By Bontle Senne
Published August 22, 2014
Every few weeks, I meet people who tell me they want to be writers. Quite often they say they want to write for children or have started writing to give their children something more fun to read. They work in the evenings after long days behind desks and putting little ones to bed. They tell me they have been working on it for six months or six years. All of them want to know how to get published. Many of them imagine it will be much more glamorous and profitable than it’s really likely. Quite a few of them have multiple books they have abandoned half or a quarter way because they could not find inspiration or had run out of ideas. I must have met dozens of people with this story in the last five years or so. There must be thousands of these hopeful storytellers across Africa but where do all their stories go? Very few of them are ever published. To be fair, there are very few strictly trade or children’s book publishers on our continent to begin with.
Stories can be as powerful as bullets. They can shift perspectives and ignite passions. They can keep our history and heritage alive. They can change the future for one child and a whole family.
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Writing textbooks or other educational materials would certainly be a more sensible and reliable source of income for those who wish to write professionally for children. We are yet to harness the potential of technology in unleashing our stories into the world. But why haven’t we? I could point to the many institutional roadblocks and structural inequalities of the publishing world. I could lament our odd preference for work from beyond our own shores. But I opt to talk about fear. This is the one thing that all those who have told me they want to be writers have in common. They are afraid they can’t finish writing their book or it won’t be good enough if they do; afraid of the inevitable rejection letters or their book won’t sell.
I am not immune to these fears. For years, my particular brand of fear was that people would think that I couldn’t really write if I chose to write solely for children. My fear fueled my excuses for not doing the only thing that would actually make me a ‘real’ writer: writing. I have a theory that this is why after six years as Africa’s only continental children’s literature prize, the Golden Baobab Prize can’t attract a sizable number of entries.
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Yes, that the Golden Baobab that recognises writers and illustrators of children’s literature in Africa only received 180 story submissions for the 5th Golden Baobab Prize contest from across Africa in 2013 is deeply worrying, especially since we have no shortage of writers; just a shortage of opportunities.
The Golden Baobab Prize and its writing and illustration workshops may represent one of the few opportunities for one to become a real writer. The stories submitted are expected to be written by Africans and for African children in settings that are relatable and with characters not so unlike the children themselves. So why aren’t there more entries? Where do all our stories go?
The deadline for entries to the 6th Golden Baobab Prize whose winners shall be announced in November 2014 was on June 29, 2014. So were there more entries from the many writers across the width and breadth of Africa?
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Great article! Indeed, where do all the stories go? Because there are, without a doubt, many untold stories from Africa.
The other question that rings: where do the submitted stories go? The ones that don’t make the long or shortlists. The non-winning stories. What happens to them?
I say this, perhaps as a case of sour grapes, having submitted every year, sometimes up to 5 stories, passionately written (of course every writer imagines their story is the best, please bear with my biases). Every year, I see the number of submitted stories and I know I contributed to it. Every year (well maybe not every) I see an article wondering why Africans don’t write, why only 180 stories (in the case of 2013) were received.
Every year, I hold my breath when they announce the winners and every year, I don’t make the cut. Every year I ask myself if I’ll keep submitting and every year I wonder if perhaps I should wake up and smell the coffee. Perhaps the universe is telling me writing for children is not my thing, even though I love to – with all my heart.
Do I write to win an award? Certainly not; but it would be awfully nice to, even just once; to have my work validated, to be among the winners that I read about.
So as some wonder why not enough stories are submitted for the prize, spare a thought for the ones that are; and what can be done to revive the ones that show promise. The people out there that actually took the time, energy and effort to ‘imagine’, put to paper and submit. The ones that invested some (even if misguided) hope that they could win.
I realize this post is a tad bit ‘immature’… Don’t I know the rules of the game? Did I not sign up for this knowing there can only be a certain number of winners? Don’t I know the hundreds of people (in history and today) who tried (in various fields) X number of times before they succeeded? Do I have illusions about my own writing?
Yet knowing these doesn’t make the sting of discouragement any less.
So this venting post is dedicated to the other 120 authors that didn’t make the cut and many others who will participate in future that no one will ever hear about.
One of the major parts of being a writer is dealing with rejection. It is the only constant in this game and I have had my fair share too.
There are many ways to share your work with children without winning an award for it. Read your stories at libraries, children’s homes, primary schools or pediatric wards. Start a blog and start posting them online. Share them on your Facebook page. Start a reading club with children in your area. Find a local NGO that promotes reading or education and investigate whether your stories could be used in their work.
But above all else, keep writing, keep looking for opportunities to be a better writer, keep supporting other African writers and keep loving what you do. Even if there are never any prizes or recognition, write because you love it. Holding onto that kind of passion is rare in life. Celebrate it.
Thank you for your encouragement and great ideas.
I have since discovered the African Storybook.org (openly licensed) who are more than happy to publish children’s stories. I suppose the non-winning stories like mine could be directed (donated) to noble causes such as these.
Meanwhile bravo on getting shortlisted. Your persistence paid off in the end. Cheering all of you on, and may the best (wo)man win. [Though I secretly hope it will be a Kenyan to bring the trophy home (For once!):-).]
The rest of us will roll up our sleeves and try again next year, and the year after…(till kingdom come I guess!) and if we never win anything, that will be okay :-).
I had submitted another comment to this post, it seems it wasn’t published. Hope this one will be. Cheers!