award

Moses Shimo Seletisha, Tšhutšhumakgala (Sepedi)

Category: k.Sello Duiker Memorial Literary Award

Nthikeng Mohlele, Pleasure (English)

Category: Poetry Award

Helen Moffett, Prunings (English)

Simphiwe Ali Nolutshungu, Iingcango Zentliziyo (isiXhosa)

Category: Creative Non-Fiction Award

Dikgang Moseneke, My Own Liberator (English)

Category: Literary Journalism Award

Don Makatile, Body of work (English)

Phakama Mbonambi, Body of work (English)

Category: Literary Translators Award

Bridget Theron-Bushell, The Thirstland Trek: 1874 – 1881 (Afrikaans to English)

Jeff Opland, Wandile Kuse and Pamela Maseko, William Wellington Gqoba: Isizwe Esinembali, Xhosa Histories And Poetry (1873 – 1888) (isiXhosa to English)

Jeff Opland and Pamela Maseko, DLP.Yali-Manisi: Iimbali Zamanyange, Historical Poems (isiXhosa to English)

Category: Nadine Gordimer Short Story Award

Roela Hattingh, Kamee (Afrikaans)

Category: Posthumous Literary Award

|A!kunta, Body of work (!Xam and !Kun)

!Kabbo, Body of work (!Xam and !Kun)

≠Kasin, Body of work (!Xam and !Kun)

Dia!kwain, Body of work (!Xam and !Kun)

|Han≠kass’o, Body of work (!Xam and !Kun)

Category: Lifetime Achievement Literary Award

Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa, Body of work (English)

Aletta Matshedisð Motimele, Body of work (Sepedi)

Etienne Van Heerden, Body of work (Afrikaans)

Category: Chairperson’s Award

Themba Christian Msimang, Body of work (isiZulu)

Book details

A Q&A with Trade Secrets contributor, Olufemi Agunbiade

Olufemi Agunbiade is a Nigerian living in Port Elizabeth, Eastern Cape. He is married, and has two children, a pigeon pair. He is the author of the short story, ‘The Miracle Maker,’ in which a city-dwelling youngster travels back to his grandmother’s village in order to expose a shady clergy. Joanne Hichens, curator of the Short.Sharp.Stories Awards, and Olufemi recently discussed his Trade Secrets entry, crazy things congregants do to ensure being in the good graces of the Lord, and the influence of his Nigerian roots on his story.

‘The Miracle Maker’, an entertaining whodunit, highlights ‘corruption’ in the Pentecostal clergy. Is it as rife as the story makes it out to be?

Yes, if not more. Being that our societies are naturally religious and superstitious, grounds for instant miracles are easily established. Traditional beliefs and fears are heightened. People are encouraged to have more hopes in heaven than on earth. The smart clergies claim they have the knowledge to the paths and keys to the glorious home up there. For fees (tithe, Sunday offerings, first fruits offering), they can lead/show the way. To really drive in the message and convince seekers, instant, incredible miracles will do. The interested congregant will not mind forking over many amounts, all in a bid to be reassured of the heavenly home. It is not, therefore, surprising to find Pentecostal clergies now owning mansions, limousines, jets, financial corporations, all acquired by donations from mostly poor donors. It is a huge business.

Outlandish methods are used to siphon money from congregants. What crazy things will congregants do to ensure being in the good graces of the Lord?

The inspiration for my story came from observing Pentecostal clergies in Nigeria who are always out-doing others in performing miracles (curing HIV/AIDS, curing cancer, making septuagenarians become pregnant, raising the dead etc). It’s no less the case here too in South Africa where smart-alec clergymen are asking congregants to eat grass, gobble down rats, be sprayed with insecticide; the pastors talk to God on the phone — the more a pastor feigns closeness to God, the more gullible are the congregants. It’s all a ploy to show extraterrestrial powers, which will then attract huge fame and money. So, I connected situations in the two climes and decided to write about it.

Ah, so many ways – TRADE SECRETS – of how powerful men of the cloth convincingly part congregants and their pretty pennies.

A penny for your penance…

 

In your story, Sipho, the protagonist, pays a visit to his Makhulu to find out why her savings are ‘disappearing’. Sipho is, in fact, an ‘amateur detective’. Tell us more about his methods and motivation.

I love detective books, especially the ones with explosive twists at the end. I always fancied writing my own stories, but really, I considered myself more of a ‘reader’ than a ‘writer.’ Writing, of course, is a whole lot more than just reading. Then, Short.Sharp.Stories came along and I told myself, Why not? So, I created Sipho, who left the city to visit his grandmother, who had been enthusing about her ‘Prophet.’

Sipho is just an everyday, normal guy who is painstaking in finding out the truth. He is a rough round the edges amateur who is out to expose the truth, no matter the stress and time and mistakes involved. He is learning, like me. I hope to write more about Sipho and his exploits.

Do you perhaps see yourself as a mystery/ thriller writer in the making?

Oh, no. I am still the same ‘reader.’ Reading voraciously and learning the craft of writing along the way. Being published by Short.Sharp.Stories is a massive encouragement which I, indeed, cherish a lot. It is my first attempt and I struck ‘gold.’ Right now, I am trying my hand at writing more and honing the craft.

Makhulu, who lives in a rural village, is feisty and takes no nonsense. She gives Sipho a hard time! Although the story is a classic whodunit, does it also reflect a certain reality? Not only religious corruption, but a disconnect between the older and younger generations?

I patterned Makhulu after my mum! Though younger and feistier, she fits in perfectly well. I only need to tap into my memory bank and she’s there in words, actions and expressions.

I see the older generations as being set in their ways, watching in amusement as the younger, malleable youths grope about with their technological/developmental processes. This does cause friction in many ways, as it does in the Makhulu and Sipho scenes, but I see it as a form of learning, though healthy and educative — the two represent a blend of the old and new, past and present. Interactions between these two ends will always bring out something that can be interesting, out of which we can learn something.

I always ponder on how old folks get to be who they are in their old age. The adventures they have had, their joys and pains, the paths they have trodden on and the knowledge they harbor.

The setting of Port Elizabeth is evocatively described, yet the village in your story is imagined. Why go this route?

I have always lived in cities, from Lagos to here but, really, I love the outdoors where beautiful nature – thriving flora and fauna – is painted in living colors. South Africa is a beautiful country and all around me, I see nature still pristine and protected. Here, in my suburb in Port Elizabeth, seeing heavy morning mists, rugged green mountains, wild guinea fowl and rabbits right on my doorsteps nibbling at tidbits always evokes pictures of a natural village setting. So, I created one. I wanted the story settings to be a mix of the city and the village, a blend of old and new.

As a novice writer, how did you hear about Short.Sharp.Stories? And are you inspired to keep writing?

I saw Short.Sharp.Stories on Facebook and being interested in writing, I decided to try my hand. I passionately love reading, when I can leave the terrestrial earth and soar! I love short stories with a twist. I have been writing more since my Short.Sharp.Stories entry and I have many short stories in stock now.

In what way do your Nigerian roots influence your writing?

My writing is a blend of the two great countries, coated with past and current happenings around me. I must say it is a great advantage for me as I can switch between the two climes to achieve my aim.

What writing Trade Secret have you gleaned along the way?

For a new hand like me, it is a beautiful experience that I want to take up more seriously. Really, during the writing and editing stages, I felt like a surgeon at the operating table, snipping away, suturing up loose ends and packaging a body of story through tedious edits to make it convincing and readable.

Trade Secrets

Book details