When writing outlives not only the writer but those who failed to recognize her brilliance
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” ―Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
When I was growing up, I realized most of the authors I read were no longer living.
Their characters and ideas, however, were very much alive inside me and other readers. And, to my young mind, I believed this to be magic.
I still do. The magic of genuine, human storytelling = nothing short of traveling across time and connecting with others in the quietest of moments in profound and unparalleled ways.
I read Zora Neale Hurston for the first time when I was a teenager.
By then, I was disillusioned; consumed by how imperfect and unspecial I felt, books had become more of an escape to me than a study. I sometimes took them for granted, ducking into worlds just to be out of my own.
The reasons we read vary. I still read to escape at times. But as a writer, I’ve become as fascinated by the author journeys as the writing itself. The stories behind the story, if you will.
Zora Neale Hurston believed that she was worth investing in and that what she loved was more important than comfort and ease. She believed in her mission and purpose to observe, as an anthropologist who received recognition as a folklorist during her life but Their Eyes Were Watching God, the work she’s synonymous with now, was largely ignored.
Many brilliant works are ignored. Many brilliant people are ignored in thier lifetimes for their best work. At least by the masses.
