Writers are special.
They are master storytellers who can weave a thought into characters with emotions. Throughout history, writers are revered. But, they are hardly ever paid their dues; until and unless they are dead or they are a Shakespeare or Gulzar. The rest of the tribe struggles to make a mark, battling self-doubt and penury, before they are lavished with praise and money. The sad truth, most of them never achieve the recognition. Once the story is shared, it is open to: Interpretation; Ridicule; Theft.
And, the story, the character and the interactions that the writers housed in their mind for days and months, ends with smirks, insults and ultimate, what were you thinking? Or for that matter, were you even thinking?
But, the desire to tell a story lingers. The story begins with a thought.
A story is an extension of the writer’s power of imagination, just like a building exhibits the power of an architect’s imagination. The words are not hastily crafted, they are nourished. The writer obsesses over each word and movement. They want to create a story that resounds with the heart of the readers.
There are sleepless nights. Days spent hunched over the writing pad or the keypad. Families shunned, as the story becomes one with the writer. Friends ignored, as imaginary friends dominate the thoughts. Parents forgotten, as the writer seeks validation and love from the publishers. Siblings lost, as peers become the go-to-source for healthy debates and unhealthy competition. Children unattended, as the story whirls and churns in the mind, leaving no space for the antics of the seed and soul.
The spouse is left to suffer. The writer is building an amorous relationship with the characters, showering them with passion (both love and hatred), casual conversations and indifference.
But, the writer remains unaware; living in self-imposed solitary confinement of the mind. They are consumed by the feelings for the protagonist and villain. They remain engrossed in telling the story, talking to themselves, writing for themselves and sharing a part of themselves.
Then comes the end. The story is complete, or is it? They go back and reread, shredding some words there, adding a new conversation, here. Doubts surface and the writer inhabits the world of the characters, seeking validation; adoration; praise. The publisher is hard to impress; the readers even more. Their minds are open to the vastness of other ideas and thoughts. They are unimpressed. A quick peek, a frown or a shrug and the story is left alone in the untouched, and forgotten pile. A fleeting moment, unremembered forever!
What are the readers looking for when they read? A return on their investment, or an emotionally charged story that remains indelible in their minds? The answer is both. The writer has worked without encouragement. The storytelling is nothing but a desire to share their ideas.
Ideas they formed in their heads and hearts. Ideas they deemed necessary for the world to read. Ideas that now stand broken and unappreciated. Ideas that are now the death of a dream.
The writer knows not how they floundered and why?
They seek validation; they seek love; they seek to write again. Is it the hunger of grandiose, and greed to be revered? Or is it a simple tale of caring and sharing?
Whatever the reason. They are ready. Ready to take on the challenge of losing a bit of their life, again! Ready, for sharing a part of themselves, again, in the hope, they can now impress. Or depress themselves!
Like, Authornama said:
Writers are special!