Zora Neale Hurston

Hello! My name is Zora Neale Hurston, and I'm a storyteller. I was born on January 7th, 1891, in Alabama, but my story really begins in Eatonville, Florida. Eatonville was my home, and it was a very special place—one of the first all-Black towns incorporated in America. There, we governed ourselves and ran our own businesses. Growing up, I saw Black men and women as mayors, shopkeepers, and community leaders. This taught me from a young age that I could achieve anything. I loved to spend my days on the front porch of the general store, listening to the adults tell the most wonderful, funny, and sometimes spooky stories. My mother, Lucy, was my biggest inspiration. She always encouraged me to 'jump at de sun,' which was her way of telling me to chase my biggest dreams, no matter how far away they seemed.

My world was turned upside down when my mother passed away in 1904. At just 13 years old, my life became very difficult. I had to leave home and take on many different jobs to support myself, which meant my education had to stop for several years. Even through those hard times, I never forgot my mother’s words. The dream of learning and writing stories stayed with me. I was so determined to finish my education that in 1917, at the age of 26, I enrolled in a high school and told them I was only 16 so I could attend for free. It worked, and I finally earned my high school diploma. After that, I attended Howard University in Washington, D.C., a renowned university for Black students, and it was there that my passion for writing truly began to flourish.

In 1925, I arrived in New York City with just a couple of dollars in my pocket but a mind bursting with stories. I found myself in the middle of an incredible cultural movement known as the Harlem Renaissance. It was a time when Black artists, musicians, and writers were creating brilliant work that celebrated our heritage and experiences. I quickly became known for my vibrant personality and my captivating stories, and I befriended other important writers like Langston Hughes. During this time, I earned a scholarship to Barnard College, where I studied anthropology, which is the study of human cultures. My professor, the famous anthropologist Franz Boas, recognized my unique background and encouraged me to return to the South to formally collect the folktales I had grown up hearing.

And that is exactly what I did. Throughout the late 1920s and 1930s, I traveled extensively through my home state of Florida, across Louisiana, and even to the Caribbean islands of Haiti and Jamaica. I was no longer just a writer; I had become a collector of stories. With a recording device, I captured people's songs, work chants, jokes, and traditional folktales. These stories were precious cultural treasures that had been passed down from one generation to the next, but most had never been written down. I felt it was my mission to preserve the unique voices, language, and wisdom of my people, to show the world the beauty and truth in the way we expressed ourselves.

All of the rich material I gathered became the heart of my books. I published a collection of the folklore I had gathered in a book titled Mules and Men in 1935. Then, in 1937, while conducting research in Haiti, I wrote my most celebrated novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God, in an astonishing seven weeks. The novel tells the story of a woman named Janie Crawford on her journey to find her independence and her voice. At the time, some critics disliked that I wrote my characters' dialogue in Southern Black dialect, but I believed it was essential for them to sound real and authentic. I wanted to celebrate our language, not change it to fit others' expectations. In 1942, I published my autobiography, Dust Tracks on a Road, to share my own life story with the world.

In my later years, I faced many struggles, and for a time, my books were almost forgotten. I lived to be 69 years old, passing away in 1960. But stories, like the ones I collected, have a way of surviving. In the 1970s, a new generation of writers, led by the author Alice Walker, rediscovered my work and brought it back for the world to appreciate. She even located my unmarked grave and placed a headstone there to honor my life. Today, my books are read in schools and universities everywhere, and I am remembered as a pioneering voice of the Harlem Renaissance who celebrated Black culture with pride and joy. I hope my story reminds you to always listen for the stories unfolding around you and to never, ever be afraid to 'jump at de sun'.