Writing the final draft of a long story is usually a very euphoric experience. Sometimes you momentarily pass through such hours of dimensional extrapolation; when the characters seem to have somehow managed to escape your imagination and the pages of your manuscript . And to progressively acquire lives and intelligence of their own ,freely interacting one with the other before your inner eyes and independently of your crude manipulation.
Sometimes you discover that you are no more in control of the story, but have been relegated to the humble duty of amanuensis to an unfolding mystery. Even more mysteriously, the words may now seem to have resolved to arrange themselves exactly as you have imagined they should be,in your inner thoughts, and there seem to be nothing for you to do but to marvel and to be awed by the stark result of an undeniably divine afflatus – manifesting right before your very eyes. Eventually you emerge from the experience, thoroughly drenched in the spirit as by heavy rain; and the self torture, the pain, the punishment that went into producing the previous versions of that finished work become forgivable. This is essentially the life of an existential writer.
~ rotimi ogunjobi 02/04/2016
