Writing is like being in a world of magic, a place where you make all the rules, where you have all the powers and its the best kind of magic you can imagine! Words have the powers to become whatever you want! Their essence, their soul, their cores shine and give strength to the world created around it! There’s no wands and no mystical beings; just magicians and their spells- looking to create the best magic!
For me, writing isn’t just a hobby, its a necessity! I started a long time ago, maybe when I was in grade six or seven- can’t even recall correctly- when I penned down a short story in my rough notebook during english class one day. I remember handing it over to my teacher for a read, hoping to get a nice happy response. There wasn’t a response at all.
Years passed. Times changed. I changed. It was depression that took over me. Insecurities, jealousies and anger. I had no friends, no close allies. I rarely talked to anyone, even my family. Yeah, major anger issues. But things would get too stifling at times and no matter how much I pretended to be alright, I needed a getaway. Books became my sanctuary.
When I first started reading books, I was fascinated. There was so much in each and every book. A new reality, a new world! Whatever I imagined would turn out to be on the paper, an alternative with a happy ending. I went on a rampage, reading as many books a day as I could. As many a week. The librarian was under the policy to never issue a student more than a single book per day but he’d allow me to take as many as Id want, without even registering them. When there’d be new books, he’d put them all aside for me. No one else got the same privilege.
My imagination was running wild. I started penning poems-on my notebooks, books, torn pieces of paper, tissues. It was a wild time. I doubt I even have one fourth of the poems I wrote then in my collection. They were an amateurs work, even childish, but they were the beginning. And then came the next big step. Stories.
To date, Ive started a handful of stories-all still in my harddisk in raw form. Times changed. I changed. I made friends, became social, went to college, got a degree, a subsequent job. My family is the love of my life now. In the little time that I had between studying and socializing and sleeping, I advanced on my stories. They’re all done in a way that they’ve been built up well to the point of an intro or even the concept, chapters done from the middle or ends. I started, yes, but theres still miles to go. I hope I get time to run those miles. I want to see what my magic looks like. I know what it feels like [Thats the best part of being a writer, you feel the emotions so closely] but I wanna see how the world perceives it and how it truly stands. I hope one day I can.
Again, as my Unni once said
“For weirdos like us (;P) writing can sometimes be more about retaining sanity than creating a publishable work..”
In my case and I’m sure many other people, that’s exactly true! 🙂