Junior Writer
Brighton, United Kingdom 🇬🇧

Lorelli M

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Bio

Lorelli is a professional writer for an international education company. She writes daily news and feature articles about an eclectic range of topics and people, including a 60-year-old scientist turned preschool teacher and an entrepreneurial grandmother. Lorelli, a child of the 80s, was raised in South London, where she gained a degree in Business, qualified as a teacher and juggled teaching and young motherhood with freelance writing for Scholastic. Now, she is juggling writing, writing and more writing with being beside her other long-term love: the seaside city of Brighton.

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As a Story Terrace writer, Lorelli M interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know our writer better by reading the autobiographical anecdote below!

What's in a name?

I had just been noticed by the girl in next door's garden below as I towered high, looking out from the window of my new bathroom.'What's your name?' She called up.Not wanting to go through the embarrassing rigmarole of my name being said incorrectly, my words flew out like an aggravated wasp.'Laura!''You allowed to come down and play Laura?''I'll ask…'But instead of asking, I crouched below the bathroom window ledge with my lie so the girl couldn't see. I counted to ten and popped my head back up again.'Sorry, my mum said no!''That's OK! Next time! See ya later, Laura!'Why couldn't I just have a 'normal' name like Laura? At seven, I was too young to know this didn't matter but old enough to know that my name stood out like an infected thumb.My family had just uprooted from one part of London to another and now were balled and chained to the bank for a 25-year sentence after buying a new house.My sister was too diddy and away with Elmo and the Cookie Monster to feel the upheaval, but for me, this was big.My headteacher, a short Irish man, introduced me to Class 4, mispronouncing my name as he did. So that morning, I wore the incorrect name, like a badge with a broken pin.At break time, the seven-year-old creatures of Class 4 continued to play with my name like new-flavoured bubble gum.Natasha popped her question over to me. 'So, you're Chinese, Lo-ra-leeeeeeee?... Does anyone call you Lora?''No!''Have you ever had a cane row?'She pulled out a small brush from her pocket and proceeded to play hairdressers.Georgina commented. 'That’ll look well good on Lolli!'At home, I took a red felt pen, and on the inside back cover of my sticker book, I wrote 'L-a-u-r-a Mojica,' scribbling it out again, hoping no one would see my desperation for a normal English name.Why oh why hadn't my parents thought about this?They had, I discovered when digging for the origin of my name for a homework task in later school years.'LO' stood for London, 'RE' was from Mum's name, Remedios, and 'LLI' was from Lino, my Dad's name.It was then that I had my first taste of humble pie and ate as much of it as a child could.

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