A Conversation with Abigail C. Onwunali
What year(s) were you at the New Harmony Project?
2025
Can you talk about a favorite memory or two? If you were asked to describe NHP to someone, how would you do it?
One of my favorite memories was having a writing session with my dramaturg, Cat, in the pool. We floated, swam, and talked through the development of my play in the most relaxed, joy-filled way. The moment I stepped out of the water, it felt like my mind had been cracked open. Ideas flowed so freely, like the water had somehow unlocked something in me.
I also absolutely loved the salons. Watching everyone’s work evolve was truly special. I saw breathtaking scenes, listened to gorgeous compositions, and heard pitches that made me lean in with curiosity and awe.
If I had to describe NHP to someone, I’d say it’s a place of serenity. A creative sanctuary. It was a space where I could quiet my mind, shed the pressure, and work with complete freedom. A place where I felt held, inspired, and reminded why I make art in the first place.
Where do you find inspiration for your writing? What other writers (in any genre) do you find inspiring?
I find inspiration in my culture. As Nigerians, storytelling runs in our blood. We are griots, historians, truth-tellers. I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember, echoing the voices of my mother and her mother before her. Their stories passed down with care and rhythm are the ones I hold close and work to keep alive, so they never wither or fade.
Wole Soyinka is my greatest inspiration. His work, steeped in the ancestral and spiritual realm, gives me permission to root myself deeply in the traditions that shaped me. It reminds me that there is beauty, truth, and power in where I come from.
I’m also deeply inspired by contemporary African women playwrights like Ngozi Anyanwu, Mfoniso Udofia, Jocelyn Bioh, and Danai Gurira. Their work gives me the confidence to lean into my voice, to write stories that reflect my world, and to trust that there is space and hunger for our truths.
What’s your creative process/ritual?
I like to find a warm space, somewhere between 72 to 75 degrees. My mind and body feel so much freer in that kind of environment. I love writing near bodies of water, in quiet churches, or in coffee shops that play soft jazz or classical music. I need to be in a place where I can completely zone out and feel unbound. Oh! And I always need a bev. A hot or iced chai with almond milk is my go-to. I can never go wrong with her.
But most importantly, I listen. My writing spirit has a lot to say, so I let her speak. I try not to focus on the outcome, where the play might go or how it’ll be received. Instead, I ask: What stories are locked inside me and ready to be released? How can I be a historic scribe for my lineage, leaving behind stories that honor where I come from and open a window for those after me to imagine the beauty that came before them? At the center of my process is listening. Letting the pen speak through the soul.
What advice would you give to aspiring creatives?
If there’s a story in your heart, write it. Don’t wait to figure out how to make it perfect, just write it and share it with the people you love. You’d be surprised how many people will see themselves in your story, how many will understand your testimony through your words. You never know who you might heal, or what door you might open. So write the darn thing!
Do you have a dream project that you're dying to work on?
Yes! I’m looking forward to creating a devised play with my family back home in Nigeria. I want it to be fully in Igbo and rooted in traditional folklore, but built with the community, shaped by their memories, their voices, their truths. There’s something so sacred about creating stories from the very soil that birthed you. Being home sparks a fire in me that America often tries to blow out. I can only imagine the wonder, the possibility, the life that will come from telling stories in the language of my ancestors, on the land of my people, with the mouths of my own.