Why I Write.

‘If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do things worth writing.’
– Benjamin Franklin

A while ago, a close friend of mine asked me a simple question. It took me some time to fully comprehend the extent of the chaotic contest that went on in my head when I started to ponder over the answer. The question was, ‘Why do you write?’

Staring at a blank notebook page or a blank word document can be very daunting. Getting started is the hardest part. We end up making excuses like “I’ll come up with something better when I have more time”. But frankly, this fast paced world has not really left us with enough time to count on our fingertips.

According to me, the first step to being a successful writer is by taking a pen and writing nonsense. It doesn’t matter how awful it is, as long as you finish each and every article/poem you decide to write. The first few pieces of your work are destined to be loathsome, but having hope in yourself is the key.

A person’s writing needs to be a reflection of what he/she is on the inside – without a mask: I still remember the day I realized that most friendships are a mirage and that we all need a flood of pseudo-images to live through our scripted destiny. My writing is a reflection of what I am on the inside, the real me. The me without the mask.

I write because creating narratives makes my soul dance and helps me feel at home with myself. Also, when someone else reads my stories, it’s like a magical invisible connection between me and another human being on Earth. And nothing can beat that feeling.

Having pondered on this topic for quite some time, I finally realized that one doesn’t really need a solid answer as to why he/she writes. And maybe that’s why my cursory response to the question, “Why do you write?” was “Because I can”.

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