Writing is hard. You would think that with the amount of thoughts that cramp and swirl around in your head, it will be easy to pen them down in a collected manner.
But no, as much as the rain or the woman who smiles at you every morning makes you want to write about them, it is not that easy. I speak for myself when I say that I have absurd urges to write, once in a while. I want to write about everything. Even things like how staring up at the ceiling fan for a while, makes me feel. There is this sudden rush inside me, this urgency to hold on to my thoughts. I want to write about people and places and feelings and things. But somehow, I don’t get around to doing that, most of the time.
And when I do sit down to write, it is messier than you can ever imagine. My words make no sense but my thoughts do. You could say they are lost in translation, from my brain to my hand. So, I just eventually figured that I would have to let it be and that I am just not gifted.
The most frustrating thing is when however hard I work, what I write is always a little different from what I think.
The images in my brain don’t match the images my mind conjures up when I read what I have written. It is the most unfulfilling thing that can ever happen to somebody who writes.
Ask any writer if they are completely contended with the way that they have set words to a string of thoughts. They will always answer in negative.
When writers’ judge their own work, they negotiate from the point of view of a reader. And as a reader, you know that you can always put it in a better way. Your words, I mean. I believe this makes us appreciate writers and artists more as they always seem to do it so effortlessly.
What irks me the most is when I have a sudden epiphany or eureka moment or I see something I want to write about, I usually don’t have a pen or paper in the vicinity. And by the time I do, I have already lost my stroke of thought.
One very important realization that I have had after struggling for more than half a decade is that, writing requires patience, more than anything. You have to continuously keep at it. If you do, you will be rewarded. For a capricious mind like mine, that is difficult to do but I try.
On some days, I give in. “oh it comes and goes, you know”, I quote Naipaul. Then I keep my pen and sit back. I try to trap my thoughts but I fail. So, I watch them visit me and quietly leave. Man’s foremost urge is to control, to document and to create. It is a problem when you are not allowed that.
And to everybody who is trying to write, please go ahead and do it. There is no other way. I intend to unleash as much as I can, all the stories I carry around, about my person because I want to write.
I believe in stories. I believe that you can find one everywhere you look. You only have to care.