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"What's up?"
I jumped up violently from the table over which I had been bent for the last three hours pondering what to write for my latest article. I looked around wildly, but I couldn't see a thing. There must be some controlled substances in this kunu, I thought, as I settled back in my seat.
"D'you need any help?"
This time, I not only leapt from the table like a man electrocuted but sent my glass of kunu flying, and it was only by the grace of my fine-honed reflexes that I was able to stop it from spilling over my keyboard and consigning me to internet oblivion.
After recovering from my shock, I peered cautiously around my room, scanning every corner to satisfy myself that I wasn't losing my mind. And then I saw him... or should I say I saw it? I don't know. Although he spoke like a 'him', he looked very much like an 'it'. He was a part-fat-part-thin, part-black-part-white, part-tall-part-short and wholly hideous creature.
"Who-who are you?"
The creature smiled. "Ah, Shoko, that's not a very welcoming greeting. And after all the help I give you, too."
"What are you talking about? What help? I've never seen you before in my life!"
"That does not make me any less real. I am the source of your inspiration in your creative endeavours. I am the hand that flicks the switch when the light bulb goes off in your head announcing the arrival of a new idea. I, my friend, am your muse."
I snorted in derision. "Muse my hairy left buttock! You don't look any thing like a muse."
My so-called muse gave a wry smile. "That is the cross we muses have to bear. Just the other day, I was chatting with Chinua Achebe's muse, and he was telling me that for all the work we do, you would have thought that we would have been created with better looking bodies."
My scorn deepened. "Chinua Achebe indeed! You are as truthful as you are beautiful."
"That's very complimentary of you, but I know my limitations in the looks department." He... well, he appeared to float up on to my desk, and hovered over my laptop, scrutinising what I had written with amusement.
"What is so funny?" I snapped. "It's not easy writing an article, you know."
My muse floated down to the table top and turned to me. "Of course I know it's not easy... that's why you have me to help. Tell me, what exactly do you want to write?"
I scratched my head again. "Well, the article is intended for a Nigerian audience... I guess I just want to write something that will get lots and lots of people reading it."
"And I notice that you are writing an article titled 'Rock Formations on the Shebshi Mountains of Adamawa'. Do you really think that people are really interested in that kind of thing?"
"Well, it's not something many people know about... and I thought that they would welcome the chance learn something new..." I said lamely.
My muse burst out into a peal of laughter. "Nonsense! Nobody will read that.... not unless they have chronic insomnia. No, what you want to write about is politics."
I groaned. "But everyone is writing about politics! How can I make myself heard amongst the crowd?"
"Write about the topic of the hour!" my muse exclaimed. "For example, take the scandal over the Speaker of House's contract to renovate her residence. Do you know how many articles have been written about it? Millions! And do you know how many of them people have flocked to read? All of them!"
"Not true", I said. "If I wrote an article praising Patricia Etteh, I bet nobody would read it, because many people think that she's a thief."
"Nonsense again!" my muse cried. "That is exactly the kind of article everyone would rush to read... but only so that they can try to understand the mind of the complete and utter idiot that would dare challenge public opinion. Then they would systematically disembowel you with a series of rejoinders and hang you out to dry. But never mind that, your article would definitely be... well, if not popular, at least infamous!"
I shook my head. "I don't want to be infamous. And I don't want to write about Etteh - there are far more qualified people doing that already - people who practically have wiretaps into the minds of Nigerian politicians. I want to write about something else."
"But politics is still a very rich field. If you don't want to write about the news of the day, write about a long running issue in Nigerian politics. A perennial favourite is corruption - you could write about that."
I gave a skeptical grimace. "Every knows about corruption. What is there to say? Corruption is bad. Corruption is the cause of all our problems. We need a revolution to cleanse the nation of corrupt people. That's pretty much it."
"Come on, you can pad it out more than that. You can add about how it impoverishes people, cite examples of where it is practised and take a few well-aimed shots at our leaders for perpetrating corruption on a large scale. That is always a sure draw for your audience. Oh, come on," he added exasperatedly as he saw me shake my head again, "That's a great topic!"
"I know, but if I'm going to write on it, I need a special angle to make my article stand out from other articles about corruption. I don't just want many people read my article, I want them to say 'Wow, I wish I could have written an article like Shoko's'."
"You could always write an article about arrogance, since you seem to be well-versed in it," my muse commented acidly.
Ignoring him, I asked "Do you think I could write an article on 'Corruption on the Rock Formations of the Shebshi Mountains'? No? All right, do you have any other ideas what I could write about? Let's leave politics for now."
My muse thought for a while, and then brightened up. "You could write an article on ethnicity. That is just as interesting a topic as politics." But even before he had finished speaking, I was shaking my head vigorously.
"No way! That is a toxic topic - if you think that people will get mad at me for praising Etteh, you watch what they do when I say that Yoruba people are this or Igbo people are that. No way!"
"Well, what do you expect? If you want to be a well-known author, you can't just write a bland article that people will read and forget. Your article has to make some people so mad that they will lust day and night for your death. But they won't be able to touch you, because hopefully your article would have made some other people so fanatical about you that they will be prepared to die in order to prevent the other group of people from killing you!"
I stared at my muse as he delivered this speech at full blast with spittle running down his mouth, and when he was done, he leaned against a wall, hand on head, breathing very heavily.
"Look," I said gently "I just want to be an author. Not a prophet. Not a martyr. Not the founder of a new religion. I think I will choose some other less radioactive topic - and yes, that rules out religion and feminism too."
My muse shook his head tiredly. "I think you are running out of topics. But there is one rich area you can still choose," he said.
"And this is...?" I asked expectantly.
"Relationships," he said. "There's the whole gamut to choose from - relationships based on love, relationships based on children, relationships based on money, relationships based on lust, relationships based on lies, relationships based on power, relationships based on abuse, relationships based on torture..."
I hastily interrupted him to prevent things going further downhill. "Let's say I picked 'relationships based on love'. What should I then write about?"
"Er... well, you could tell a story about a loving relationship between two people.You talk about how they meet, how they fall in love, how they settle and have children, how everything becomes a bit routine, how the woman begins to look outside, how the man finds out and goes mental, how he murders his family and barricades himself his house, threatening to set it on fire, how the police are called in to deal with the situation, how they end up going to the wrong house and killing the wrong man who happens to be an influential area boy, how his fellow area boys retaliate with hot-blooded vengeance, burning down several police stations, how the army are called in to deal with the increasing lawlessness, how the army decide to seize power instead..."
I stared open-mouthed. "This is a story about a relationship based on love? Or have you managed to work politics into this story? Can't you think of anything else but politics?"
Apparently, all this while my muse's patience had been wearing thin, and finally he snapped. "All right! That's it! I've offered every suggestion that can help you write an article to pull in the crowds, but you've rejected them all on one flimsy pretext or the other. I don't have any more time to waste on you. I'm done with you!" And before my very eyes, he vanished in a puff of smoke.
I rubbed my eyes and stared - yes, he was definitely gone. And I definitely needed to order my kunu from another supplier from now on. In the meantime, I had this wretched article to worry about...

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Posted by Robot| 25.10.2007 05:33