This Was Love: A String Of Coincidences

Greatness Depends On Where You Are Coming From.

I Often Make The Mistake Of Thinking That Something That Is Obvious To Me Is Obvious To Everyone Else.

I Can Write With Authority Only About What I Know Well, Which Means That I End Up Using Surface Details Of My Own Life In My Fiction.

Red Was The Blood Of The Siblings Massacred In The North, Black Was For Mourning Them, Green Was For The Prosperity Biafra Would Have, And, Finally, The Half Of A Yellow Sun Stood For The Glorious Future.

Why Did People Ask "what Is It About?" As If A Novel Had To Be About Only One Thing.