Last night I was trying to wrestle a story from the grip of my daemon. I started to call him/it daemon after watching Elizabeth Gilberth’s TED talk. She doesn’t want writers to dies young like they used to, so she asked them to blame their daemons/muse/that voice for their failures. I’m not a writer so, I can’t fail. But I have this voice in my head that wakes me up at night and fills my mind with scenes and images and absurd conversations. That voice is what I’ve named daemon and I blame him/it for my dry patches.
As I was saying, last night, I was trying to control the characters in my story and…
PHCN took the light.
PHCN is what we call the company that controls electricity in Nigeria. We all call electricity ‘light’, except for those highfalutin individuals who have to be prim and proper about everything. The house was too dark, so my brother switched on the generator and went to sleep. And I went back to controlling my characters.
A few minutes later, PHCN returned the light. I stood up, mumbling the next conversation as I went to the backyard to switch off the generator. I settled behind my desk to continue the story and…
They took the light again.
Here I am trying to control my characters and a clown in PHCN is controlling my control of my characters whose control I wrestled from my restless daemon. Nonsense.