My early years of writing was not too smooth. I discovered that I wrote better when inspired from the heart. And those things when written are meant to be censored and not published. Let's just say they were not fit for public consumption.
So in a bit to telling a story without the rawness of pure truth, I settled for creative writing, where I could tell life happenings and twisted thoughts under the disguise of fiction.
It really helped. That way when the truth was told, everybody say,
"oh very creative indeed. Your imaginations are awesome."
Frankly, a person true to the pen will know that in most lines of the infamous tag of fiction, lies words of painful feelings, joys and cruel realities.
This is not what I want to discuss. Let me stop here.
It is believed that when one takes a sentence from someone's work without his consent, it is plagiarism. However, make a collation of various works and form it into your own work, the English man would call it Research.
My early days of putting words down in paper was bereft of these ideas. I could see an awesome line in a work, a wisdom quote of a sage and rhythmic rhymes of a poet and take it without any reference to the person. However I learnt the hard way why this should not be so.
Some time in 2014, i made a birthday post for my sister on Facebook. I had no money, nor any luxury to offer her but lines of words written to celebrate my love for her.
I had previously read a work from a guy I did not like for his behavioral tendencies, but respected. He writes well. I saw a cool line he used on his work and loved it. So I decided to use it. Better still; steal it.
I began the post for my sister with the exact same words the guy used, which was;
"I am a bit of a story teller."
That was the only sentence I took from him. The rest of the work that day was without spot nor blemish. I posted it on my facebook page to the delight of my sister. She was moved to tears and I swelled in pride.
Then something happened. The very guy I took that sentence from saw the work and decided to drop a comment.
In it he said:
"Hahaha(Laughing hysterically) Father Moshood."This is obviously his name.
I saw this comment and my heart sank. I believed he had seen the line I used. But i tried telling myself that he could have missed it. Five minutes later, he came back to the post and commented again with the his own work which he used that line.
He posted the link in the same comment that anybody who clicked it would easily go to the work and find the similarities of the one I used and the one in his work.
I felt bad, broken and a lump had already grown in my throat. The pride I felt making the post for my sister was flatten with the speed of light. He had painted me as an intellectual thief, which I was by the way.
I decided to inbox him my apologies of what I did. Telling him I was awful, and with remorse. He choose not to reply, and better reaffirmed his superiority by a cynical laugh to my apologies.
The link he posted stayed up on the birthday post till the very next day, before he decided to delete it. The damage had already been done. The world had seen me as a celebrated thief. All thanks to my zeal to sound cool with a sentence of another writer.
It ruined all the enthusiasm I had in celebrating my sister and the lesson was learnt the hard way.
However, I was young, and myopic. Less interesting and with little or no charisma. He fed on it and almost ruined the level of confidence I thought I had in writing those days.
In 2016, I had grown older and understood better how the principles of intellectual property worked. Unfortunately, someone too was still growing and fell into the same temptation I did years back.
I saw a lady's post with the same line used in one of my works, and the horrors of my experience came back ashore. I would have taken pleasure in doing the same thing the guy did to me on my post. It will give me joy to have my own feel of awesomeness.
But I thought; How about how it would make the young lady feel. I was empathetic to her course, and following my better judgment I inboxed her. Her response to me, created an impression of guilty plea. But I was not there to hurt. I was there to mend and improve.
Criticism they say is like fire; When put to the right use it could be creative, but in the wrong words and hands, its end is destruction.
I directed the young lady about permission before using someone's work, or proper referencing. She learnt and I was happy she didn't fall prey to the likes of Father Moshood
It was not until recently I was surfing the net and I came across an article written by Chimanda Adiche in 2009 titled The Dangers of a Single Story
And the very first statement she wrote in that article was
