Tuesday, January 25, 2011

A writer's dilemma.

To the eyes of a writer, every thing expressed beautifully by another, is a desire that now can never be fulfilled.

Every thought not matching to his is a sacrilege that he wants to condemn. Every word not appreciated is an insult to his sweat, his intellect and his very existence.

Every expression of his is in competition with his best. If it does not satisfy, he's left with blank spaces, crosses, naught and some more wasted words. Every expression that does not satisfy is is a disappointment that he wishes to overcome.
He is like the father who wishes his son the world and in turn expects the universe from him. His disappointment reflects that of a guardian with shattered hopes from his offspring.

Every admirable utterance, sound, phrase needs to evolve from him, from his vast mind. He is selfish, yes. His thirst for the best is never quenched- it just expands and causes him more pain.

The inability to render something astounding is a handicap to his entity. He is like the insecure, conscious teenager in the presence of hundreds of brand- attired colleagues. He fears he will be judged, mocked, insulted. His ego slowly begins the process of coating itself with the rust of humiliation.
He no longer wants to face the world, he no longer wants to remain.

But suddenly, inspiration creeps from behind and thrusts into the face of the unsuspecting frustrated artist, the words of spring.
Their freshness, and creative essence proliferating never ending joy within his soul. He is the supreme once again.
Then pours in the confidence, the love, the extreme ecstasy that knows no bounds and multiplies again and again and again....
He revels in the sunshine.

He realizes that he wants to experience it again- the ultimate supremacy. So he sits down to create that magic once more.
And just as the tip of his quill touches the surface of the paper, he stops.
He stops as he cannot find anymore words.
He tries, tries so hard- it is the unimaginable pain and torture that he has to endure once again.
Nothing seems good enough.

And thus, continues the drama in the life of a writer. The same cycle is repeated.


Oh, you say that I embody the beauty of literature. Therefore, it's a boon.
But tell me, is it not a curse too?


2 comments:

nil said...

spoken by and for a true writer :-)

Charu said...

Well written. And if it won't sound egoistic to say it, I could empathize well. Thanks for putting into words what so many writers feel, but may not say. It reminded me of your I am a poet post. But I definitely like this one better. You correctly expressed the whole story (pardon the pun). And it was worthwhile reading for any writer.

I guess if one wants to contribute to the world, personal sacrifice is part of it. The only question, how many will choose to, and will be able to, take up such a heavy mantle?

And now I'm afraid I'm babbling. So I'll stop here. But just this, I'll say it once again: I really feel honoured and enriched when I read your and Nil's writings, the first of many.

From the core Remya. I'd say it better, but to be honest, I'm struggling for words here.

Take care :)