Of late, I have often
been asked this question – Why do you write? My prompt answer to that
question
normally is – Because I do not know anything else! However, it made me ponder
and here’s what I feel.
I love writing because
every story I weave is like opening a beautiful gate to the mysterious.
I love its ambiguousness,
its capriciousness, the way it has taught me about life, about joy, about
people.
I love discovering an innovative
voice to compose in. At the outset this voice is just a murmur, a flicker
inside your mind. But then the murmur cultivates and gains a clout all of its
own. And then you perceive the voice even when you’re doing laundry, washing
the dishes or slipping off to sleep.
I love exploring newfangled
worlds, new characters that don’t originate from me but from somewhere out
there, way out there from some place out of my control.
I love the way
characters express to you and communicate to you what they want.
I love the manner in
which writing digs up the bygones and discovers the prospects of future.
I love the way writing
helps you figure yourself. Wish to discard emotional baggage? Then write about
it.
I love writing since I
have met so many compassionate and magnificent people through it.
I love writing because
it loves me back.
I love writing because
it liberates me.
I love writing because
it sets me free.
I love writing because
that’s the only thing I know to do.
I love writing because
it’s my love.
I am driven by the
power of writing – as a device for expressiveness, for healing, for inspiring,
for bringing transformation. That is exactly why I write – to express myself,
to restore myself, to test myself and to transform myself. If in the course of writing, if
someone else is healed, challenged or driven to change, that is a surplus.
Why do you write?
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