Last night, I sat up thinking for a long time. It had a lot to do with my life so far. Many mistakes, yes, many good things too. With the ticking minutes of the clock, my mind wandered to the one question that I always try to answer: Why do I write?[Very Sartre-ish, unfortunately for him!]
As a kid, I wrote of things that I imagined in my head. Poems, essays, mainly stories with a moral. I believed in justice. I wrote about girls who were careless and messy with their things and had to face punishment. In my mind, it was all valid. That I was messy and careless myself, it never struck me. Until somebody older (and wiser) told me “Cut out the holier-than-thou tone…you are not a saint!”. Jolt One.
I stopped writing stories for a while. I only wrote some nice essays and answers in English class. They won the occasional ‘Good’ or ‘Excellent’, but nothing too fancy. Thanks to my teacher, I was introduced to Keats. Thus began my next passion: poetry. I started to read poems, and attempted writing a few. I showed one of my poems to a friend who promptly remarked, “There is no rhyming in the poem!” Jolt Two.
I began to ‘uncategorize’ the things I wrote, telling people “Oh, it is not a poem or a story. Just a series of words that makes sense. To me.” It was funny to see their raised eyebrows. Not everything has to be ‘classified’, right?
I grew up some more, kept writing about whatever I could fancy. I stopped showing it to anyone, though. Keep away, friend or foe! What I write is just for me! For three and a half years, I kept writing, and not showing. My diaries kept growing fatter (I wanted to get fat at that point, so it was ironical). Until I discovered the art of blogging. I knew I would have to put my writing under public scrutiny, but I was fresh with thoughts like ‘One must be open to criticism’ and ‘There is no harm in trying’. I started blogging. I found out there was a breed of people who liked what I wrote. It was nice to know. Until one of my blogger friends remarked, “You don’t seem to do anything apart from reading and writing. I thought doing the same things makes people get better at them. Why is your writing still so bland?” Jolt Three.
Needless to say, I stopped writing for some more time. I tried to discover other things, like painting and singing. I realized I wanted to ‘write’ about those experiences, ultimately. How boring! And so it was, back to Square One.
Jolts one, two and three.
Some people never learn, do they?