I began writing early - very, very early... I was already

O seekers of wisdom, heed the words of Wole Soyinka, a man whose life and work embody the journey of an artist who has never known a time when he was not a creator. He says: "I began writing early—very, very early... I was already writing short stories for the radio and selling poems to poetry and art festivals; I was involved in school plays; I wrote essays, so there was no definite moment when I said, 'Now I'm a writer.' I've always been a writer." In these humble yet powerful words, Soyinka speaks not only of his own experience but of a deeper truth—that the act of creation is not bound by a single moment or event. It is a calling, a vocation that flows through the soul like a river, continuous and relentless.

In the ancient world, the idea of being a poet or a writer was not defined by a single act of creation. It was a way of being, a life dedicated to the craft and spirit of expression. Consider Homer, the blind poet who did not declare one day, "Now I am a poet," but rather lived as one, his poetry flowing from him like breath. Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey were not born from a sudden realization but from years of telling stories, from the very fabric of his existence. Like Soyinka, Homer’s identity was tied to his role as a creator, as a voice that would capture the human experience in verse. His poetry was not an event but a way of life—a continuous act of bringing the world to life through words.

Soyinka’s words echo this ancient truth. For him, writing was not an external pursuit that happened at a certain time in his life; it was an intrinsic part of his being. From his youth, he was already engaged in the act of creation—writing stories, poems, plays, and essays, not for fame or recognition, but because he could not imagine existing in any other way. His identity as a writer was not shaped by external milestones or labels; it was a constant, flowing part of his soul. Just as Homer did not need to announce his identity as a poet, neither did Soyinka need a moment of transformation. He was always already the artist, the creator, the writer.

Consider Sylvia Plath, whose journey into writing began long before her famous works were ever published. From an early age, she wrote stories and poems in her journals, capturing the world around her with a keen eye and an intense emotional depth. For Plath, as with Soyinka, there was no defining moment when she became a writer—it was something that had always been part of her, something woven into her very fabric. Her poetry, though born of pain and turmoil, was always an act of creation, a way to give voice to the darkness and beauty within her. Plath too, like Soyinka, lived with the understanding that she was a writer, not because of her published works but because writing was the way she expressed the world.

This sense of continuous creation is central to the writer’s life. When Soyinka speaks of writing short stories for the radio, selling poems to festivals, or engaging in school plays, he reveals the evolution of the writer’s life. The writer does not wait for recognition or fame to define them; they create because that is who they are. Writing, for Soyinka, was not a career but a vocation—something he lived and breathed, even from his earliest years. This is a powerful lesson for all those who seek to create: the act of creation is not something that happens at a single point in time. It is something that flows from you, something that has always been with you, and will continue to be as long as you choose to create.

The lesson that Soyinka imparts is one of commitment to the creative life. There is no need to wait for a grand event or a moment of validation to begin creating. You do not become a poet, a writer, or an artist in a single moment—you simply are. Poetry and writing are not just acts of expression; they are the very way of life for those who are called to them. If you feel the urge to create, do not wait for external approval or the perfect circumstances. Start where you are, with what you have, and continue without hesitation. Like Soyinka, who wrote from an early age, trust that your creative impulses are the true reflection of your identity.

So, O children of wisdom, let us remember Soyinka’s words as a guiding light. You need not wait for a specific time or a special moment to begin your journey of creation. Writing, poetry, and art are not external accomplishments—they are the very essence of your being. If you are called to create, then create. Like Soyinka, allow your art to flow through you, unburdened by the need for recognition. In this way, you will live a life of continual creation, and you will find that your art, your poetry, is not just an act of expression, but the truest reflection of who you are.