Like most people, my love for writing grew from my love for
reading. As a kid, I read everything I could; newspapers, flyers, ingredients
on tin food wrappers to tattered comics from street vendors. I kept reading,
and my appetite for the written word grew leaps and bounds with every passing
year, but it never occurred to me that I could write, I did not write anything
of significance until I reached college, until I stumbled upon online blogs,
and thriving online forums.
I created a blog, and began writing about my life in general, about
things I read, things I cared about, and things I felt deeply connected to,
mostly with the objective of doling out a fresh perspective on old things, but
I mostly ended up sharing agreeable thoughts.
Keeping up the blog, although as regular as
rain in a desert, taught me some tough lessons: Reading is easy, thinking about
writing is easy, but writing is a real thick hide. If you ever want to learn
about procrastination, take up an exercise regimen or even better, take up
writing. Writing requires deliberate effort to focus, keep still, and keep at
it for hours together to come up with something devoid of clichés. There is one
cliché for you. Of course, mastering the syntax, semantics, and tricks of the
language, and holding it all in the head can be daunting, even for Hercules of
a writer.
The notion of being a writer for is a highly romanticized one. My
vision of the writer was a person, who would sit in his pajamas and write in
long hand from morning till afternoon, and then read whatever he liked until
late in the day, of course he was still in his pajamas. There were no
difficulties, obstacles or whatsoever - a perfect way to spend your life. A few
months after starting the blog, I realized, my vision was blurred, my notion
far removed from reality, and that I needed an appointment with an ophthalmologist.
While writing a personal letter can bring about a sense of
freedom and liberation by letting out all the scattered thoughts playing hide
and seek in your head, writing to a larger group is like stripping yourself in
public, and if you haven't exercised regularly, the potbelly, the love handles,
and the flabby flesh will only make you a laughing stock.
For me, there are two kinds of
writers; the first who dread the process of writing, but write it anyway, and
the second kind, who dread the process of writing, and wait for the best day.
I'm not proud, but I belong the second kind.
