I remember back in High school when I was just a freshman. I was young and pretty adorable (no jokes) – at least that’s what I mostly heard from seniors and peers. I remember seating in a classroom of 20 students and only one person had peaked my interest enough to motivate me to begin my first novel. He was seated right across the classroom from where I was positioned, so all I had to do was turn my head to the left and there he would be. It was amazing how much inspiration I could acquire from his presence, because all the time I wrote, I secretly had him in mind.
I remember, not in details, of what I had written about. I remember writing about this Princess who hailed from a small Village in the Eastern part of Nigeria. She had met this young man who she fell in love with and had decided to run away with (typical romantic movie setting here). I was 10 years old at the time and had no idea why my emotions and imaginations had geared towards that direction of love, but I was good at what I wrote. I used a particular school notebook that I had been given from the school, so I continued to write the novel only in that notebook. I remember that the couple had tried to run away and were later caught. A guard, however, helped the couple escape and they started their journey across a distant land that they knew nothing about. They struggled to make it in that land, and that’s where I remember ending the novel. I was pretty excited and I shared my book with my classmates. Most of them really liked the book and I was motivated to continue to write.
That wasn’t the last time I had started a novel. I believe I had skipped a year in writing and then came back in JSS3, at the age of 12. I was inspired by another male figure, but this time he was a famous man. His name was Ray Charles, the very famous Pianist who was once blind but could still play the piano like he had eyes to see his fingers. He truly was a great man in my opinion. The blind Pianist in my story was very much like Ray Charles, but this other man was highly inspired by the presence of his dead mother. His mother was constantly there to remind him that his present condition would never stop him from being great; and so he played like a champion with no vision. I was proud of the book. I gave the book to my friends to read and after a while the book started to miss some parts. I continue to think about the book but I don’t know if I can ever write one like it again.
I left Atlantic Hall after my third year there and went to Caleb International College. For the next three years I focused more on poetry because my life had become my own inspiration. I could only express my emotions with the use of poetry and those days were not bright enough for me to share it with the world that was currently around me. I hated myself and was confused about my existence, and so love became a bitter subject in my life. However, I wrote those poems like never before, to the point that folks who I never would speak to were asking me to write poems to give to their mothers on Mothers’ Day.
Right now I do more poetry than I write short novels. I really would love to get on to publishing a novel, but only after I am able to finish up this novel I am presently working on. I love to write. Everything moves me to write. In my greatest despair, I write. In my happiest days, I write. When I’m walking down the streets, my mind does the writing for me. I wish to be my own self when I write. Not some copy of Chimamanda, or Ted Dekker, or even Frank Peretti. I want to be able to inspire people to write, not to be like me, but to express themselves as they truly are
