"Don’t be a fucking victim. The continent is for you to make. That whole thing of the publishers don’t, I don’t . . . can you link me up with publishers abroad? And I am like, tell me the name of one publisher abroad. You can’t be living in the age of Google and cheap internet where you can find out the resources available to you as a young African writer through the social network and other avenues, waiting for your father to make the policy or arrangements for you is immoral. In fact it is evil. It’s your job to make it." -- Binyavanga Wainaina

I really love this quote. It articulates exactly what troubles me when people ask me to help them find out about  __X__ in __Y__, particularly when X has something to do with film, literature, or the arts, and Y is the United States.

I'm not as much annoyed by the question as baffled that so many folks don't take the initiative to empower themselves with the information available free online. Every university course, publishing house, and film studio of repute has a web presence. If you like, think of Google as the Divine and the search bar as a miracle delivery service. Type: I'd like to make feature films in Accra with grant money. Hit return.

The universe awaits you.

But let's take it a little further: Is the idea that, because I'm a writer/director living in New York (and sometimes Nigeria), I must know everything about film and literature in the U.S. (and Nigeria)? How rational is that thought? In fact, I could be one of those writer/directors who lives under a rock and thinks of those who market themselves as art whores. Maybe I don't trust agents or producers, so I don't go out of my way to meet any. Maybe I think money is the root of all evil, so I just write a blog and give my work away for free.

Think about it: do you really want to entrust your future success to a madwoman? Why not trust yourself?

What I'm trying to say is, as a person who'd like to be a successful writer/director, I have had to take responsibility for my knowledge, craft, and participation in my industry of choice. I don't believe there is someone who can give or take my career away, some all powerful person who has all the connections and holds the purse strings. I empower myself to be that person. That's the only way you can make it in any business.

I cannot say I have not been guilty of wanting a mentor to tell me all the answers, give me every contact in her address book, and grease the wheels of my career--and the fact that none has materialized has not lessened the desire. But I realize I've paid myself in advance by getting up the courage to network, make those introductions myself, and start becoming more comfortable talking about my work.

And while I usually try to answer the people who ask my advice, and will continue to do so, more and more I'd like to start challenging those folks to find out for themselves (although this trial-by-fire has always struck me as harsh when I've heard it from well-seasoned film and literature veterans). Your initiative is really an outward demonstration of your commitment to any endeavor. Without it, you will squander any amount of opportunities thrown your way.

So if you really don't have the guts to get up early and write, go to the festival or conference, or send that agent a rough draft of your feature script, take a step back, regroup, and figure out what you'd rather be doing. Because the artist's path is a long road that nobody else can walk for you.

Some books that helped me figure this out:

Be Your Own Mentor by Sheila Wellington
The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp

--Peace and love, AL.

today marks the u.s. and canadian release of open city, teju cole's first full-length novel. i raved about everyday is for the thief here, so i'll definitely be first in line for my (signed) copy.

i heard rumors that cole was in lagos, but he must be back in new york because he has a book signing tomorrow. check the list below for details. i'll be back in new york in a couple of weeks (there, i said it), so i'll mos def attend the signing at mcnally jackson.

the delicious list of nyc bookstores reminds me of the dearth of bookshops/cafes in nigeria. i'd rant about it, but first we'd have to talk about the reading culture here in general, and i don't have time for that particular conversation.

see you soon, new yorkers, i've missed you! and for heaven's sake, buy his book. (check out the new yorker review.) --AL.

Tomorrow February 9: Afternoon stock signings in New York City: Strand Bookstore, Shakespeare and Co. Booksellers, Mysterious Bookshop, and St Mark’s Bookshop. Signed first editions will be available at all these stores after tomorrow evening.

Thursday February 10: A 7:00pm discussion of Open City with Cole and editor David Ebershoff, at the Center for Fiction (at the Mercantile Library), 17 East 47th St, New York, NY.

Monday February 21: 7:00pm reading at McNally Jackson Books, 52 Prince St, New York, NY.

Thursday February 24: 7:30pm reading at Greenlight Bookstore, 686 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY.

Tuesday March 1: 8 pm reading with fellow debutant Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts (author of Harlem Is Nowhere) at the National Arts Club, 15 Gramercy Park South, New York, NY

i left lagos for abuja on thursday for a little weekend rest and relaxation. i'm staying with jeremy weate and bibi bakare-yusuf--the team behind cassava republic press--and am so grateful for their hospitality. upon arrival, took a moment to breathe while gazing at the wall of books and comfy window seat in the guest room. so far i've skimmed through thich nhat hanh's teachings on love, ken saro-wiwa's sozaboy, veronique tadjo's the blind kingdom, a biography of sylvia plath, and a limited edition volume on african film by manthia diawara. if only i had more time.

at a dinner party last night met lola shoneyin, author of the secret lives of baba segi's wives (read an excerpt here). a brilliant and lovely woman. we talked a bit about my project, polygamy, the courage it takes to be a writer. there must be a divine force guiding me to so many like minds these days; my cup runneth over.

lola runs a monthly reading series, infusion, that i was sorry to have missed on thursday night. this month's author was ken wiwa jr (who hosted last night's dinner party) and last month's was myne whitman. join the infusion facebook group for updates. --AL.

Update: TSLBSW was long listed for the Orange Prize! So happy for Lola.

myne whitman and AL @ the garden city literary festival
met the world famous myne whitman, blogger and author, at the GCLF this week. she moderated two panel discussions, one on the impact of social media on the publishing industry, and a "meet the author" session with acclaimed writers helon habila, zainab jallo and adaobi tricia nwaubani.

throughout the festival, myne showed herself to be a smart, savvy and outspoken writer/blogger. i admired the tenacity with which she utilized the web to market her self-published work, a heart to mend. she read books, articles, and blogs on social media, and grew her audience of subscribers from 1 to 400.

a handful of folks have asked why i don't publicize this blog more than i do. i certainly have read tons about how to do that, but i suppose a part of me has never fully embraced the online sphere, will always see it as a somewhat fickle enterprise. but if it were a dollars and cents matter, ie, publicizing my blog was equivalent to selling books, i'm sure i could muster the motivation.

at any rate, bought a copy of her book and can't wait to dig in. naija bloggers unite! --AL.

A conversation with Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka was the highlight of the Garden City Literary Festival this year. He was billed in conversation with Nobel laureate J.M.G. Le Clezio, but the latter took ill and was unable to attend as planned, delivering a videotaped message that was broadcast at a press conference early yesterday.

Because the conversation was geared toward children, Soyinka began by reading a passage from Ake, a memoir of his early childhood, and taking questions from the reluctant, though very bright, group of children in attendance. He is a man fully self actualized, able to articulate his peculiar life as a boy reared in the village who went on to dominate the world literary stage. He talked about a range of things: the Yoruba books he read as a child; the games he played; how he wanted to be a pilot until he realized how much math was involved; his love of new media/technology, and how it can enhance and extend a love of literature/old media; and how he celebrated his last birthday in a zero-gravity chamber.

I am in awe of Prof Soyinka mostly for his enlightenment. There were a couple of perplexing questions from audience members who sought to confirm or deny his Christianity/belief in one Supreme God, as if to validate their appreciation for his work or find a reason to jettison him to the legion of gentiles polluting the world. Though Prof Soyinka could have dismissed them, he took the time to educate them on the multiple paths (Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam) to Godhead (as he called it), in a response that traversed Allah to Ogun, the Vedas to the Quran, and culminated in a stern rebuke of all those who kill and divide in the name of religion.

I appreciate not only the vastness of his spiritual universe, but also his patience and benevolence to share that universe with less enlightened others, encouraging them to critically analyze religious texts, their faith and motivation. I wasn't expecting him to cover that much ground, but it was a deep, rich, and fulfilling experience.

Looking forward to seeing Chinua Achebe at next year's festival. --AL.

i'll be settling in for another bumpy ride on public transport in the wee hours of the morning tomorrow. the garden city literary festival jumps off in port harcourt with a book fair, writing workshops, discussions, and a conversation between nobel laureates to mark the united nations world book day. some notables among others in attendance will be: myne whitman, bibi bakare-yusuf, adaobi tricia nwaubani, helon habila, reuben abati, wole soyinka, and j.m.g. le clezio.

i have been invited to participate in helon habila's prose workshop. i am beyond thrilled about it--ecstatic, overwhelmed, and a little bit anxious. once upon a time i reviewed one of his novels for a magazine. wish i had re-read it recently, retained so little in my memory apart from a healthy respect for the man as a writer. damned if i could find a single book of his in the best bookshop in uyo (of novelists, all i found was a pirated copy of chichi's purple hibiscus--for shame!--beside every imaginable book by danielle steele and john grisham).

i am in a good place with my writing, so the fest couldn't have come at a better time. things seem to finally be moving again. i am going with the flow, will let the universe carry me wherever it may. --AL.

If you call yourself an African writer--and some don't, like Petina Gappah--you are expected to be an expert on Chinua Achebe. Things Fall Apart is largely the only "African" book widely read by non-Africans (though I'm sure Oprah's plug for Uwem Akpan's Say You're One of Them puts it close in the running).

I found this out all too late, having arrived at my cottage in the woods at Hedgebrook without my copy of Things Fall Apart. I had long been disenchanted with old African male writers, and had largely stopped reading their work or paying any attention to what they said.

They seem to talk and talk and write and write and, in my opinion, have not said anything new in twenty years. They are always saying what Africa is and is not; what good writing is and is not; what colonialism was and was not; what leaders are good and are not.

It is an old boys network that is as impervious to innovation and new thought as most African governments--and as intractable to the continent as poverty and malaria. (I am talking to you, Mr. Achebe. And to you, Wole Soyinka. And...well, perhaps I am only really talking to the two of you.)

Some days I admire the elders' wisdom, their gray hair, the irreverent way their spines refuse to bend with age. And other days I feel as though I am breaking under the weight of these old men. I wonder how mine and other voices can be heard, like a shrill cry, above theirs.

I am so hungry for new, younger voices. We are all still arriving.

Until then, we are left to study the elders, to quote them, nodding in agreement when someone says one or the other is the greatest African writer of all time--at the risk of appearing arrogant, unstudied or naive. Perhaps I am all of those things.

In the end, I find myself keeping up appearances. Found a wonderful PEN tribute gathering a group of writers paying their respects on the 50th anniversary of Things Fall Apart. I cannot say a word against this novel. It is brilliant and beautiful.

It is also middle-aged, and I find myself waiting for the next Achebe.

Ngugi Wa Thiong'o will be doing a benefit reading for Revolution Books NYC @ Judson Memorial Church tomorrow night. He will be reading from his new book, Dreams in a Time of War: A Childhood Memoir.

I can still remember reading The River Between in grade school. I think it was the first book that made me want to be a writer.

Such an impression he made on me that, after college at a book talk on Things Fall Apart, given by the great Chinua Achebe, I raised my hand and asked a question about Muthoni, the young girl in River who disobeys her father to have a ritual circumcision.

"I think it is Ngugi's book you are talking about," Achebe said, frowning and resettling himself in his wheelchair. I felt a fool, though I had still done something worthwhile. Had helped to remind him how we are all, no matter how great, as indistinguishable as tiny specks in God's eye.

I now have them squared away in my mind. Will try not to make the same mistake in reverse tomorrow.

Petina Gappah has won the Guardian First Book Award for her collection of short stories, An Elegy for Easterly. I first heard about her in an African Voices interview (Part One below, find the rest on YouTube) with memoirist Alexandra Fuller, author of the phenomenal Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight. I remember watching Petina bristle sitting beside Fuller, a white Rhodesian woman, talking about the plight of the Zimbabwean writer.

Her palpable defensiveness, though thinly veiled in pleasantries, was diffused by the authenticity with which Fuller interrogated her own entitlement as a white woman. And I found myself confused about whether hers was a fruitless anger. But I have come to understand that what I interpreted as anger was only Petina's embodiment of radical autonomy. On closer examination, she is simply engaging in a disruptive act by writing, pushing against a deeply ingrained power structure that was not meant to include her own voice. In that way, I too may appear "angry" at times (and I certainly will own up to that).

Thank goodness for vindication.

my sis hipped me to this today...oprah selected "say you're one of them," a short story by Uwem Akpan, for her latest book club selection. i am speechless. not only is he naija, but an akwa ibomite from ikot ekpene. (in case there is any confusion about my pride, my father's village is ifa ikot idang and my mother's mbak etoi. akwa ibom isong-oooo!)

his bio says he started writing fiction at night during seminary, then went on to earn an mfa in writing from UMich. what do you call a jesuit priest with a master's in fiction writing? a nigerian. :)

perhaps if oprah and her legion followers have room in their hearts for uwem then there might be some more for me. i leave tomorrow for my writer's residency. nearly hyperventilated over a bin of travel toothpaste today at Target (couldn't decide which one i wanted). i don't know how to pack. taking deep breaths...

This might be the lamest thing I've ever seen. Not the text, by the brilliant Binyavanga Wainaina, but rather the video.

Is it that they stuck Djimon Hounsou, a two-time Oscar-nominated actor, in a 10x12 bedroom with a little girl surrounded by photographs and taxidermied animals...or the cliche music...or the montage of starving children at the end that only reinforces stereotypes of Africa, turning the entire piece on its head...or the tagline/plug, "Great Music Saves Lives"? Maybe a combination of all of them.

This is exactly my problem with Bono's whole RED campaign. If making change really were as easy as buying a T-shirt, then we wouldn't need more activists, we'd need more hawkers. And I really don't think rock stars should liken themselves to politicians, but I guess I'm no expert.