Tag: reading

I Don’t Want to Become a Writer

infinite loop

There’s something finite about the word, “become.” As if you need to reach a level or a stage to become an official writer. As if there’s an achievable height in writing. As if conquering a peak, or a dream. You can’t dream of becoming a writer. That can’t be ambition. Because there’s no such thing as “becoming — a — writer.”

Anyone who claims they’ve become a writer is only losing their grip on reality. Because once you become a writer, you lose the ability — and the privilege — to be writing.

I don’t want to become a writer. Instead, I want to write — I want to learn to write better, and better — until I die. It’s one infinite loop. No one becomes a writer. Because writing is naught without rewriting.

Shakespeare wrote plays, but he never became a playwright. He wrote plays and sonnets until he died. And then, other people rewrote his plays and sonnets; they refined his writing to make it better — or worse; I can’t say for sure.

But I’m sure Shakespeare never became a playwright. Because if he had “become a writer,” we wouldn’t have the classics we do now.

So then, what’s the deal with “becoming a writer”? Who fixes the standards for a writer?

Agatha Christie is a writer. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is a writer. And so are Chetan Bhagat and Ravinder Singh.

At what point did these people become writers? Writing a story, a book, or a piece of prose doesn’t make a writer. If that’s the threshold for becoming a writer, then every student who’s written an essay for their exam is a writer.

That doesn’t make a writer.

Real writers acknowledge the process. You publish a book, and perhaps rewrite the entire thing and republish it fifteen years later. That’s a writer.
A writer doesn’t just write. A writer rewrites. A writer knows her writing isn’t perfect and learns to learn from it, learns to live with it, and to write better with it.

I don’t want to become a writer. I want to be writing.

My Day, Every Day

journal

I have a journal.

I used to write in it every day. But as time went by, I reduced my correspondence; unconsciously, I wrote on it only when I got too stressed, too sad, or upset over something.

What began as a medium of sharing my life, soon became a medium to vent. And then I realized, that’s not how you treat a diary.

My diary is my friend, and what’s the difference between me and other people if I’m using my diary only to complain?

And then I read in another blog about the good things the author had in her life. That’s when it hit me: I’m not pathetic; I have a life, and a thumping good one too.

People might think all I ever do — from 7 to 7 —is sit in my place and stare into my laptop, but no one knows how much there’s within my screen.

I read some excellent and funny articles on McSweeny’s, I watch food porn on Facebook, I chat with friends from far away, I share a photo status, I write a blog post or two, I read a few blogs, I comment on some more, I like plenty. Then I go for a coffee break, and I get back, hating myself for not sticking to the ‘drink less caffeine’ rule. Chiding myself, I get on with work — because I have to be sincere to what I earn — and then in the middle of it, I leave for a quiet lunch with a colleague, then some tea, and more Facebook, and again my personal blog, a little bit of reading, editing, writing, and rewriting.

And all the while, my headphones never come off.

And then as the sun sets, I leave for dinner and then back home. I take a good twenty minutes to relax and get out of the office-mood, and lying on my bed, I unwind — for now, with Jane Austen’s Persuasion.

What do I have to complain?

The End. Of Another Month

As November comes to a rainy close, at least here in Chennai, I’m proud of myself for dedicating a month-full of posts on this blog. Though it was just an edited chapter of my two-year old attempt at something of a novel, I’m happy with how things turned out.

But I’m still not done. I’ve published 26 chapters, but I have more on the way. So I’ve decided to take on another full month of publishing every day.

This month, however, instead of publishing a chapter everyday, I’ll alternate my chapters with random thoughts as well.

If you’ve been reading the novel in parts, let me know what you think. I’d love to hear how others felt reading whatever I wrote.

Thanks for stopping by today. It means so much to have you here. Have a nice day, you.

Yet another pledge

Alright, I’ll say it: it’s November again and my first stab at a novel still remains just that.

I did some editing, but I’m not happy. Still. And so this November, I’ve decided to tackle National Blog Posting Month by editing the novel (if I can still call it that) I wrote during National Novel Writing Month two years ago.

Every day this November, I’ll post one chapter from my novel — one edited chapter per day. That way, I’ll get some editing done at least. But in case I get bored, I’ll publish the usual ramblings too.

Do me a favor, people: do you think this idea is worth a shot?

Oh and also, Happy Halloween! Never understood it — but hey  — at least it’s a celebration!

Loyalty

Sunday

I’m loyal.

To brands. And it’s not at all weird.

The best example is the truest example. Like so many others, I’ve subscribed to Brain Pickings. I get my weekly emails on Sundays. But— Sunday is when I take the day off from everything. From people, from work, from going out, from dressing up, from even being civil. Except eating. Sunday, I devour.

Sunday is the one day I sleep all day. I don’t care what happens in the world, or outside my room, I will neither wake up nor care.

So when I get my weekly email on Sunday, I don’t often feel like reading it. Sundays are the days I’m too bored and lazy to lift even a limb, let alone prop up my laptop and read.

So I just convince myself I’d read it on Monday. And I now have 22 unread emails from Brain Pickings. That’s 22 weeks of procrastination. That’s almost half a year.

I’m a little dull when it comes to numbers, but even I know that was a long time. But the thing is, I don’t know what to do about it. Brain Pickings newsletters are interesting and long. And if I just manage to get started, I know I wouldn’t be able to stop. It’s the starting that’s problematic.

Sometimes, I look at all the subjects of the emails in bold and feel so helpless. As if there’s nothing I can do to read them without reading them.

And it doesn’t help that I don’t like having unread emails in my inbox. I like my inbox clean. It’s something to do with closure, I hear.

Of course there’s one thing: I can just unsubscribe. But I won’t. It’s the one thing I will not do. I’ve unsubscribed from loads of other online magazines and blogs that became too strenuous to follow — but I won’t unsubscribe from Brain Pickings.

Because I’m loyal.

Yes, it freaks me out too. I’m so in love with what they do that I want to know everything they publish. But it’s also overwhelming, I accept. And though I accept it, I will never unsubscribe. Because I’m loyal that way.

Every time I think of unsubscribing, I feel a hot rush of guilt running through me. As if it’s a wrong thing to do. Wrong as in, morally wrong. I feel so guilty even thinking about unsubscribing from the magazine. Because I love their work.

But guilt changes nothing. I still have 22 unread emails from Brain Pickings. Talk about obsession, huh?