Chimamanda’s Workshop: See the Stories that Were Accepted in the Past

2 DAYS TO GO! Have you sent in your story sample for Chimamanda’s creative writing workshop? Applications for The Purple Hibiscus Creative Writing Workshop ends on Monday, October 15th.

Interested persons are expected to send a prose fiction or creative non-fiction writing sample of 200 – 1000 words and as easy as this may seem (especially due to the pretty small word count), applications will be competitive and only the best of the best stories will be selected. Expected amount of entries will obviously be over a thousand because…, it’s Chimamanda!

We reached out to some great minds who were accepted for this workshop in the past, and they have shared the particular stories they used to apply.

These stories will give you a clue to the standard of stories expected of an entry for this workshop. If you haven’t sent in your story yet, or if you are stuck with writer’s block, these marvelous works are sure to knock some motivation into you. These stories have been compiled into a book on OkadaBooks, and it is available for FREE. To get it, slap here.
See one of the accepted stories below;

For The Last Time by Mazi Nwonwu

I lie silent, making no sound, save the swishing that is my restless legs sliding across the palm fronds scattered around the bench on which I lay, while inside me rages a tempest. Words I dare not grant voice scream at high decibels, demanding to be heard, and maybe obeyed. As hard as it is to, I ignore them, preferring to sit-out their torment rather than give in to their lust driven whim.

Ha ha ha, I hear them laughing at me, my inner men (yes, they are many.)

I guess they know as much as I do that my resistance is only for a while, a very little while.

It has happened before, not so long ago. I had lain like this, thinking thoughts not too much removed from this one, in this very bench, under this very tree. Even the sun, which now looks across at me from those yonder treetops; bore the same grimace it does now.

Everything is the same, save for Elfi. No, not that, she has not changed, God no, I only mean she was in the frame then, to complete the picture.

Back then, just about this time, she was coming out of the thatch and bamboo bathroom, the droplets of water on her body glistening in the fading light of early dusk. Her wrapper, with its loose knots, clasped pert breasts, whose goddess-like manifestations achieved a higher state of allure from all the wetness.

No, I did nothing, just stared. It was not until she had walked past me towards her hut at the far side of the compound that I found myself helpless, enamoured by her jaunting backside. That was when I lost my heart, when the battle with my soul began, and what a battle it has been, one I lost then and am sure again to lose now.

I did not know it, nor feel it. I only chanced a look downwards to find that the thrilling I thought was in my mind was indeed real. It is funny you know, for the very way I could not control my libido now is also true of my legs. I know we promised not to do this again since last time felt like a mistake, but I am already halfway to Elfi’s hut, danger gifting my blood more heat. You see I am not supposed to be with her. She belongs already to my brother, but my heart, I found, is tied to my loins, and she alone can untie this knot.

Into sin, I head once more, and like times before, I swear this time will be the last – something to remember her by – but as soon as that vow touched the tip of my tongue, I know it for what it is… another lie.

Darkness, real or imagined, I know not, embraces me as the mat that encloses Elfi’s hut slides back into place behind me.

On the bamboo cot by the head-sized window near the far wall, she stirs. ” Tombi?” there is question in her voice, but the sigh that follows her mention of my name, dies as soon as I cross, in two lengthy strides, the space between us. Like before, she voices her reservations, but stills them upon my demanding tongue.

We jostle with our sparse clothing and I instinctively clamp my lips over hers as her moistness overwhelms my hardness. The ground seems to be falling into the sky and the echoes of our collective voices, very near, yet far, is merges to become a song to whatever goddess holds sway over our wanton feeling.

Suddenly, she cocks an ear, places her fingers to my lips – still wet from her. She starts; I do too. In the distance, coming steadily closer, my brother’s voice, calling out her name.

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The entries of other amazing Alumni like Kelechi Njoku, Adaeze Ezenwa, Walter Uchenna Ude, Aishat Abiri, Aoiri Obaigbo and Chika Jones, are also included in the book. Get it now.