₦airaland Forum

Lesson 1: Got expectations? Lower them
Feel free to write the most beautiful, thought-provoking words in the English language. The public will feel equally free to ignore them.
Here’s the sad truth: most people who write a book will never get it published, half the writers who are published won’t see a second book in print, and most books published are never reprinted. What’s more, half the titles in any given bookshop won’t sell a single copy there, and most published writers won’t earn anything from their book apart from the advance.
So don’t expect anything from your writing apart from the personal fulfilment of having learned your craft and created a work that didn’t exist before. By all means hope to get published, and dream of having a bestseller or even a long string of them – people do, after all. But writing talent isn’t nearly enough; thousands of people have it. To succeed, you have to write the best story you possibly can, for the genre you’re writing in, and be professional in every other way. It’s the writers who work hardest at every aspect of their craft, and never give up, that get there. And when you do, enjoy the adventure while it lasts, but don’t expect it to last forever. It probably won’t.
A rare few will ignore all this and succeed, but they’re the lottery winners. Everyone else has to work at it. Just don’t expect success or you’re bound to be disappointed. Publishers are in business for the long term and they have to make a profit. If you write books that sell, your publisher will love you. If you don’t, it’s goodbye, no matter how much she likes your writing.
Lesson 2: Anyone can do it, hah!
Writers often meet people who assume that writing is easy. “I’m going to write a book one day when I get the time,” or “I’m going to take six months off and write a book and then I’ll use the advance to write full time/go round the world/pay off the mortgage.”
Writing isn’t easy and, even after you’ve been doing it for a few years, you’re still a novice. If you want to be a successful writer, be prepared to work as hard, and as long, as if you wanted to be a violinist in an orchestra, a professional cricketer or, God forbid, a lawyer. Rarely, someone will write a book and get it published straight away, but that’s pretty unusual. I was once in a roomful of writers when that question was asked, and only three writers raised their hands. Most writers work for 5-10 years before getting their first book published (my first took 9 years.) See also my
Writing Tips on this site.
Remember the 10,000-hour rule. That’s roughly how much work and practice it takes to become accomplished in any field, whether it be sporting, creative or professional. 10,000 hours is 5 years of full time hard work. To become a virtuoso, triple that.
Lesson 3: Skiing across the slush pile
In this country, the big publishers each receive 4-5,000 unsolicited fiction manuscripts a year. That’s around a hundred a week. The situation is much the same in the UK , Canada and the US – the only difference being that the bigger countries have more publishers.
Publishing is a competitive and low profit business, and no publisher can afford to pay people to read manuscripts. Some publishers no longer look at unsolicited manuscripts – they simply return them if postage is provided, or shred them if it isn’t. Where they do look at manuscripts, it will only be the professionally presented ones – perhaps half the total. Of that 2,500, say, 90% will be rejected on the first page and 98% by the end of the first chapter. That leaves 30-50 manuscripts, and they’re the only ones which will get any kind of serious consideration. In a good year, ten of those might be published. In a bad year, less than five.
Most published books come through agents these days, but no agent can afford to spend a lot of time reading manuscripts from unknowns either. Most agents won’t even look at an unsolicited manuscript and again, most manuscripts an agent does consider will be rejected on the first page.
The lesson is obvious: your story has to start in the first paragraph, with an interesting character facing some kind of problem that captures the reader’s interest or concern, and your very best writing has to be up front. Once you’ve done that, work on your contacts because agents get most of their manuscripts from referrals – it’s the only practicable way to filter out the few good books from the vast morass of manuscripts that aren’t publishable. Before you send your work off, make sure you present it in standard manuscript format, as set out in my Writing Tips . If you don’t, it’s likely to be discarded without another glance.
But how do you get your work in front of that agent or editor in the first place? Make contacts at book fairs, writers’ workshops and festivals, and other places where the industry gets together, then use them. Write to your contacts with your idea and perhaps a couple of sample pages (the first pages, obviously). If they like what they see, your manuscript is now a solicited one. It still won’t be published if it’s no good, but at least it’s at the top of the queue to be read.
Lesson 4: What to do when you’re rejected
Once you’ve done all that, and been rejected, send your work to another publisher right away. After all, it’s just one editor’s opinion and what one editor hates, another may love. If you’ve sent it to ten publishers and they’ve all rejected it, it’s time to rewrite it. If you’ve sent it to twenty, chuck it away and start again. If forty, assuming you can find that many publishers, write something else and change your name.
To experience the extraordinary diversity of opinions any work will get, check out the reader reviews, for any book you know well, on Amazon.com. For a laugh, take a look at what sixty-odd readers say about my first book, A Shadow on the Glass. One reader will attack the book, the author, editor, proof-reader, publisher and everyone else associated with it, as if mere publication of this book was a personal insult. The next reader will say it’s the best book they’ve ever read.
Don’t take rejection to heart. I once had my editor knock back a manuscript as ‘unpublishable’. A fortnight later my agent sold it to another publisher for lots of money, they offered me a three-book contract into the bargain, and the book went on to get nice reviews in the UK and US.

Well, I guess exploration. Since my birth, life has been throwing me from one end of Southwest to the other.
So, I grew up dreaming worlds outside the southwest. The first of its kind was when I was 11 and for days, the only thing I could think of was a vehicle that moved underground. To truly explore it, I had to write it out.
Some novels like Harry Potter helped but they were very few I could get. I just got tired of regular folks in regular places. That's why I must confess Chike and the River got interesting because Chike left his former world.
Then Chike and Obi. I enjoyed exploring the forest with her.
I guess I began to write as a form of exploration for my imagined world, to take myself into places I don't know I'll go or exist in. I just love exploring secluded life like
-those living in a forest
- life of Islanders
- Outcasts
- Paranomic worlds
- Dyspotian worlds

Anything to just get me out of the regular day to day life. That's why my first work was Destiny and the 7 Mountains- A book I finished but hated because the story idea wasn't mine. Then, I hopped on two prince that travelled. Another tale we were told. The underground car was the first story that sparked several other inspirations like the desire to correct norms, the need to give hope and so many reasons.

I've rambled enough.

akintayoakinjide0@gmail.com

Do we sing? Sing that our brothers are dead. Dead brains now rule us.
'Us', they claimed we would be Be it when they win or not. 'Not about me, it's about you and you.
You are just a recycled being. Being in the house has rewired your mind.
Mind, you should have held dear. Dear, you're now them. Them? Yes, the liars, power hungry heads. Heads of senators acting like snakes
Snakes are better Better than these ones 'Ones' are always missing in their names Names with no notable deed Deeds that can't make them the first 'First's, easily replaced by ones
Ones, once used to be the desire Desire to pioneer Pioneer of greatness, they wanted.
'Wanted', now is their label. Label them, my people; People that eat poverty Poverty weaponised by this men

Men who hate other men Men who misuse other men Men who deceive other men Men, who can't guard other men Men of no value
Value, no part of their lives Lives of common men, spare Spare the child and her toy Toy with fire Fire down their house House no remorse
Remorse left their hearts Hearts would cry later Later, our eyes will join it It will be painful
Painful steps are the threads to joy Joy comes in the morning Morning, as you know, is always expected Expected desire, therefore, is always searched for
For this, speak up Up goes their chance of silencing you You're not to be mum Mum never keeps mum Mum speaks their heart out Out for you to hear.

Hear not the second reading Reading it might leave you with wish Wish less, bro. Bro., talk against this bill Bill for court might soon be your need Need any more motivation?

meobizy:
Anybody who textspeaks in this day and time deserves a thorough beating for a brain reset. In this age of full screen qwerty keyboards it takes nothing to compose properly grammared write-ups, messages included.

This is conservative view. It's like someone that knows that how to speak the standardized form a language and still knows the dialects of the language. He has the right to code switch or even pick one of the dialects without restriction.

Text speaking is the new language of the entertainment industry, to a limited extent. See it as your mother's tongue and the official language. You simply have to be situational while speaking because that's the only way to be human.
Haven't you spoken baby languages in one way or the other to babies? Have there not been time you reduced pace and vocabularies when speaking with children or people not fluent. Do you speak purely fluent English with your friends, family, neighbours?

So, learn text speaking, learn formal English, learn your mother's tongue. YOLO

Adesina12:
Alright Boss Cheers Sweet popcorn for una

Oyaaa.. Mixed with ciroc and we're good to go.

Yesterday , I learnt from top linguists that chat language is the future of human language.
There's a whole Thesis on "Lol" and "slash" in America.
In case, you find yourself suddenly being transported to the future, the first wise thing to do is to ask for the chats of a 16-year old school girl. Her lexicons will be the communication language of that era.
Slash, should we be less concerned about grammar, structure.
John McWhorter, through his Tedtalk, "Txting is killing language" showed how different people talked about grammar etc. It's not new. Examples:
1. English Professor in 1956
2. Connecticut Teacher 1917
3. Charles Eliit, Havard President 1871.
4. Pedant Writing in Latin, 63AD. (This new type of Latin later became French)


In other words, someone is always worried about usage of language
Yet, language itself survives the evolution. Many of us don't evolve with it.
I'll like to write 'am fyn wif ow ur cookn' because it means I'm billingual but as a writer I must keep at my structure. So, if you're fine with your short hands, please type away.
Just watch who you use it with. Adaptability is the key here...

Yesterday , I learnt from top linguists that chat language is the future of human language.
There's a whole Thesis on "Lol" and "slash" in America.
In case, you find yourself suddenly being transported to the future, the first wise thing to do is to ask for the chats of a 16-year old school girl. Her lexicons will be the communication language of that era.
Slash, should we be less concerned about grammar, structure.
John McWhorter, through his Tedtalk, "Txting is killing language" showed how different people talked about grammar etc. It's not new. Examples:
1. English Professor in 1956
2. Connecticut Teacher 1917
3. Charles Eliit, Havard President 1871.
4. Pedant Writing in Latin, 63AD. (This new type of Latin later became French)


In other words, someone is always worried about usage of language
Yet, language itself survives the evolution. Many of us don't evolve with it.
I'll like to write 'am fyn wif ow ur cookn' because it means I'm billingual but as a writer I must keep at my structure. So, if you're fine with your short hands, please type away.
Just watch who you use it with. Adaptability is the key here...

Mariana20:
15% commission?
For the writer?
It's too low

That's the lowest so far....

Mariana20:
15% commission?
For the writer?
It's too low

That's the lowest so far....

queenitee:
Ah, when did we become this bad? There must be strangers amidst us now

Well, they grew among us and became the devil that toppled the evil of this world from its position.

queenitee:
I’m here ma

Welcome...

queenitee:
We are in the middle of nowhere babe We are leaving our beloved fortune city for a while to know what life is like in other cities And yes I definitely want Ciroc also

Indeed... I don't want to tell you but by this time, Fortune City would be causing more harm than good..

nanadeeva01:
Nice Work

Thank you... I'm hoping to elevate it from nice .

Adesina12:
Coming, thanks

We will all be expecting you..

EvaJael:
I didn't want to quote the whole update but I hope Divepen1 knows what part of the update I'm referring to. I think the correct expression is "There is no smoke without a fire" not the other way round.
Nice work there though. Always proud of you

Oh! Thanks. I'll make corrections .. Thanks

Ann2012:
I have arrived, ciroc on the way Thanks for the invite dear

Our ciroc lover is here!!!

KimberlyWest:
Thanks for the invite dear.
Ann2012
Yewande1234
Adesina12 come and read this masterpiece.

Welucome

Chapter 1

Starting a thing was the hardest part in life. Staring at the star wasn’t Nifemi’s pastime, but she preferred to use it as a ruse as she got ready to plunge herself at a crazy misadventure. As she stared at the stars, however, she couldn’t stop admiring their wonders.
Her mind ferreted and jettisoned numerous evasive plans that she would use on the guard as she must get out of Oju Ale that night. She could count the number of people that had gone outside Oju Ale since they were fenced there. But it was no concern of hers. Unlike most of her friends, she had never felt drawn to the world outside. In fact, she preferred the reality she grew up into. This time, however, it was essential she left as soon as the alarm rang.
Why was one of the stars blinking? She wondered. According to those that have witnessed their evolution into genetically blind people, the stars were like the moon. Only that this time, there were too many of them.
‘Are you going to bed or what?’ Asked Lolu, her best friend.
She glanced at him and smiled. The cat-eyes he wore were really seductive, especially with the long eye-lashes he had on.
‘You, my Lolu, should go for pageant’, she muttered to change his mind.
‘Oh! Girl, do you think so too? I bet you when I’m done with my change process to a girl, and all my waist are designed just the perfect way I want, I will win the pageants before I’m 19. Have you seen those terrible girls that call themselves the Queens? Eja gibes. Yuck’, Lolu said and snapped his fingers.
This statement elicited uncontrollable laughter from Nifemi.
‘I trust you’, she muttered. Where’s that damn alarm? She wondered.
‘Yes, o. I’ll show those dry fishes and crayfishes that I’m the best. I mean… Did you see that Mrs Delta? She looks like the petroleum they refine in that area’, Lolu continued.
Nifemi burst into laughter again. Everyone that saw the contestant could attest to her hunched back. But who would complain, she was the one representing the semi-blind from Delta. They couldn’t send her off.
‘I thought she was supposed to…You know. They were all supposed to be straight, fine, and straight’.
Lolu smacked the back of his hand, excitedly. ‘Exactly, baby girl. Exact-fucking-ly. She won something! Those blind corrupt judges gave her something. Ah! They told us Nigerians have reduced their level of corruption. That was bad’.
Nifemi was shocked at that semi-myopic view from Lolu. ‘You can’t possibly believe corruption is eradicated in Nigeria’.
‘I’m not akara. Their deceit can’t fry me’, Lolu said. ‘I know they are all still corrupt. Will you believe someone saw Jigan going into the Baale’s house the night he was murdered? But nobody talked about it. Even our stupid newspaper. That boring shit’.
She wondered why Oju-ale had to use Baale instead of mayor that was being used in other places, but the leaders all felt it would remind them all of their cultures.
‘Jigan… The father of many?’ She asked.
‘Yes. Jigan. Bolu, our own CNN. Her news are more legit than those erm… What’s that foolish newspaper name again sef?’
‘Our Watch’, Nifemi replied. Go home, Nifemi wished.
‘Yes. The watch… Foolish watch. It’s people like you that remember their foolish name. Boring people’.
‘Back to Jigan…’
‘Yes, back to Jigan. They said they want to give him an award! And poof! He’s dead. It’s crazily fishy’, Lolu said as he dusted his body.
‘You don’t mean it! He was to be given an award?’
‘Has Bolu ever given you fake news before?’ He asked.
She peered into his eyes and shrugged. ‘Well, except the day she said she saw someone that looked like my father… And that other time she told me that she heard there’s a cure for our problem, I’m not sure there are any times’.
‘Forget that side! I believe Bolu, a hundred thousand times. Believe that girl! Even those ones she told you, there’s an element of truth in it. Don’t you know that ‘there can’t be smoke without fire’, Lolu said.
‘Fire without smoke’, Nifemi corrected.
‘Whatever!’
‘I can hear Bolu’s voice in you. Are you sure you guy’s names rhyming is not more than coincidence? You know…’
‘She’s that good. I swear. If I wanted to be gay, I would be gay with Bolu’, Lolu said.
‘It’s almost the same thing. You’re just… How will I put it? You used to be a man with testosterone etc. And now…’ She said and scoffed.
‘Oh! Nifemi, I’m already thinking up one million ways to kill you’, Lolu shouted and walked towards her. She giggled and jumped out of the way.
‘Calm down. Let’s go back to Jigan’, she shouted from afar.
Without any warning, a high-pitched alarm began to blare. She sighed and checked the time.
‘The alarm is twelve minutes earlier’, she and slammed her hands on her head in pretence. Every pulse in her had been awaiting the noise, though not as early as that. But Lolu wasn’t prepared for it. He jumped up.
‘Wow! It’s time already. 8 hours almost gone again, and it’s a new day tomorrow. Let’s get out of here’, Lolu said and walked away quickly.
The alarm was there to let them understand it was time to leave for their house. Having spent 17 years in Oju Ale, she wondered if it was wise to do what she wished. She had never tried something that wild.
‘I will wait behind. I want to think…’ Nifemi said.
‘Are you worried or something?’ Lolu asked.
‘Think! Think! I want to think. Thinking. You know… The one spelt T. H.I…’
‘I get you. I get, girl’, Lolu said and bit his neatly filed fingernail.
‘Good! Now be gone o ye daughter of jezebel, let me receive the light of inspiration’.
‘Okay’, Lolu said, walked away, and turned at the gate. ‘So, you know? You don’t need inspiration or to think before you run. Thinking is for writers. That’s why those guys die of depression’.
Nifemi yelled, ‘Oh! Lolu, I’ll chase you home, kill Bolu so that you would know that I mean every single word of this, make you watch me kill her, and then kill you too, and…’
‘Kill yourself?’
‘What?’ She frowned and paused. ‘Am I drunk? Why in anything’s name will I kill myself?’
Lolu shook his head as he stared into her eyes. ‘Well, you know… Like they do in the movies?’
‘Nah! I would rather escape’.
‘Your death!’
‘Begone, Lolu. Your presence is killing me’.
Since the day she hatched the plan to compete in the day time race competition for the disabled, she had made it a habit to send Lolu away, claiming she needed a fake inspiration.
‘Before you go deep with your fake inspiration, in the hope that Ebuka will come back for you, hope you have a stick and rope with you… to guide you home?’ Lolu shouted.
‘Yes… Daddy… Be gone’. This time she rose to chase him.
‘It’s mummy’, Lolu shouted and sped away. ‘Call me’.
She couldn’t help scoffing at his naughtiness.
‘Bastard child of ten thousand fathers’, she muttered under her breath.
Now, her eyes were on the prize. This is beyond you, she thought. Her expenditure was a worthy cause. Some of the children in Oju-Ale were orphans.
Their father, Jigan, had suddenly disappeared, and his corpse was found later, terribly eaten by animals. He was buried in a closed casket. Before his death, he cared for them despite his mischievous ways of always ending up with at least a child per week.
He was a good father. Every day, she would watch him take them out to the field to sing with them before they rush off to school and him to his place of work. They got to school late because of their singing sections. Some people even called them PLC, meaning Perpetual Late Comers. Many of them didn’t know his job, but Bolu said he was a gigolo. At least, he cared for those children.
After his death, the government used some ruse to send the children away. At first, the children rejected the verdict. Despite being younger than she, with the oldest being 14 years old, Nifemi felt obligated to help them out.
All she needed was to win enough money in the disabled race for this. She needed help. The first step was to get out of this fenced place. For days, she spent several days in search of a means of escape. Her popularity paved the way for her. When she eventually found one, she was sure if she didn’t die in it, she could never die again. It was no other place than the sewers.
As the siren-like alarm blare, buses drove off at full speed. Unlike the regular buses, theirs have no headlamps. She couldn’t be more grateful to Egxgon Company for its effort in keeping the semi-blind technologically relevant. They built cars, phones, gadgets, and everything in Oju-Ale and all the homes of the blind around the world.
She evaded guards with her incredible speed. Unlike her first attempt, the sewers had a horrid smell that sent her rushing off to puke. She gasped and panted repeated.
‘Why are you doing this?’ She asked herself.
At that point, she felt someone behind her. So, she turned slowly. Lolu was staring at her curiously. He was wearing a black swimsuit.
‘Niffy, what are you doing here? Where are you going?’ Lolu whispered behind her. She jumped up in fear.
‘Calm down, baby gurl. It’s me, Lolu’.
She swallowed hard. He was becoming dimmer by the seconds because of her sight. The sun was dragging its old yellow body out of its hiding, and they were returning to their 14 hours blindness again.
‘Why did you follow me?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Lolu asked.
‘I’ve got to do this…?’ She said and dashed off into the sewer. His presence was the motivation she needed. She wouldn’t want to be talked into backing out when all the only obstacle was a putrid sewer. ‘Stay back’.
The disgusting sewers would have a stronger hold on his resolve to follow than her command. So, she didn’t look back because he must have stayed back. Lolu, however, was following her as if it was nothing. The stench was like the combination of all the horrible smell she had encountered in her life.
Lolu seemed to be prepared to follow her. The spit she had in her mouth was enough to bathe her for three days.
When they got out, she didn’t look at Lolu; instead, she wiped the murky water off her body. She turned to Lolu. Her angered would definitely be glaring, and he would return home. An air filter was on his nose, and he had knee pads. This left her astounded. Lolu gestured to her as if he knew where they were going.
‘I said you should go…’
Lolu covered her mouth. She gasped for breath as his clamped smelling hand held her mouth tightly. She goggled in fear. Almost immediately, a soldier came around and pointed torchlight around.
‘Lay low, gently’, Lolu whispered into her ear.
She obeyed him. The bushes around the sewers were enough to hide them. Heavy boots stepped on slimy stems and broke them without much fear. Fear coursed through her veins.
At that point, she doubted her motive. They probably were more of selfish desires and nothing more. When the guards were gone, Lolu rose and crawled through the bushes. Insects chirped around. Shrubs of grasses traced tiny lines on her skin, but she wasn’t to be deterred.
She had read about vampires, but much research had been done to test this out. It was discovered they could live in the sun but would be totally useless. More so, they don’t crave blood like vampires. Once upon a time, the blinds were allowed in the street, but someone had found a cure for blindness just about the same time their own problem began. Moreover, their bones become weak during the day. So, it was useless to try staying off Oju-Ale.
Lolu crawled to the edge of a murky pond, sitting atop a gorge, and gently climbed down. She poked her head forward in fear.
‘I can’t…’ She whispered.
He placed his fingers on his lips again and stretched his hand towards her. Despite being fearful, she gave him his hands, and he guided her down a complicated path. Lolu seemed to know his way around the pond. The world outside was more glamorous than anyone had ever described it.
As against her fear, the murky pond wasn’t deep. In fact, the floor underneath was harder than a rock. They proceeded to a marshy field that looked it had never been disturbed since inception.
'I definitely can’t go through this place', she told herself. Lolu pointed into the marsh and gestured that they would jump into it. She shook her head and withdrew her head. Lolu pinched his lips and pinched his nose with the other.
She frowned and opened her hands to show she couldn’t understand him. He placed a finger to her lips and shook his head. Then, he slowly sank into the marshy water. She knew Lolu to be insane, but not this much. Immediately, his head surfaced again. The brown sticky muds cover his hair.
She shook her head. He pointed to a place behind her. Glancing back, she saw rays of torchlights crawling towards them. Lolu dragged her mildly, and they entered the water.
Under the water, however, everything was more transparent than crystal. He handed over a seagow to her and plugged it to her nose for a few minutes. It helped her breath. After a while, he took it off her nose and used it. She held her breath as they sloshed off underwater. A few strides later, Lolu bent down to open a hatch. He guided her through it, making the muddy water poured into the hatch with them. Quickly, he hit a red button. The hatch closed up and got filtered out.
Immediately, mighty fresh water doused them, and they aided its process by rubbing the mud off their bodies. Out of nowhere, a heavy breeze from massive ventilation dried them.
‘Open up!’ Lolu shouted. He turned to Nifemi. ‘You can talk now’.
‘Where are we?’ Nifemi asked.

millieademi:
Dystopian is definitely my thing. Can't wait for the update.

I'm happy you're here.

EvaJael:
Front row seat taken. Queenitee and KimberlyWest, I'm inviting you. Help us invite others

Oyaaaaaaaaa

germaphobe:
ok, here we are. Front row crew come oooo.

Una welcome
...

Bithub:
I respect your maturity of understanding


Thank you. You've earned my respect

Thanks. I'm just seeing the post for the first time today after someone reported 28 issues...


I'm a freelancer too and it's painful. For me, I can't live with calling people out but others are simply frustrated.

For next time's sake, you can simply send message to a Nairalander. He just wanted assurance. Thanks for paying up and I hope your account's restrictions have been lifted?

Jayslyder:
Like how do I get the attention of people.. And how this the thread of a thing work.. Thanks for coming to my aid

1. Mention the names of popular readers and everyone worth mentioning.

E.g
Cc

Jayslyder

2. A thread is simply clicking "reply" on any topic open. You keep posting anything you want to add...

Hi,
It's been long I wrote a draft on Nairaland. So, I want to enjoy the exhilaration of doing so. By draft, I mean the title and so many other things will change.

I will like to call on the whole of Nairaland

Dedication
I don't know who to give this to. So, I'd preferably hand it over to my sidey.


Welcome...
Please, help me mention names. I don't want to disappoint but it's going to be long ride.

Jayslyder:
HEY GUYS.. I'VE BEEN ON THIS PLATFORM

Please, be specific.