Excerpt
Introduction: The Power of Words
Try going a whole day without writing anything—not a text message, not your name, not even a number. No notes, no reading signs, no checking a menu. Pretty hard, right? Now try to think of life where no one could write—not you, not your friends, not even the smartest adults you know. That’s how it used to be for most people on Earth a long time ago.
Writing isn’t just about putting words on paper. It’s about holding on to ideas. It’s a way to remember, to share, and to speak across time and space. If someone writes something today, someone else can read it a hundred years later. It’s like building a time machine out of symbols. But not everyone always had that kind of power.
Think about the things you use every day that rely on writing. Games have instructions. Books have stories. Stores have prices. Maps have names and directions. Even your cereal box at breakfast has writing on it—ingredients, fun facts, and sometimes jokes. Writing is everywhere, even if you don’t always notice it.
But it wasn’t always that way. There was a time when people didn’t write anything down. They shared knowledge by speaking and memorizing. They passed stories along by telling them over and over. If someone forgot a part, the story could change. Over time, whole histories could disappear. When stories are told by voice alone, they can be powerful—but also fragile. Writing helps protect them.
When someone creates a way to write a language, they’re doing something incredible. They’re giving people a tool that makes their thoughts last. They’re making it possible to record dreams, keep track of promises, send news to faraway places, and teach others what they’ve learned.
But here’s where it gets interesting. For a long time, not all languages had a written form. Many communities—especially Native ones—used spoken language only. Not because their languages were less important, but because no one had created a writing system for them yet. That didn’t mean those people weren’t smart or creative. It just meant they hadn’t had a reason or a way to write things down—yet.
That’s what made the world Sequoyah lived in feel unfair to him. He saw that English speakers could read and write. They could send letters, write laws, and make books. The Cherokee couldn’t do that. If they had a message, they had to speak it or hope someone remembered it. And if someone wanted to lie about what a Cherokee person said? There was no written proof to stop them.
Writing gave people power—not just political power, but the power to remember who they were. It helped them keep their stories, their laws, their names, and their voices strong.
Think of a language as a river. It moves, flows, changes over time. Now think of writing as a dam—not one that stops the river, but one that collects its water and shapes it. Writing holds a moment still. It keeps words from floating away.
Writing also connects people. If someone writes something in one place, another person can read it somewhere else. A person in the past can speak to someone in the future. You could write a letter today, and someone could find it in a hundred years and still know what you meant. Even if you're gone, your voice can stay.
That kind of magic isn’t just about paper and ink. It’s about symbols that stand for sounds and meanings. Every written word you know is just a clever trick. “C” makes a sound. “A” makes a sound. Put them together, and you’ve got “cat.” Now your brain sees three little symbols and immediately pictures a furry animal. Wild, right?
But again, this wasn’t something every group had. Sequoyah realized that the Cherokee language had its own sounds—its own rhythm and beauty—and it deserved its own symbols. Not copies from English or Spanish, but something brand-new. Something made for Cherokee by Cherokee.
And here's the thing: writing doesn’t just help you talk to others. It helps you talk to yourself. Ever keep a journal? Make a list? Doodle words when you’re bored? That’s you organizing your own thoughts. Writing gives you a place to figure things out, test ideas, ask questions, even when no one else is around.
Writing can also protect people. If someone promises to give you something and writes it down, that’s a record. If someone tells a lie and you have the truth in writing, you can prove what really happened. In a world where people often argued over land, laws, and rights, having writing made a huge difference.
But there’s something else, too—something deeper. Writing shows that your voice matters. When a language is written, it means people believe it’s worth remembering. It’s worth learning. It’s worth keeping alive. That’s why creating a writing system isn’t just about marks on a page. It’s about dignity. It’s about pride. It’s about survival.
Sequoyah saw all this. Even though he didn’t speak English well and had never been taught to read, he understood the power of writing. He saw what it could do for other people, and he believed the Cherokee deserved the same power. Not just to keep up with others, but to protect their culture, their thoughts, and their future.
Try going a whole day without writing anything—not a text message, not your name, not even a number. No notes, no reading signs, no checking a menu. Pretty hard, right? Now try to think of life where no one could write—not you, not your friends, not even the smartest adults you know. That’s how it used to be for most people on Earth a long time ago.
Writing isn’t just about putting words on paper. It’s about holding on to ideas. It’s a way to remember, to share, and to speak across time and space. If someone writes something today, someone else can read it a hundred years later. It’s like building a time machine out of symbols. But not everyone always had that kind of power.
Think about the things you use every day that rely on writing. Games have instructions. Books have stories. Stores have prices. Maps have names and directions. Even your cereal box at breakfast has writing on it—ingredients, fun facts, and sometimes jokes. Writing is everywhere, even if you don’t always notice it.
But it wasn’t always that way. There was a time when people didn’t write anything down. They shared knowledge by speaking and memorizing. They passed stories along by telling them over and over. If someone forgot a part, the story could change. Over time, whole histories could disappear. When stories are told by voice alone, they can be powerful—but also fragile. Writing helps protect them.
When someone creates a way to write a language, they’re doing something incredible. They’re giving people a tool that makes their thoughts last. They’re making it possible to record dreams, keep track of promises, send news to faraway places, and teach others what they’ve learned.
But here’s where it gets interesting. For a long time, not all languages had a written form. Many communities—especially Native ones—used spoken language only. Not because their languages were less important, but because no one had created a writing system for them yet. That didn’t mean those people weren’t smart or creative. It just meant they hadn’t had a reason or a way to write things down—yet.
That’s what made the world Sequoyah lived in feel unfair to him. He saw that English speakers could read and write. They could send letters, write laws, and make books. The Cherokee couldn’t do that. If they had a message, they had to speak it or hope someone remembered it. And if someone wanted to lie about what a Cherokee person said? There was no written proof to stop them.
Writing gave people power—not just political power, but the power to remember who they were. It helped them keep their stories, their laws, their names, and their voices strong.
Think of a language as a river. It moves, flows, changes over time. Now think of writing as a dam—not one that stops the river, but one that collects its water and shapes it. Writing holds a moment still. It keeps words from floating away.
Writing also connects people. If someone writes something in one place, another person can read it somewhere else. A person in the past can speak to someone in the future. You could write a letter today, and someone could find it in a hundred years and still know what you meant. Even if you're gone, your voice can stay.
That kind of magic isn’t just about paper and ink. It’s about symbols that stand for sounds and meanings. Every written word you know is just a clever trick. “C” makes a sound. “A” makes a sound. Put them together, and you’ve got “cat.” Now your brain sees three little symbols and immediately pictures a furry animal. Wild, right?
But again, this wasn’t something every group had. Sequoyah realized that the Cherokee language had its own sounds—its own rhythm and beauty—and it deserved its own symbols. Not copies from English or Spanish, but something brand-new. Something made for Cherokee by Cherokee.
And here's the thing: writing doesn’t just help you talk to others. It helps you talk to yourself. Ever keep a journal? Make a list? Doodle words when you’re bored? That’s you organizing your own thoughts. Writing gives you a place to figure things out, test ideas, ask questions, even when no one else is around.
Writing can also protect people. If someone promises to give you something and writes it down, that’s a record. If someone tells a lie and you have the truth in writing, you can prove what really happened. In a world where people often argued over land, laws, and rights, having writing made a huge difference.
But there’s something else, too—something deeper. Writing shows that your voice matters. When a language is written, it means people believe it’s worth remembering. It’s worth learning. It’s worth keeping alive. That’s why creating a writing system isn’t just about marks on a page. It’s about dignity. It’s about pride. It’s about survival.
Sequoyah saw all this. Even though he didn’t speak English well and had never been taught to read, he understood the power of writing. He saw what it could do for other people, and he believed the Cherokee deserved the same power. Not just to keep up with others, but to protect their culture, their thoughts, and their future.