The truth will set us free

There is something inside us that always wants each and every one of us to succeed in anything we do. When we embark on certain projects and certain careers we all wish to be the Hussein Bolts, Lionel Messi or the Serena Williams of our own fields — the best. I know a lot of motivation speakers will tell you that wishing to be successful is all one needs to make it in a particular field or in one’s life. However, I must hasten to say be very careful of these motivational speakers — they all know our soft spots and know exactly what we want to hear. And so they do exactly that. They tell us what we want to hear and in big doses too.

Please don’t listen to critics — to people who want to pull you down. Critics are haters! Motivational speakers will tell you the only voice you should listen to is that inner voice whispering into your ears telling you that anything is possible that you are a winner in your own right. How many of us have listened to that inner voice only to discover to our horror that the voice has lied to us? That the inner voice is not always honest with us — half the time it is economical with the truth.

A consultant creative writer, writing for some obscure publication, wrote that the desire to write is all that an aspiring writer needs. But that is hogwash. The desire to do is not an indication that you can do it. The desire to write does not mean one can write — I mean write good stories; stories that will be retold in years to come. I mean write with the kind of voice and the kind of style that will withstand time. If you don’t have talent don’t bother. It’s that simple! That might sound hash but that is the truth. Only genuine talent will take you to the top of your chosen field — be it music, writing, poetry or performances of any kind. Talent and hard work are essential ingredients to success.

But it is not every day we tell each other the truth. Most of the time we lie to each other so as to maintain good relations. Unfortunately, in trying to maintain good relations we end up celebrating mediocrity.

Nowadays everyone is a writer or an artiste of some sort. Lihle Z Mtshali, writing in her column New York State of Mind recently, put it more succinctly: “I am always amazed at how anyone who owns a computer, has an opinion and can put five words together to make a sentence, can just willy-nilly call themselves a writer.”

As a writer (if I can call myself that) I have always wanted to be a member of a writers’ union or association. I always thought belonging to a body of writers would put some hairs on my chest. I remember reading about the days when the likes of Chenjerai Hove, Musaemura Zemura, Ndabezinhle Sigogo, Cont Mhlanga and the late Mthandazo Ndema Ngwenya belonged to the writers’ union. Then writing was a prestigious vocation. Then you didn’t just become a member of the writers’ union. You had to prove yourself first. The union was more like an elite club of writers. You had to be published to belong to it. But not anymore! These days all you need is desire — desire to write and a mediocre blog and you are a writer.

I once attended a meeting of one writers’ organisation and to my disappointment eighty to ninety percent of the so called members were young school leavers who were still walking around with manuscripts written in greasy exercise books. Manuscripts that had been written at one go and not even revised or edited. Almost all of them were not published and none had sold a story to anyone. But they all bravely called themselves writers. Chris Kwabato, also writing in one local daily, once lamented that “whilst we do have a few good writers, poets, and playwrights the larger landscape requires radical surgery.” Please mark with bold the last two words of his sentence. That is what is needed to resuscitate our literature sector.

Lihle Mtshali goes on to say “Real authors almost don’t want to introduce themselves as such anymore, lest they be mistaken for the new breed of wanna-be writers.” That is how bad it is. Sadly we continue to blindly sing praises to mediocrity. No week passes without the media telling us that a “brilliant, thought provoking, masterpiece of a play” has been produced. Or a young author has self- published a “classic” book, I have lost count of these good plays and books. But the reality of the situation is that there are no serious scripts out there to publish a serious anthology of Zimbabwean plays. Neither is there new writing to seriously talk about. (I hope am not being too harsh) Every group leader heading an arts group is a playwright — even some people who can’t string a few sentences together. Every week we are told of a movie that has been produced or is being produced. However, when you get to see the so called movie it is nothing but a badly assembled series of footage — badly framed and overexposed. It is the same story with music and poetry. “I have seen my fair share of mediocrity. I have suffered, dear reader, suffered badly,” laments Mr. Chris Kwabato. And who can blame him.

So what should we do? What should happen? You might want to ask. The answer is simple. Let’s tell the truth and stop calling substandard pieces of art works of genius! The truth will set us free.