A Book That Changed My Perspective

We’ve all heard the story, or at least fragments of it. But the day I finished Death of Innocence by Mamie Till-Mobley, I began to truly understand the perspective of someone who lived it. That book revealed the power of telling one’s truth.

I won’t pretend it was easy to get through. It was emotional. As I turned the pages, I felt sadness, joy, anger, and pride in the way she chose to face unimaginable pain. What struck me most was how something so traumatizing could be transformed into strength, resilience, and a driving force for justice.

Mrs. Till-Mobley became, for me, a modern day heroine, a model of how to create change by compelling people to confront the ugly truth. Our society has been shaped by countless defining moments, but that particular moment in U.S. and African American history was, in my view, pivotal.

We all know the story, but reading her story made it come alive in four dimensions. It was no longer history, it was lived experience. That perspective moved me deeply.

I hope that through my own writing, I can offer others even a fraction of what she offered me, a reason to smile, laugh, reflect, or begin a meaningful conversation. If my words can do that, I consider it a success.

How My Writing Has Evolved Over the Years

I can still remember when the thought of writing filled me with dread. I was hesitant to put my opinions into words, afraid of how they might be received. For a long time, I held back. But as life has unfolded, I’ve grown bolder. My experiences have given me a stronger voice, one I no longer hesitate to use when asked. Over time, my vocabulary has expanded, and with it, my ability to connect with a wide range of audiences.

In the beginning, I wrote in the style of the crowd. I echoed what others said, blending in rather than standing out. But that has changed. Today, I write from the richness of my own perspective, rooted in the Southeastern United States, shaped by the African American community, influenced by postgraduate education, feminine enlightenment, and years of corporate experience. Each of these threads has woven together to form the unique voice I now share with pride.

I am who I am, and I write with authenticity. My words are no longer borrowed, they are my truth.

Springtime Reflections: How Nature Fuels My Creativity

Wind may be my favorite element in nature. It speaks in a language I know well, sometimes soft and reflective, other times loud and unrelenting. It mirrors emotion, moving from a whisper to a roar, often guiding the stories I write.

I love to sit outside and let the wind dictate the emotion of a scene. Take Paternal Poise, for instance. Many of Sequoya’s outbursts, fierce, impulsive, unruly, were written during hurricane season in the South. On those days, I’d hear the wind rip through the sky, bursting in unpredictable gusts that wore down even the most deeply rooted trees. Those towering 100-foot giants, majestic yet vulnerable, reminded me of human fragility. One well-placed gust, and a limb could crash down. Where I’m from, we call them “widow makers.” That name is no exaggeration. The power of wind demands respect. It commands attention, and for me, it inspires.

But there’s another kind of wind, the gentle kind. A breeze so soft it barely lifts a leaf, like a lover’s touch brushing skin. I remember sitting on a hotel balcony, the breeze curling around me as I wrote the healing sibling moment between Sequoya and MD in Dream Divine. On that page, the two shared their grief without shame or judgment. I wanted that chapter to feel like an exhale, like the release you feel after a good massage. That breeze made its way into the story.

Then there are the still days, when the wind has disappeared entirely. In the South, those days are thick with heat and silence. No movement. No relief. Just weight. That kind of weather reminds me of the emotional heaviness we carry, grief, loneliness, pride. Those are the scenes where my characters linger, stuck, simmering, sometimes unable to move forward. The stillness becomes its own kind of atmosphere, a character in itself.

So yes, I suppose I’m deeply impressed by wind, its subtlety and strength, its presence and its absence. It’s a force I write with, whether I mean to or not.

How does nature move your creativity?