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The journey of writing has taken me down a long melancholy path. My love of words began with poetry, that had been
infused at school.
I continued my love of words, in my evening armchair reading travelogue. At home, I happily read the children’s stories in the Encyclopedia Britannica. Soon, I was loving literature and history too, while dreaming of the faraway countries and towns that I had been transported to, in my reading world.
Born and raised in Jamaica, I lived in a gentle rural hill town among hospitable folks, who were steadily eking out a living from nature and the sea. I mostly observed the art of purposeful living. The subtle nuances inspired me as I pondered on the people and things happening around me, all embraced by nature.
It was from these moments, and dreams of faraway places, brought home from reading, that my young writing beginnings were born. Although halting and brief then, the stirrings to write never escaped my creative mind and sought to express themselves in musings that borrows from the imagery and nuance of my island home. But at age twelve my teachers denied my creative abilities. Said they were too good to be mine.
Traumatized, I wrote only in silence, a silence that lasted decades.
Through countless years, much of my writing found themselves put away in the proverbial shoe box. But now words come boldly with haste and form, and somehow find themselves in effortless repose, upon unveiled pages. The time has come to set them free from shoe box storage, and upon the path of the publishing journey.
“Time For You To Fly” is my first published book, followed by, “A Christmas Daydream”, and “Remember Who Loved You First”.
Stand by. There is more on the way.
Thanks for coming.