Ramblings to get stuff working right in my brain again so
that I can write once again ….
Sitting on the porch, watching the moon peek out behind the
clouds, the cool breeze caressing my face, and Maggot Brain playing on a loop
in my ears…. 0 % hike, but life’s pretty awesome still.
Sheesh.. the line
above is so cheesy. I wonder though, if something can be true and pretentious
at the same time..
Well there are some people in this world for whom the reason
behind performing an action is as important as the action itself, if not more
so. I’m that kind of a guy. So today, I’m going to write something about why I
write. Also to make the entire process more honest, I’m going to put down
whatever comes to my mind.. And my
roommate just came out…. K Horrible
timing, I was finally in the zone after such a long time, so I think I’ll just
continue rambling until I once again find my train of thought.
Yeah so as I was saying why do I write? Honestly I don’t
know. Even more honestly, perhaps I don’t care?? But then that’s not a
satisfactory answer now is it? For one, this would be a really short piece (Now
that wouldn’t be too bad ‘eh?) and more importantly, I would be contradicting
myself on what I said just few lines above about the importance of motive.
So let’s delve a bit deeper shall we, why do I write.. Do I enjoy doing it? At times, especially
when I’m in the zone. (Ok to somebody
who’s reading this other than me, the zone’s what I call a state of mind, when you’re
just cruising. The synchronization between your thoughts and what you want to
achieve at that time is perfect. More specifically, when it comes to writing,
every key that you press, every word that you assemble, all fit perfectly with
the story you have in your mind. Each sentence, that perfect thread in the
tapestry you mean to weave, or like that perfect note, to add to the symphony
that your mind is composing.) But that’s not just the reason. It’s not like
I spend my days, yearning to be in the zone all the time. I’m not an addict and
anyway it’s not my fix.
So then what? If the pleasure I derive from the process is
not the real reason what is it? Could it be because (ok remember the cool breeze caressing my face part in the beginning,
well it’s more like freezing my toes now, I’m off to bring my blanket…Aaahh..
that’s much better) because I feel this urge to write? To some extent
that’s true. I’ve always believed that writers don’t create stories, stories
create writers. Sometimes an idea will take hold of you and just won’t let go,
no matter how hard you try to shake it off. I’ve always felt that when you put
down such an idea on paper, it mostly turns out better than say an idea that
you’ve actually put an effort into thinking about. This would explain a lot though, especially
the reason behind why I don’t write more often (Of course, an equally valid reason might be that I’m just too lazy, but
this sounds way more er… cooler?). I’m a slave to my ideas and not the
other way around. If something worth writing comes up in that brain of mine,
only then I put pen to paper, or should I say press finger on keyboard. But
then this would also mean that I’m not that creative as I consider myself to
be, and that’s a humbling and not too likeable conclusion. I have a very few
thing that I’m actually proud of, and my creativity’s one of them.
Which brings me to another reason, and probably the most
obvious. I write because that’s the medium through which I’m most comfortable
channeling my creativity through. What is creativity? Well that’s a question
that merits a whole separate piece (I’ll
write about this when I finish GEB. For some reason I’m convinced that a lot my
questions will be answered there. Though at the pace I’m going, I’m afraid it’s
not a question of when but of if (-_-) ). But yeah, some people paint, some
dance, some create music; Well I, I write. Giving my profession it would have
been awesome if I could have expressed my creativity through code, data
structures and algorithm design, but yeah what I’ve got going now isn’t bad
too.
And to the final reason. Why do I write? Because I’m good at
it. I lost the ability to sing after
puberty, sucked at dancing before I could even walk, sucked in art class, I’m not
a very good orator, and a pretty average coder. But yeah writing; at the risk
of sounding boastful I’ve got to say that apart from my father I really don’t
know anyone who actually writes better than me (But then again I really don’t know all that many people). So this
probably sets me apart from the lot, and gives me something I can be silently
proud of.
Yes this is pretty much it. My first introspective piece.
And at the age of 25 ( I’m 25.. A quarter
of a century. Phew, that’s old!) it’s been long overdue. Maybe I’m really
not that good? Had good fun writing this though. Probably I should try to be
more regular in my ramblings. Perhaps
once a week?
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I finish reading the
entire thing. It seems to be a pretty solid piece I think to myself. I should
post this on Facebook and put it up on my blog too. Probably tag a few friends
who I know enjoy a good read every now and then. And whoa! There it was, clear
as day, staring at me right in the face. The penny dropped and it became clear
to me, why I actually write. And why I’ll always be a good writer and never a
great one. It’s because I do it for attention. It’s because I do it for the
adulation. It’s for every comment and like I’ll get. I’m nothing but a mere
fame monger. Sure all those reasons I’ve wrote about matter, but they aren’t
the driving force, this one is. This absurd need to be admired by my peers and
betters, that’s why I write. Pretty ridiculous when you think about it, but
true nevertheless.
Well at this point, I probably
know what you’re thinking. It’s obvious that you’re wishing for the time you
wasted reading this be returned to you, but apart from that, why write
something about why I write in the first place? Especially if the real reason
behind it would turn out to be so ordinary, so base; why let you know? I could
have left out the preceding paragraph and it would have still been an okay enough
piece. What could be the reason? Well I don’t know, perhaps it could be
something deep and noble like I promised myself that I’d be honest or it could
be something really silly like the word count tally at the end of the paragraph
before the one above this was 926 and I wanted it to be more than 1000. Take
your pick.
Heh.. you remember me
wondering at the start if something could be both true and pretentious at the
same time? Guess I just answered that question.
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