WHY DO I WRITE?

This seems like a simple question posed to us writers and of course a usual answer is the cliche’ of undying love for writing OR inspired by reading etc. But this is a question more often than not full-time writers ask themselves. Every time there is a rejection, a compromise, monetary shortfall, question by a family member about not doing anything useful or just some self reflection – the question finds its way into our mind.

Yesterday I was answering a couple of questions for a feature about myself when the question posed before me once more and I wondered – Is it true that I write for the love of writing or is there something different behind the scheme of things.

I find the question – WHY DO I WRITE like a syndrome that haunts me as well as inspires me. It is not one thing that makes me write. I always knew I will write but I didn’t know my life will become synonymous to writing. Loving to write is a conscious effort though the process of writing is more like a magic wand waved over my head – the characters, the words create a hullabaloo in my head till I pen them down and the unease they feel until they are settled reflects in my mood until I get the chance to let the ink flow.

I do not love writing for love is naive and temporary and too some extent a Game of Hormones. For me writing is like marriage – when all the love and lust settles down it is nothing but the Business of Life. I have to do it everyday, sometimes with joy, sometimes in anger, sometimes merely for expressing love and often for sustenance. As of now my emotional sustenance is directly correlated to my writing and I soon hope to make a living out of this.

I write like it is my daily chore. For the day I let go of it, the words pile up in my head only to irritate me more. So I try to do it on an everyday basis.

But that is not all. We all have our fantasies and hopes in a marriage. Similar is my deal with writing. I dream of having the perfect writing desk with a window in front of it where the view changes with my characters. A small desk plant which flowers according to my moods and a couple of my bestsellers neatly standing against an intricately carved bookend. A musical silence only shattered by the sound of the raindrops. A..aah the perfect writing getaway and all in the vicinity of my own home.

Alas, like marriage, the process of writing too is a chaos and imperfect to the end. My syndrome of ‘Why do I Write?’ is like ‘Why did I marry?’ – Unanswered.

And yet I write for it is deemed necessary for my existence not only as a hobby but a part and parcel of my daily life. For me writing adds value to my life. Every time a story is printed, a poetry appreciated it acknowledges my decision to claim Writing as my Passion and My Love. The way a moment shared with my beloved reinforces the fact that I still love this man no matter how imperfect he is. Writing keeps me grounded for every time I face a rejection, I learn and realise that I enjoyed writing the rejected story no matter if someone considered it imperfect. It makes me realise that my child, my family is as imperfect and just like my writing I have to enjoy the process of living with them rather than trying to make them perfect according to someone else’s opinion.

I strive and work towards becoming an author. I hope to come to a stage where my name will be synonymous with my books but I wonder if I will ever be able to actually overcome the syndrome – Why Do I Write?