Someone once said there could never be too much of a good thing. Prof Ngugi wa Thiong’o has travelled back to the US, yet he said much about writing while he was around for the last two weeks, that could be a good lesson for young writers.
When he was asked the secret to becoming a great writer he said, “Write, write and write again, then you will get it right.” What Ngugi meant was that practice makes perfect. The more you write the more you learn and the better you become. You also draw from your experiences to develop great stories.
I have been privileged to interact with Ngugi, and those who helped shape his writing; I feel there is a lot our young writers can learn from his journey with the pen.
First, one needs an Achebe. Chinua Achebe saw the need for African writers hence he started the African Writers Series at Heinemann Educational Books. This was how Ngugi, whose writing impressed Achebe, was roped in.
Furthermore, when Ngugi submitted his manuscript – Weep Not, Child – to Heinemann Educational Books, two editors who first interacted with it nearly dismissed it.
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It took the urging of Achebe who insisted the further development of the script that Ngugi finally, had his script accepted for publication.
Another thing that is admirable about Ngugi’s writing journey is that he has always exercised patience.
Dr Henry Chakava spoke of how humble Ngugi has always been and how well he takes constructive criticism. The editor of Weep Not, Child, Keith Sambrook, 95, said the same about Ngugi. In fact, Sambrook wrote to Ngugi telling him how impressed he was.
He wrote thus, ‘Ngugi’s response to my proposal was encouragingly friendly and accommodating and I wrote back thanking him for ‘taking our proposals calmly.’ I couldn’t agree more with Sambrook. Some young writers respond well to rejection or suggestion on ways of improving their fiction.
However, others react to such proposals badly, as if the editor just called them a witch. Some actually, stop writing all together! This should not be the case.
Another thing is that Ngugi has always done one thing at a time − even though he always wanted to write more. I meet would-be authors who want to write a novel, a play, short stories and poems, all at once! While Ngugi was waiting for the publisher’s decision on Weep Not, Child, he wrote to the editor and expressed his anxiety; that he was waiting for their decision so that he could write a novel thereafter.
He could only do this after seeing that Weep Not, Child, had been cleared for publication. I must say that it is wonderful to have ambition but we must have our priorities right all the time.
Ngugi also talked about the rejection slip. Even though he has written more than 40 titles, he did not escape rejection. Hurt as he was then, Ngugi says he is glad his short stories were rejected. “Now, I see it. They were not good at all and they would have be an embarrassment today. I am glad they were rejected,” he said and then added, “writing is a journey, and I keep on learning; I learn even from my children who are writers too. However, never give up; you have to keep on dreaming.”
Finally, he talked about the beauty of here as compared to there. Ngugi opined that the best place to start is where you are, and with what you know best.
Even though he was referring to local languages, we could also take this to mean that we should start by addressing themes that we and others around us can relate to. This is also reflected in his fiction where he addresses themes that had to do with what was going on around him.
We should borrow the beauty in our communal heritage, the beat of our songs, our jokes, our challenges, our joys, and infuse them in our fiction. This is what will separate our writing from the rest of the world, otherwise we will always read and sound like copycats.
As I listened to this pioneer writer, I could not help but reflect on our current state of affairs as reflected in our literary discourse spaces. There is the incessant blame-game: the editors have done this and the writers have done the other. I think it is about time we stopped, rolled our sleeves and got down to writing.