I learned to love the artistry of words and the English language sitting at my school desks, basking in my Caribbean island birthplace Trinidad and Tobago teachers insisting that we compose, comprehend, analyze, and précis until thinking became muscle memory. At home, my mother rich in Shakespeare could turn even a scolding into a scene, measuring our missteps against lines from the plays. So becoming a blog writer wasn’t per chance; it was a path I was already walking. My thoughts became brushstrokes, my words the color palette shared with others as an offering of sharing and invitation to dialogue.
I didn’t start perfect. As a young writer I overstuffed sentences with big words trying to impress. Teachers gave me the KISS medicine keep it simple, stupid. I still revise toward clarity: uncover, recover, recreate then place the art back into words. I tinker with keywords, learn which phrases help searchers find my work, and laugh at my own awkward first drafts. I’m curious about AdWords, cautious with AdSense, and committed to serving the reader before the algorithm.
