When I was ten, my Grade five teacher presented me with a certificate for storytelling, and told me that I had a talent for creative writing. I remember blinking in silence, wondering how the pastime that engrossed me for hours a day within the walls of my bedroom was being praised as a talent. It was a revelation that instigated my focus to become a writer.
After high school, my path took me to university to study English literature – the only area that interested me. But after learning about the great romantic writers and playwrights, the desire to create stories faded with intimidation. I couldn’t create such prose, I thought. So I found myself in communications, where I decided that I had some writing skills that would help me build a career. What I didn’t expect was the life skills that I learned – the interaction with people in the real world, which sparked my fascination with human behaviour. Characters began to form in my mind, urging me to write again.
Just before the new millennium, I contacted the local newspaper in High Park where I lived at the time. I had no journalism training but the editor was pleased with my writing samples, hired me as a freelance reporter, and began to teach me the craft of news writing.
I spent nine years as a freelance news writer, and 30 in communications working in corporate environments. But I was still a square piece trying to fit into a tightly closed circle. Experiences were shattering, and lessons were harsh. For every ten that pushed down, there was one supporter who stretched out a hand, uttering a common message – write.
But aimlessly, I changed paths again and again. I vented to patient friends, but nothing would end the ache inside. So I began to write.
Then shortly after the death of Maya Angelou, I found myself caught up in the Twitter frenzy and came across one of her quotes, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Time stopped for a moment and I felt the words branding themselves into my mind. It was as if she was speaking directly to me. It gave me strength.
After completion, Brown Girl in the Room, took just six months to be accepted by a publisher.
For me, it was far too long after the Grade five revelation. But a friend recently reminded me that Ernest Hemingway once said, “In order to write, you must first live.”
Writing is not a job, or a skill. It’s part of who I am. Experience is what I needed to complete the circle. And although I don’t want to make every piece a biography of my life, I’m continuing to write, using snippets of my own experiences and observations to create stories. It’s a long process but I’ve made some progress.
In 2021, my first short story, Pies for Lunch, was published by The Caribbean Writer, a literary journal from the University of the Virgin Islands. To my surprise, the story was shortlisted for best short fiction!
My second book, The Elevator was published in October 2024 and I’m working on two more writing projects. I still have to earn a living through communications, but I won’t abandon my creative work again.
Priya