Write for Your Soul

Image - aacc.edu

Being a writer is difficult. Being an unpublished writer is harder still. You will carry around your secret like a thief. Sometimes you will let it out and say with reluctant blush that yes, you are a writer, dreading the next question.

Have you ever been published? Have you? No, you are still unpublished. You are still trying to elevate yourself from the bottom layer of the pyramid and climb higher. You know the pain. You know the numbness that spread across your heart with each rejection letter. Yet, how easily they ask – have you ever been published.

And you say, ‘No. I am yet to make it to the publication.’ What follows forth every writer knows. A glance of suspicion sometimes. Glance of pity. Most of the times glance of mockery. It is the main reason we conceal the fact that we return home to write, to create, to tell stories.

I am not venting my frustration here. It is no way a platform to bleed. God knows we bleed everyday. God knows we cry with each rejection letter, even though we shrug it off in public. Time comes when we stand at the verge of giving up. We question everything, even our existence. Each time we stand facing a mirror, our reflection asks – why? We are unable to answer. Why we write? Why we put up with the humiliation? Why?

May be because that’s what we are. May be because we are born that way. May be because we are both blessed and cursed. May be.

I can’t speak for you. For I don’t know you. I can only speak for myself. I can only tell you why I write. Why I put up with the humiliation. Why…

Blankness bothers me. Every time I look at a paper, I see immense potentiality. I feel like holding a pen and scratching the surface. I feel like creating a world peopled with illustrated characters. My characters.

Numerous times I have reached the point from which no path leads ahead. I have stopped many times thinking now what. I panicked even. Yet, I couldn’t stop. How can I quit being me? I am a writer and I was born that way. For good or for bad, this is my life. Getting published is secondary. It comes after being a writer. But, the focal point is writing.

It does not matter who asks what. It does not matter who thinks what. It does not matter how many rejection letters come your way. You are a writer and your job is to continue and create. People may try to mislead you. They may try to force you to quit. And you have the option. You can quit. You can quit because they think you are not good enough. You can quit because you are not being able to get published. You can quit because some no-good teacher thinks you should.

But will you be at peace? Can your soul rest with the knowledge that you have given up? Can you live without creating? Can you? If yes, you are lucky. You are luckier than I am. For, I cannot. God knows I have tried. God knows I have given up too many times. But, I couldn’t stay away for longer than one day. I came back after sulking and throwing fit of temper around. And I am glad that I did. I don’t think there is anything else to say. I am not even sure that I have said anything worth reading.

Therefore, I will draw the conclusion with a verse – my personal anthem. These two lines get me going when the way is dark and the sky is full of cloud with no stars to guide me ahead. I mutter these two lines and advance forward. For I know my destination is there somewhere, concealed in the darkness. Soon, sun will rise and lead me towards it. Till then I can only crawl and hope.

Karmanye Vadhikaraste, Ma phaleshou kada chana

It means – perform your duty without expecting result.