This is a question that came out of somewhere deep. I’m not sure how I ever got this—may be from a well written book on writing, or somewhere else. But whatever, It’s what that needs to be answered.
Why I would get to write every time I save for it? And why I would read for hours, floundering with ideas, and imaginations? Because reading goes alongside writing. It is quisling thought that writing works without reading. Anyway, it is a subject for another day. Some people may be just fine, OK with writing easily. Those people can think of writing as an activity that is pleasant and easily workable. But when you ask me, I will bang my head with the desk; I would like to have words flowing easily.
This is not that much simple. Writers have to follow the tight schedule, workout and let many things go. When writing is not a charming activity, when staring at a blank screen still annoys some writers—including me—then why I always write and can’t live without it?
Writing may be tiresome. At times, it may be boring. You may give up for a day, week, or month. But the reality is, you won’t stop writing as never to start again. You have to come back, even if you have to start from scratch.
Writing is a source of inspiration for me. It is an activity that I can’t and won’t lay off. If people have professions, I have vocation—and that is writing. I have a friend who stride around every time I start writing. I can see him in every word. He urges me to keep with him—everyday, all the time. He is a glib fellow, he won’t stop. No matter how much I’m with him, ideas in the form of words scribe itself with something new, innovative (this one is an example, good one right?).
Someday, we will be on the trail of Ultar, lost in the beauty of its meadows and talking about the traditions and cultures. The other day, we will be again together, discussing facts about the life and things that should be forgone, had someone wanted a truly happy life.
Writing, as I love to say, is my voice; the voice to rise against the bellicose bully; the voice that rose for a solo traveler who was abducted in the valleys of my homeland. It gets me going through the harsh times.
Whenever I’m failed, dejected, remorse, aimless and tired, it’s my friend who appears as I start typing and takes me with him. He knows ton of things about failed people, and how to be determined to try again. He nudges me when I’m unconscious, and put up a question that motivates me. He is powerful enough to take me by my hand and tell lovely tales of people who learnt from the past instead of making it a problem for themselves. He is a friend in the coarse weather; he knows my mood and turns the environment the way I like.
People think writing is a gruesome chore that wastes my time and energy, and therefore, I should feel better by stopping it. I would like to get a substitute for it. Is there any? I have never found one, and I’m sure you, too, will meet a dead end.