Through the window
The small doorways I've walked through so far. Some open onto writings that grew out of that season.
1996
Winter
A small red spiral my mother bought me at a grocery store. I filled it with drawings of horses and one very long story about a mouse who wanted to be a librarian.
2008
Autumn
Mrs. Adekunle read one of my paragraphs aloud in class. She did not say it was good. She said it was mine. I have chased that feeling ever since.
2014
Summer
A small literary magazine, now out of print. Two hundred words about my grandmother's hands. They paid me twenty dollars, which I framed.
2019
Spring
I stopped writing for almost two years. I do not regret it. Some fields have to lie fallow before they will grow anything worth keeping.
2022
A morning practice: one page before the world woke up. It is the smallest promise I have ever made to myself, and the one I have kept the longest.
2025
The beginning of Omoolola's World — a place to keep the stories where they can be visited, not just filed away.