What writing means to me..
All those of you out there who love writing here is something that a blissful writing lover feels. “Writing happens to people”, its’ not learned in any way except the basics. And for something to happen, that moment has to again happen. Love for any form of art is developed by a series of deep sense of satisfaction of witnessing it. When a painter witnesses colours and an object all he can think of how swiftly and perfectly his brush is going to stroke. On similar lines, when a series of events run through in the hours of a day all a fanatic writer can think of is the structure of the phrases jumbled together to make it read flawless. For everything which matters to us, love is the epitome of what exactly happens.
To write one doesn’t need to be a convent educated lad. The ones who write well are good but, the ones who write from their heart, the worst grammar is lauded well. So this is how writing happened to me. As a student, in school, I wasn’t one of the best when it came to expressing myself in any form. But, as time flies by and the years flourish on there was a lot I grew in. The writing was one of the foremost discoveries in me. I don’t seem to remember that day when I legit started writing. All I can think of is that it started with maintaining a personal diary. Haha! That’s one of the most fancies of a teen soul. And then slowly and gradually it’s like penning down my thoughts became a part of me. I used to spend nights together thinking of what to write about next. At the start, I did feel very inferior as my style of writing was vague. It wasn’t very innovative either. The language was very different in terms of coherence and only those who knew a background to my life could interpret it well.
So one fine day, I wrote a letter to my mom about something silly and that was the day the writer in me started blooming into something splendid. For the first very time my mom, yes, my mom! appreciated my writing. This certainly gave me a boost up to never look back on those literary disasters I had created and the events I had lost. Well, I took it real slow and did not really participate in any competition. But, it’s not the audacity to say that the competitions aren’t good enough. The reason is much more abridged. I wanted to write not to impress anyone but, only because I loved it. I loved putting words together (though simpler ones), and just create a situation of awe when I read it again. Yes, it was for the world to read but, only for those who could understand the feel and constantly give me criticisms on how to improve. Maybe a little uncalled for but, I wanted to and still want to reach that state wherein everyone can relate to what my words speak.
This isn’t flattery of any sort but, Fuccha really helped me grow as a writer. It’s just been 2 months and I have learned a lot. The most imminent aspect being finding time in almost no hours to do something which I wouldn’t have otherwise done. Not everything is written needs to be great, just that the very fact that my voice and wild thoughts reaching out to an audience. If not lots, at least a few. That little bit of time a viewer spends in reading my work gives me immense satisfaction and a deep sense of conviction that I’m worth a lot more than what people had ever claimed of me. Quotes are some of the very inceptions of my writing life. I would childishly comment,” I love this and I hope this passion found lately never leaves me.”
To add on, a kind word to whoever reads this. Let me tell you something you already know…..
Do not stop doing something you like even a bit. You’d never know when and how that like turns into a deep regression of love. Regression because the world will never accept amateurs. But, never mind! The importance is only felt when you do not stop it and one fine day the world turns your way and what you do is prized. So go out there, breathe some fresh air, and keep calm about the things you love. It all works out in the end, it has to and it will.
