You see the long title right there? That’s the first thing you might want to write down. Not the title. The idea behind the title: develop the skill for worryingly long titles because the key to being great with words is to ruthlessly abuse them.

I will assume you have the actual writing bit covered. If not, please purchase my book, ‘Having the Actual Writing Bit Covered’ which will be in all stores and bookshops in 2099.
<div class="pull-right"><center><img src="https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.sx-ylaHShVmeQSD7Jnb26AHaDt&pid=15.1&P=0&w=319&h=160" /><br/><em><a href="https://www.gloo.ng/busyhomemaker/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Black-Teenage-Girl.jpg">Being an african writer </a></em></center></div

Now, the foundation of writing is depth. How to prove you’ve got that? Easy. Love deep stuff, stuff the average individual would consider weird or worrisome or both. Music? Enya. Yanni. Possibly Adele. Lots of instrumentals. You must love the orchestra. At the sound of a cello or violin, you must close your eyes and inhale deeply and gush about how there’s a story in the strings, how your spirit is transported and soothed and how you feel alive. And yes, that reminds me. You must use deep words, too. Nothingness. Void. Aching. Quietude. Substitute ‘cool’ and ‘nice’ and ‘great’ with ‘beautiful'. Movies like *The Curious Case of Benjamin Button* and *Third Person* and *Exam* and *Flawless* should thrill you, because they’ve got a story. You’ve gotta ditch those Korean and Filipino and Indian movies. Sorry, it’s just the way it is. 

Bringing it home, because you’re an African writer, you must love Fela, *(You know, the Fela we all grew up to hear)*. You must feel his music is beautiful, and say things like how those drums beat a tattoo on your heart and stir up your hope for the Motherland, how their cadence elevates your being. Your guide to African artistes to love? The three-way test. Guitar and/or saxophone. Dreadlocks. Odd clothing. If an artiste doesn’t cut at least one of these, cut cut cut! LOL...
<div class="pull-left"><center><img src="![image](https://img.esteem.ws/qpm2osynza.jpg" /><br/><em><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=african&client=ms-opera-mobile&channel=new&espv=1&prmd=ivn&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwingIq-6JTZAhVKJcAKHUA_Dg0Q_AUIESgB&biw=360&bih=475#imgdii=bShoHrSd7AlcoM:&imgrc=CHoLAtXubM-7WM:">African music</a></em></center></div>

Next, to be a writer, you must be big on identity issues, on finding the you in you that is from the very depth of you. I’m talking about ditching your European or ‘Catechism’ name: everything we refer to as an ‘English name.’ The first thing that announces you can’t scream 'Europeanism'! And bring your native name on in full force. The better if it’s long and largely unpronounceable, like *Afunwaelotanna* or *Ifebuchechukwugaeme*  or  *Ohiwonpanmwonyi* or *Ireoluwasimikolakawe*. Insist that they are not shortened. When someone tries to, give them a glare and repeat your name slowly, tell them it’s not that hard, really.

To find your identity, you must commune with Mother Nature, and make sure someone’s getting it on camera, please. Since you cannot take expensive muse-trips to Namibia and Kenya, your village will do. Go barefoot. Climb a tree. Or look at one like it has got to be the most beautiful thing on God’s green earth. Put in effects in the right places. Voilá! A picture that screams that you’re a nature lover. It’ll boost your writing rep, trust me.

<div class="pull-right"><center><img src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7173/6813654893_c9c4157cab_z.jpg" /><br/><em><a href="http://www.omnilexica.com/?q=reggae">African ornaments</a></em></center></div>

Speaking of pictures, you must take lots of them with novels in the foreground. Level One: Sheldon. Brown. Clancy. King. Grisham. Yeah, you’re supposed to be crazy about your roots, remember? Level Two: Adichie. Jowhor Ile. Teju Cole. Now we’re getting somewhere!

Rock the laid back theme in jeans and t-shirts and danshikis. That I’m- too-high-minded-and-awesome-to- wear-decent-clothes air kills it every time. Invest in lazy head warmers and loud shamballahs. Those sad-song-singing sneakers. Those sling leather bags. The better if they’ve got brightly-coloured tassels swinging off them- red, yellow, green. The colours of black.

<div class="pull-left"><center><img src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/alfXUdwZ3kU/maxresdefault.jpg" /><br/><em><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alfXUdwZ3kU">A "whirlwindy' african movie. LOL."</a></em></center></div>

Too much happiness is bad for business. If nobody dies in your story, you’re basically fooling around. An African story is an emotional whirlwind, you see, sometimes mild, sometimes well, *'whirlwind-y',* a seething pot of handful upon handful of grief. You must suspend your reader, mid-air, as you assault his senses with pain, as you deal blow after blow of blessed *reverse-catharsis.* He must tumble to the ground, when you are done with him, battered, bruised, a nervous wreck wanting more. If those love-birds ever cross paths again, she must be married with kids, and he must be poor and missing an arm or something. Kill off people in the prime of life. Add a liberal dose of failure at the brink of success. Throw in abuse that slays the soul and numbs the mind. There. Masterpiece. African writing is too serious a thing to have people laughing, please.


<div class="pull-right"><center><img src="https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1JsSzKVXXXXcAXVXXq6xXFXXXp/Jamaican-Bob-Marley-Rasta-Beanie-Hat-Fancy-Cap-weed-reggae-braids-African-Hair-wraps-Braiding.jpg" /><br/><em><a href="https://www.aliexpress.com/item/Jamaican-Bob-Marley-Rasta-Beanie-Hat-Fancy-Cap-weed-reggae-braids-African-Hair-wraps-Braiding/32564884624.html">Reggae hairstyle... African enough?</a></em></center></div>

And here’s the last point: hair. This is the most important part, which is why I saved it for last. You’ve got relaxed hair? Travesty! The gravest of all crimes in African *writerhood*. You must go natural: and not closet natural. Flaunt that hair! Shave that chemically contaminated mass off and begin anew. You must learn all the twists there are. Those natural oils you’ve been hearing about? They’ve got to be your companions, kiddo. And whenever you look in the mirror and wonder why you’re here, why you’re doing this, remember the fame and the glory. Lock your hair. Blend cowries in. Let it fly-or attempt to fly, hehehe- in the wind. Let it stand proud, glorying in its untamed greasiness. Let the world see Africa in your hair.

**It is done.  You learned from the best. You are ready.**

***
> ***I'm sure most Africans on here could relate***

**Thank you,**
**@pangoli**

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