As far back as I can remember, I’ve always escaped into stories—scribbling scripts and short tales as a lonely teen, turning private journals into worlds where I could breathe freely.
Around 2001 I remember drafting a heroic journey taking place in some fantastic far-off world, involving teen orphans – sort of outcasts – in a neon-lit, high-tech world laced with ancient mysticism, where they confronted a forgotten evil rising from buried shadows.
But unfortunately, health challenges in my 20s and 30s forced me to pause big dreams. Though I had no idea that these circumstances were building quiet resilience along the way.
For the next twenty years, I had to fight against the mindset of feeling “behind in life” and realize that the only race that mattered was the one that was set before me. It’s not a sprint but marathon to be navigated one day at a time.
Then in 2021 came the loss of my mother after a long battle with Dementia and the ups and downs of caring for a loved one. The grief hit hard, amplifying my sense of isolation—but it also lit a fire to reclaim unfinished pieces of myself.
That’s when I found myself digging through my old canvas bags and pulling out my old legal pads containing the epic fantasy trilogy that I began scribbling down years ago.
I spent my evenings after work and weekend afternoons in coffee houses and cafes with just my coffee, pad, pen, and prose—lost in an inner world where I was free to express my thoughts, griefs, emotions and quietly heal. Whether anybody ever read it or not.
What happened next was either a divine encounter or chance. I crossed paths with Joanna Hunt, a ghostwriter who I met via a YouTube podcast who owned her own publishing company. I decided to take a leap of faith and pitch my idea—an origin story of a scarred hero—and the rest was history.
And after two and a half years of collaboration, edits, revisions, and worldbuilding—in a process I can only compare to scaling a daunting personal Mount Everest—I finally held the finished product in my hands. What began as a long-buried seed of a dream had, against the odds, become something monumental: like the Great Pyramids rising from the dust.
It was only during the surreal box-opening moment of seeing my published novel that I shared with Joanna my personal loss and that really inspired me as a writer. It was deeply moving moment for her and one where she truly realized the transformative power of fiction. How it doesn’t just express us but can restore us as well.
It can turn pain into purpose and open the door for us to find peace. One fellow writer named Jake from my mastermind group even echoed this advice and sentiment when he mentioned “there’s a story that only you can write, Isaiah, and that’s the one we want to hear”.
And I’ve not wavered on what matters the most to me. Whether I sell ten copies or ten million—either way, I’ve manifested a lifelong dream that once seemed impossible.
Sometimes I don’t understand everything that happens in life, or don’t get the answers I want. But the one thing I’ve learned is that it’s never too late. If I keep my faith, hope and dreams alive, anything is possible.
Deferred dreams can still flourish. And stories can definitely heal.
If a story that sat buried in me for twenty years can still find the light of day to bloom, what’s possible for you?