Moving finger…
The first Enid Blyton I read was "The
Mystery of the Burnt Cottage." All of six, I fought sleep to read it through the
end, not understanding half of it, but hooked!
As I devoured all Blytons and then many
other books, the persistent niggle in the mind was – “I have to write, and
write well.” Four decades later, I feel blessed to have two titles - ‘Haiku
and other Micropoetry’ and ‘Equinox’ – to my name; and a
website www.of-prose-and-poetry.com that I enjoy populating with good
reads each week.
What took so long? These excerpts from
my piece – A Writer’s Angst (2011) –
trace a journey from doubt to self-belief – something many will identify with.
“Somewhere
do I fear that my work is not “the best”? Of course it is not, I answer myself.
Moreover, I am not in competition – at least not with anyone but myself.
Whatever I do, there will always be some worse and some better. So why this
unintelligent demand for acclaim! And from whom? And what is it worth in the
long run?”
“…not
judge myself as I write”
“Too
lazy to take the responsibility!”
“I
realize I had another bugbear – I am more comfortable with pen and paper – the
romance, the fragrance of paper etc. Then it becomes a pain to type all of
that. Further procrastination!”
“Poetry
is not my forte; that I am sure of. Neither is fiction…”
Famous last words! My first two books
ARE poetry and fiction!!
Such needless negative self-talk we put
ourselves through!
A beautiful post about poetry and writing. I feel that there is no joy than writing with ink on paper. Loved reading this:)
ReplyDeleteThank you Vishal...Madhuri Maitra was really kind to write this guest post for me!
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