Excerpt:
Every sentence I write feels like an oath — fragile, but necessary.
The griots of Kharis said an oath is not spoken — it is written into being. When I write, I feel that same weight. The responsibility of creating something that remembers.
Every novel, every poem, is an offering — to memory, to ancestry, to the unseen roots that hold us all.
Writing, for me, isn’t a career. It’s communion.
And every time I pick up the pen, the Thorn remembers.
When I began writing As Twisted Like the Tales from the Thorns Beneath the Locust Tree, I thought it was about kings and betrayals. But the real story was never about power — it was about memory.
The griots in my world do not simply tell stories; they carry time itself. Each word spoken is a rebellion against forgetting.
That is why I write — to let the forgotten speak again, through the tongues of trees and the silence of thorns.
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They say a writer’s pain sharpens their ink. But sometimes, it’s the silence between words that cuts deepest.
The Thorn that Whispers is more than a myth in my world — it’s the symbol of every vow that was broken, every memory that refused to fade. It reminds me that even in stillness, something listens.
I write not to escape, but to remember. To trace the scars that made the story, and to turn them into roots for others to hold.
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Excerpt: Every sentence I write feels like an oath — fragile, but necessary. The griots of Kharis said an oath is not spoken — it is writt...
