“Writing is every writer’s passion, he must not be really good at it. When a writer lost a dear one, he creates a related fiction in his mind as events unfold, the writer does the same with the sweetest of experiences. But when writer’s block (Merriam-webster: the problem of not being able to think of something to write about or not being able to finish writing a story, poem, e.t.c ) sets in, the writer is more of devastated, it tends to be the worse thing that could ever happen. All efforts made to avert the situation would definitely prove abortive since it knocks at the writers’ door & exits unannounced. At this, the writer goes paranoid, it takes a strong willed writer to shake off the shackle & cope. If you happen to be a casual friend to the writer experiencing ‘writers block’, your friendship is highly appreciated at this time for you come in handy in so many ways you or even the writer might not be aware of. The reverse turns out to be the case for a wife or any intimate partner who has little or no knowledge of the situation. The sudden realisation of being less important to your partner compared to writing, irrespective of the tangible & intangible favours, the time & the commitment, drives anyone crazy & everyone reserves the right to go crazy at this. Its okay to react in whatever way but never let your reactions be a custodian to actions that results to break up. How you react, helps the writer in the long run for it becomes a basis, an idea or a reference point for yet another story, the writer is never in a hurry to get your replacement, so why subject self to the loosing end? Please & please do not get it twisted for I’m not invariably insinuating that spouses & partners of writers are practically lucky to be with us, my intentions here is to authoritatively paint you a very fine picture of reality using Chioma’s just concluded drama for a base, publish it in my blog, share it on Facebook & twitter, sit back, relax & wait for her return in roughly 2 weeks time.” He dropped his pen & grinned, ‘I would take out that last point sha’ he thought. Edet had just recovered from a writer’s block, all thanks to Chioma who had flipped her lid at his lackadaisical attitude to issues surrounding her boutique business which she tried to share with him 20 minutes back. They were both in the living room on this faithful sunday evening, watching a Nollywood movie with absent minds when she brought it up. He had reacted carelessly & therefore triggered an anger she had been nursing for a while, bringing up old issues & making references to times & events unexpectedly. His mood was further soured, she ignited her usual nag, he lost every grip on himself & jammed a flat palm on her bare face, escorted by a sharp scream & dead silence. He hissed, turned & left for his bedroom, slamming the door hard, turned the key to lock & collapsed on the chair by his reading table, this situation ushered in inspiration therefore pen was put to paper. He listened attentively, heard her footsteps pacing about the house ‘pretty sure she’s packing her bags again’ he thought, like always, he had no intentions of stopping her, she leaves & always returns, a break of a week, 10 days at most. He needed that break badly & he was sure & glad he’s getting it, after all she wasn’t his wife yet. He hit a key on the keyboard of his PC & the VDU came alive, typing commenced, “best recovery ever, God Bless you Chioma” he whispered & blew a kiss towards the door.
Approximately 15 minutes later, Edet proof read the post for the last time & was about clicking on the ‘publish’ button when he noticed the handle of his door bend, Chioma tried to open the door to no avail so she knocked. Edet assumed she had packed her bags & wanted leaving but needed transport fare, so he proceeded to his bedside drawer to collect his wallet. Chioma knocked again & kicked the door this time around, “you this barbarian, if you like don’t open this door, your mates are fighting financial wars & slapping bank Managers, you’re here slapping me abi? Shameless idiot! Open this door and see if I don’t ruin your future this evening” ‘bang… Bang… Bang…’ She continued on the door. Edet suddenly thought against the idea of letting her leave ‘I got my mojo back, why not just go out, calm her down, take her bags & return them to the guest room she occupied each time she visited, make it up with her, prepare dinner together & have the best of evenings.’ He smiled & chuckled, the insults she rained at him by the door was rather amusing. He made up his mind, braced up, walked to the door and paused as her voice became louder. He decided to crack a joke “my friend shut up there & get me my lunch” he barked and stifled a laugh, he paused to hear her react as expected. “Okay, your lunch abi? Don’t worry”. He heard her footstep fade away & chuckled till he felt she had returned. He wore a mask of hard face as the first step to apologising, turned the key on the lock and heard her mute at the sound, he then opened the door to be greeted with the shock of his life. The red-faced-sully-eyes Chioma was standing facing Edet. Between the two of them was her stretched out hands holding a pot of which the contents had already developed wings & put it to use. The hot undone beans splattered on Edet’s face & the horror that followed thereafter wasn’t bargained for at all.