I don’t hold any grudges against successful writers. Okay, that’s not quite true. I envy them fiercely. To be able to write and make a steady, even affluent living from doing it. That’s living the life, as far as i’m concerned o.
These days, we have absolutely brilliant writers crawling out of the woodwork. Everyday, i’m amazed afresh at some new piece I read. Hmm, people can write o! Something bothers me though. Sometimes, I read a bare-faced ‘commercial piece’ and it occurs to me that the art of writing has been diluted. Wolves have snuck into the pen. The industry is infiltrated. The waters have been muddied. (bla bla bla, See me flexing my hungry metaphorical muscles, oshey!). Commercial writing now consists, in my own extremely humble opinion, of a lot of literal, uninspired, yet accepted material. Prolific, steady, run-of-the-mill, finger-on-the-pulse, flavor-of-the-moment, purely literal writing sells. And my tiny, envious mind can only smoulder in impotent fury. Money talks, cow-manure walks..
Last month, I went a-visiting. My cousin’s wife had put to bed and I went to do the good ol’ aunt bit. Totally genuine of course, because kids make the world go round. And up and down. And side to side. But, you catch my drift. Anyway, I asked to use the restroom to do ‘number one’, as we ajebutter-wannabes call it. I was hastily led to a blessedly pristine commode. While I sat gingerly, and tinkled, my eyes began to rove around the tiny enclosure for readable distraction, as these greedy eyes always do. They happened to fall on a blue basket hanging on the wall. The plastic material, of which it was made, was molded into an easily identifiable cat’s head, with an attached basket in which lay a few toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs and whatnot. I didn’t look too closely, for I mind my business. Occasionally.
Moving on, what had caught my eye was the fairly legible lettering on the side facing me. “CATTY BASKET”, emblazoned proudly.
I actually winced. ‘Its a basket with a cat’s head, you know what, let’s call it a catty basket. Jolly good idea, mate, hip hip hurrah, God save the Queen, Devil punish some kain presidents like that.’
Now I know easy is…well, easier. Its a decent name. People will see it, purse their lips, shrug and shake their heads slightly, while mulling over it for all of three seconds. ‘Yeah, it works. Gimme a catty basket. Heck, gimme two, its time my wife moved into her own room anyway.’
Money talks. But someone’s artistic fore brain is withering to nothing. Going for easy does that to you, you know. But, hey, as long as market dey move, right?
So, here’s to all the catty-basket writers out there. Na jealousy dey pinch my belle, no mind me. Maybe I should join up, get the moolah rolling in. Ranting on paper is thirsty business.