Lately a strange feeling is enveloping me. I do not know how to express it in words. It is a pull. It is a temptation. It is an addiction. It is a habit. It is becoming life. It is becoming larger than life.
It is hard to remember when I started writing. It definitely started with schooling, but I have no memories of my early writing. Because I still love words so much, I guess I must have learnt writing slowly, in a relaxed manner, in a creative way.
I always wanted to write. Writing for me is an act of soul searching. Unless one reaches the inner depths, one cannot write well. I know this because many times I have written badly. Honesty, sensitivity, empathy, detachment, intensity, creativity, hard work is essential for good writing. Writing in a way is a spiritual act – only if one writes for the joy of writing and not for appreciation and rewards. If one follows writing ‘religiously’, one can hope to reach that spiritual level.
In a true sense, I am just a beginner in the art of writing. I do not know why one feels like writing. I do not know what power drives me to write. I do not know why I write. I am sure people too feel this, when they read my writing…J If I can attain 1% of what I have said above, I will not only be a good writer but a happy and good person.
Every writer faces a phase when s/he can’t write anything. That is known as ‘Writer’s Block’. I have repeatedly experienced such anxiety and fear. After this phase, the first word I write is such a relief! The joy of liberation is a gift I constantly ask for.
However, here I am, going through another extreme phase. I have not read much about it, but I am sure every writer, nay every artist goes through it. It is a phase of chaos. One has too many ideas, too many thoughts, too many feelings but the power of articulation, the power of expression seems to be completely missing. It is like a traffic jam. You have fuel, you have a grand vehicle with power steering, you have motivation to drive, but you don’t move because there are too many vehicles on the road.
My mind is like a sponge. Every moment I live, I absorb something of it. It soaks in me. It influences me. It affects me. It teaches me. It is fine with me, because that is the way I am. I believe that to be able to write well, a writer needs to be involved into many things – ‘getting into others’ shoes’ sort of.
But with so many ideas in mind, and only limited time to write, I am becoming a little restless. I am experiencing a strong internal pull to express, to share, to articulate. As if the computer keyboard or the pen has a magnetic power. In the midst of the night, I get an idea, and I write. I no more have control over words, the words are controlling me. The unexpressed in willing to be expressed – and that is a strong will. It is as if I am possessed by words.
I guess I need to slow down. I need to objectively look at the moment of the strong pull and come out of that moment of temptation. The overdose of words is killing me (just exaggerating!) But I am compelled to write; because writing is the only art I am sometimes good at.
May be I will leave the keyboard and the pen for a while. I should learn playing harmonium, which I want to do for years. I cannot sing for the fear of having conflict with neighbors! I should purchase another binocular and begin bird watching once again. Because I am not good at any of these things, I can’t rush. I will be more relaxed. I will be more curious. I will learn more.
Guess what? I am experiencing another pull, a pencil pull. I am going to grab it and I am going to draw a sketch -for a change!