It is impossible to fully encapsulate the magnitude and influence of Toni Morrison, a writer of such power, gravitas and ingenuity, the rhapsodic praise almost seems inadequate, anti-climactic. But we must do so. We must celebrate her. If the act of writing makes the human experience that much more knowable then we must mark this moment.

Morrison’s greatest gifts – a virtuosic feel for language and an eye for bringing the lived experiences of black Americans to the centre – to me seem inextricably linked. Never has a writer been so clear about her intention. These are lives that matter. Here are worlds possessing a will of their own. Hers are characters facing structural inequalities but they have agency, a mesmerising pull beyond the page.

Morrison’s books also inspired me personally. I cannot think about her impact in my life without remembering where I was, what I was writing. In secondary school, I kept diaries. I wrote strange little prose poems, funny observations of people who struck me for one reason or another, on writing pads tucked away in my rucksack or bedside drawer.

In between supplementary science and French classes, I read Song of Solomon feverishly. Set in Michigan, based on an African American folktale about enslaved Africans escaping slavery by flying back to Africa, the novel tells the story of Milkman Dead’s life. It was a wonder to me to know an author like Morrison not only lived but flourished, to marvel at the compelling protagonist, the novel’s poetic quality, its lyricism, its ability to stretch the possibilities of language.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Milkman’s story: Toni Morrison poses with a copy of her 1977 novel Song of Solomon. Photograph: Patrick Kovarik/AFP/Getty Images

This notion of giving meaning and multiplicity to black lives by writing them into existence stayed with me. I was hungry for more of her work. Throughout different key stages in my life, I always had one of her books, procuring them like the bold, incendiary pieces of fine art they are.

In college, I had excelled in sociology and psychology. I was argumentative, independent and curious. A law career beckoned but at university I routinely annoyed my law professors by falling asleep in lectures. I was still writing, this time short monologues dissecting the world around me. I was reading voraciously and Morrison’s Sula completely captured my imagination. Spanning 50 years, it is the story of two girls in Ohio, polar opposites, one the conformist, the other the rebel. The novel depicts the beauty, tenderness and danger of girlhood friendship into adulthood, its inevitable destruction and the part that small town morality has to play. Here, black women are given such dimension that it was a revelation for me, deeply emotional, a thing of itself that seemed simultaneously a part of and beyond the book.

Down the line, among other things, I wrote reviews for a black film-maker’s magazine, interviewing and writing about industry insiders. I continued to actively seek black voices. I read Tar Baby, Morrison’s take on romance. Jadine is a sophisticated black fashion model on a Caribbean island who finds herself both repelled by and attracted to Son, a beautiful, uneducated, antagonistic black man on the run who challenges her in every possible way.

The story of their affair is so politically charged, so potent and dynamic, it blew my mind. Here, Morrison maps the complicated histories between blacks and whites, the intra-community betrayals black people unleash on each other. I cannot think of that period without re-conjuring Son and Jadine.

The breadth of Morrison’s repertoire is unquestionable. Her comment that if there’s a book you want to read that doesn’t exist, write it, is one of the single greatest pieces of writing advice I have encountered, so deceptively simple one has to read it several times to feel its effect.

Thank you, Toni, for “doing language” so astonishingly well, for making black people feel seen, for raising black women up. I often think about the intellectual capital and value of black art, how it deserves to be revered for its craft, not just its cultural impact. Toni Morrison did craft stunningly. I will always remember that. I will find new revelations in her books and in doing so continue to be inspired to keep writing.

• Irenosen Okojie is an award-winning novelist and short story writer. Her collection Nudibranch will be published by Little, Brown’s Dialogue Books in November