My mother started reading to me when I was still in the womb. Once I was born, her commitment to reading to me grew. My mom introduced me to American Girl and historical fiction via the heroic Addy Walker and I remember getting lost in the pages of her story, which led me to read many of the other American Girls' stories as well. My dad introduced me to folklore and filled my head with the Br'er Rabbit stories. I remember, they bought me The People Could Fly (a compilation of Black folktales) and I fell so in love with story "Wiley, His Momma, and the Hairy Man" that the book is permanently creased to the story and I could recite it word for word. At some point I discovered The Magic Attic Club and fell in love with the fantasy genre as well. The cherry on the cake came when I discovered the books of Eleanora E. Tate. As fate would have it, I loved her books (I've probably read each of them a dozen times) and at one point she lived in my hometown. It wasn't hard to find a family member who knew her personally, in fact that may have been how I was introduced to her books anyway. When that family member expressed my love for books and increasing interest in writing to her, I suddenly became the guest of honor at a luncheon she was attending. I was a six year old meeting my favorite author and it felt like I'd just met the President of the United States. The fact that my favorite author was telling me I could do that too; I could be a great author and have kids (or adults) engrossed in a story for hours upon hours... It was life changing.
The paradox of it all was that I hated English in school! It didn't start off that way--I have a second grade memory book where I clearly listed English and Reading as my favorite subjects--but at some point (late elementary, I'd guess) I began to turn away from the subject (though I didn't stop reading) and foster my love for math. I had tossed aside thoughts of becoming an author in favor of more scientific professions (such as a veterinarian or engineer). My 7th grade English teacher reignited my love for writing when she assigned us the epic task of compiling a poetry book. Not only did we have to read and respond to poems, but we had to write them too. Hiakus, sonnets, free verse, quatrains, ballads, you name it, we were supposed to include it. It took me from being a just prose author to poet as well. It didn't rekindle my love for English classes, however, and over the years I began to despise my literature classes even more. I was a math whiz and science lover who dreaded English class (strange, I know).
That summer I turned 13, I also finished my first book: Secrets of the Present. Shortly after, I wrote a sequel, Mood Ring, and the unrelated Joint. All of which probably read as though they were obviously written by a 13 year old. Nevertheless, ideas flooded my head over the years I developed a plethora of unfinished stories. When my 10th grade English teacher assigned us to keep a journal, I began writing daily (though I'm sure the requirement was for weekly entries). Poems, short stories, continuations of novels, it was something I did without thinking about it. My inability to stop led me to complete yet another book, The Absence of Color, while I was in undergrad (if I ever get the chance to do some serious editing/proofreading that one might make it to a bookstore shelf).
Still, college slowed my writing progress--whether it was because I was focused on classes (none of which had anything to do with creative writing, literature, etc.) or because I was busy being sociable is debatable. I found that in the time I would write 10 poems in high school, I had only written 1 in college. Short stories became even less frequent and great novel ideas were put on hold. And if undergrad merely slowed writing for me, grad school was a dagger to the heart. My writer self was in critical condition in the ICU and even though no one else could tell, it drove me crazy. Writing is the part of me that keeps sane and it wasn't something I wanted to give up.
Eventually, I decided to create this blog. Not only a way for me to share my writing with people, but also an inspiration and reminder to not lose my self in the world of science but to make time for my writer self as well. For the past few months I've been nursing her back to health and I even gave her a name: Eillya-Marí Kocumba. She's in full swing and ready to entertain, inspire, and uplift.
The paradox of it all was that I hated English in school! It didn't start off that way--I have a second grade memory book where I clearly listed English and Reading as my favorite subjects--but at some point (late elementary, I'd guess) I began to turn away from the subject (though I didn't stop reading) and foster my love for math. I had tossed aside thoughts of becoming an author in favor of more scientific professions (such as a veterinarian or engineer). My 7th grade English teacher reignited my love for writing when she assigned us the epic task of compiling a poetry book. Not only did we have to read and respond to poems, but we had to write them too. Hiakus, sonnets, free verse, quatrains, ballads, you name it, we were supposed to include it. It took me from being a just prose author to poet as well. It didn't rekindle my love for English classes, however, and over the years I began to despise my literature classes even more. I was a math whiz and science lover who dreaded English class (strange, I know).
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| the story of my love of hummingbirds is here |
Still, college slowed my writing progress--whether it was because I was focused on classes (none of which had anything to do with creative writing, literature, etc.) or because I was busy being sociable is debatable. I found that in the time I would write 10 poems in high school, I had only written 1 in college. Short stories became even less frequent and great novel ideas were put on hold. And if undergrad merely slowed writing for me, grad school was a dagger to the heart. My writer self was in critical condition in the ICU and even though no one else could tell, it drove me crazy. Writing is the part of me that keeps sane and it wasn't something I wanted to give up.
Eventually, I decided to create this blog. Not only a way for me to share my writing with people, but also an inspiration and reminder to not lose my self in the world of science but to make time for my writer self as well. For the past few months I've been nursing her back to health and I even gave her a name: Eillya-Marí Kocumba. She's in full swing and ready to entertain, inspire, and uplift.
