Why I Wish to Become an Author
Can write, can connect; mistakes are common but know how to correct,
Can see and feel as well, Mind brimming with tales to tell,
The most important aspect, Listening; yields a perfect,
I listen; whether good or bad, Happy or sad,
Not a skilled, still voids to be filled,
But I ‘live’ when I express, ‘Author’; a dream I want to possess.
‘Why I wish to become an author?’, a question which has now a day’s become common for me to hear leaving me speechless. With time I figured out the reason behind my silence. Until and unless I answer myself, I am true to myself; I won’t be able to recite this to the world. For this very purpose I need to analyze each and every aspect of my life and know the reason of my dream, because then only I could work, work harder to achieve it.
Right from kindergarten I have always been fond of reading books. Though through the course of years my taste has changed, from fables to philosophy; books have always remained my best of friends. Tragedy, suspense, humor, drama, philosophy always fascinated me; my hands always went searching for books which can provide me this. I could refer myself with the protagonist, could connect. Reading to a large extent gifted me the art of writing. No matter what came before me, from a newspaper headline to a bestseller, I always wanted to make amendments, add on to it or may be eliminate something, the writer in me which was growing day by day compelled me to do so. What was it? A writer developing, may be.
I would call myself an introvert, finding it hard to express. A child’s life is so dramatic filled with adventure, each day you figure out something new, explore, and sharing the thought makes it alive. But for me sharing was not a solution, something else fascinated me; Writing. Words flowed out of me like a never-ending river. Not that I maintained a personal diary, but whenever I felt like sharing, I switched to writing for it made me expressive, giving life to my dreams. And today the more I write, more thoughts surround me, waiting to be put on paper. For me it has always been my forever friend enabling me to share secrets, experiences, dreams, emotions, kept between me and my companion. How I felt as a child and how I feel as a teenager, a perspective which is mine, writing always stood by my side.
Proceeding towards higher grades, I noticed my excitement when it comes to giving English examination. Those articles, speeches, debates and the general topics fascinated me as a child. Writing series were always on the top list. Girl who is always short of words when it comes to speaking was filled with thoughts when it comes to pen her thoughts. Writing is so much fun, freedom granted to express. There came a time when it was hard to find me without a book; novels were handy. Everybody in school got to know how crazy I was for books, the madness was portrayed more and more when I completed the reading course in one day, every time felt like I have conquered Everest.
When my life was witnessing so many changes, I reached in my higher secondary years and it was time to choose the streams. Science was my interest and so as my subject. So much burden in one go; hard to find peace. My mind was undergoing a state of commotion; once again plain pages attracted me as if they are laid on table waiting for me to lay my hands upon. Each night I write, just write whatever comes to my mind, a feeling so intense. And my luck was for its best. So many competitions came my way, felt so privileged to write. I won many of them, but winning was not a big deal; being a part was the best thing, my contribution was important. Happiness was gifted to me.
Writing has its own beauty, purity, always in its pristine form; untouched. When one writes he has nothing to hide. The heart lies in between flipping pages, mind absorbed in deep thoughts, seems no one is around, just you and your thoughts. World appears to have frozen, thought process engrossed in work. It takes you to a new world. You get to meet yourself once you befriend writing. A good writer can make heaven and hell possible, right here, and a good reader can feel them. Writer and reader go hand in hand. When you write, imagination has no boundaries, don’t know how to stop, a passion ignited to think.
Each and every direction pointing towards one path, a path on which I would love to walk on. In some way or the other writing has always attracted me, though I was never clear about my interest. But now when I know, I want to tread on the path leading to my desire.
With writing I want to do so many things. I want to travel around the world, reach areas which are otherwise isolated, connect with people, touch even the hearts of untouched, witness each and every change, be a part of every culture; an existence made fruitful. So many things to be achieved by pursuing the way, leading to the soul. Now that I know the reason, world will know this.
Hands are the same, identical brains, then what makes it different,
For one it is hard to pen, the other is so fluent.
Won’t say that latter proves me, but former doesn’t defines too,
Thought process is a possession to all, intellect is for a few.
‘Why I wish to become an author?’, someone asked me,
Stopped for a moment; thought and continued my journey.
Sanskar School, Jaipur.