Ever since I was a little girl, I would look at the sea and think of God. Not just in passing, but with a kind of awe that stilled me. To me, the sea was a reflection, a personification of how vast, mighty, and unknowable God is. It has always felt sacred, holy, and deep beyond measure.
I remember back in 2022, I had no idea what my novel was going to be about. I only knew two things with absolute certainty: the sea would play a pivotal role, and the story would be soaked in the richness of African mysticism.
Growing up being an avid reader, stories have always been my solace, my escape, my silent companions. In a way that some might even call unhealthy. I took the novels I loved very seriously and every character I cherished became a thread woven into the fabric of my very soul.
Every sentence that happened to strike a chord within me became part of my internal composition. That is how deeply I love stories. That’s how deeply words move me.
But after reading countless books in my favorite genre, which is fantasy, I began to feel something shift. I no longer wanted to read magic. I wanted to write it. With every novel I finished that year I began to feel my own characters stirring inside me, like roots aching to break out of the soul.
The only problem is I just didn’t know where to start. And if I’m being honest with you, I wasn’t exactly used to finishing things that I started so how in the world was I supposed to write an entire novel?
Looking back, I think God must have smiled at my confusion because He is the author of all creativity. The One who gives inspiration and gently takes away what no longer serves. One night, I fell to my knees and begged Him for a story one that held the sea and ancient mysticism, one that could pour from me like rain. Something that was completely and truly me.
That night, before I even closed my eyes, it came to me like a tidal wave: their names, their faces, their voices. It was as if they’d been waiting for me all along.
Two months later, the first draft was born; about 300 pages, 120,000 words. And now, nearly three years on, I’m walking through the final chapters of this journey. The story has grown with me. The characters have evolved, their motives shifting, their personalities undergoing countless revisions.
But one thing has remained unchanged: the sea.
The sea has always been there- constant, powerful and patient. It’s more than just a setting. It’s a symbol. A reminder. A presence. The sea not only serves as a foreboding presence for some of my characters but a source of healing for others.
The sea represents surrender; it is allowing yourself to get lost in its waves and hoping that you’ll find the shore when the time is right.
I have gone to the beach multiple times already this year and spending time near the waves has helped me understand why the sea chose me as much as I chose it.
It is the rhythm of my story. It is the echo of my prayers. The very heartbeat of the novel that I am writing.
This book is not just fantasy. It’s worship. It’s memory. It’s strength. It’s a love letter to the mysteries of God, the magic of culture, and the endless depths of the sea.
And I can’t wait for the magic of my world to hug you and hold you just the way that so many other literary works have done for me.
