My favorite childhood memories have a common theme: Books.
I’ve always loved to read. I remember stopping at Baba Odu Bookshops on Adelabu any chance i got. My father encouraged my love for books by buying me as many as i could read. I was reading a book a day by the time i was 7 years old. The Enid Blyton’s were my favorites. I played lacrosse with the twins at St Clares. I ate treacle and climbed trees with the golliwogs. I solved mysteries with the Five find outers and dog.
I must’ve read all the Enid Blyton books i could find because i started to explore the books on my parent’s shelf. There was Tess of d’Urbervilles, So long a letter by Mariama Ba and the occasional Harlequin romance novel which i had to read in secret because a simple thing like my parent’s disapproval was not going to get in the way of me and a good read.
Then i moved on to secondary school and found other girls who liked to read and so we started exchanging books. Sometimes these books would have passed through so many hands that they would fall apart but we still continued to pass the smaller sections of book around. We just had to keep track of who had which part and sometimes you’d find the person who had the next 100 pages you needed, or sometimes you wouldn’t but that didn’t stop us either.
I also liked to write. Like. I still like to write. Infact i hope to be a writer one day. It’s just the natural order of things isn’t it. I read so much so therefore writing should come naturally. Easily even.
So imagine my surprise when i realised that is not the case. I, miss avid super reader have not been able to write one story from start to finish. Not. One.
“If you keep saying something is a priority but you never act on it, then you don’t really want it.” Quote from the last book I read. Atomic Habits by James Clear.
I really want to be a published author one day. So here i am acting on it.
