Skip to main content

Why I Write and Why It’s Never Quite Right!

Why I occasionally take to writing…
Because I don’t want to do something that I had better be doing.
Why I don't always get published…
One of the downfalls of escapism is contrived prose. The only acceptance it gets is in the form of consistent rejection.

Why I occasionally take to writing…
Because it is my flight of fantasy from developing training that nobody wants to undergo. My favourite lady J K Rowling’s magical tales, I am told, were chugged out during tube travel drudgery. I believe all trauma results in either an alter ego or brilliant art and sometimes both.
Why I don't always get published…
Love does not always fructify into marriage and all fantastical writing does not make for art or get published.  

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because writing could potentially justify my guilty addiction of browsing books and authors bang in the middle of work. All the books I read stoke the money-churning, prolific writer in me, a problem anyone? (Every sin has a redeeming productivity, unknown proverb.)
Why I don't always get published…
My sin very obviously does not have any redeeming productivity as per the people I mailed my works to.

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because my dead foster mother, God bless her sweet self, would swell in her grave if she knew I write (professionally). Mother always thought of me as Einstein’s successor, my 36th rank (second or third last usually) in class notwithstanding. Going by her indulgent evaluation of me, she would have equated work-in-progress writer me to an award winning author. Old jungle saying - when in doubt, think of mother for a rejuvenating cocktail of love, wry humour and stupid, silly confidence in yourself.
Why I don't always get published…
Some mothers can be publishers but all publishers cannot be your mother.

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because non-stop reading brings an automaticity to articulation. The ideas and the words simply flow. Just like you tend to speak a language better when you listen to it all the time.
Why I don't always get published…
But with writing, the journey from mind to word doc does not always a happy destination make. Somewhere between filling a glass of water lost in the wonderful tapestry of my thoughts and typing them out, there is paralysis. Akin to the sneeze that wasn’t, the ideas and words that burgeoned just a second ago, simply weren’t.

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because the authors I read are so utterly every day- natural-seamless-fascinating that I feel compelled to try and see if I can write like them.
Why I don't always get published…
I started out with writing pure and not trying to be anything. But the faithful friend trashed it as ranty and grating. Friends are your own publishers ever so committed to showing you the mirror. 

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because I feel there has to be copy that comes straight from a place of how you feel and not how you think but without sounding maudlin, whiny or preachy. 
Why I don't always get published…
Sometimes mid-way or by the end of a writing expedition, I find my outpourings so nauseous that I tuck them away in some unseen folder and get back to work, a little less bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because I need to write prose or poem for effect, unfettered by the rules of writing. So what if you are ungrammarly? You don’t think or feel in a grammarly way, do you?  I feel words or phrases that sound like you feel have to be used.
Why I don't always get published…
What starts out feeling unorthodox, true and free in the end disgusts me as conceited, strident and tacky. If I felt that way, what are the chances a publisher won’t puke all over my writing? (I marvel at how easily any body of work is inherently built for negative reviews. Good ones that just gob smack everyone and their neighbour are so rare. Simultaneously, I have a crushing epiphany as to why Beethovens and Vincis come once in a way and hopefuls like me crop up every single day! But I am not giving up. Great things take time.)

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because writing has to follow the rough-hewn, raw structure of feel without censorious editing to appeal or conform. Never mind if the only light my prose sees is built into my laptop. The catharsis, the purge is worth the type. Freedom is writing without caring for approval.
Why I never get published...
Never mind the speech above, I sent a few of my write-ups when nobody was watching. I even searched lines of my write ups on Google to see if they were illegally used by someone. But Google for once had absolutely zero results! The writing was up on bloody cyber space – nobody wanted my writing even for free.

Why I occasionally take to writing...
Because every write makes me a successful writer, albeit in my head only. 
Why I never get published...
I have consoled myself saying I am a privileged consumer of good literature. Why write and waste when you can read and taste…

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Best of Both Worlds

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll Coffee in hand, I watched the flag. As always, it raised questions. Who am I? Where do I belong? Where does my allegiance lie? I came to this land to carve a life for myself. With time, I blended in. Except when a flag sighting causes the routine, existential flutter in my heart. It feels like being torn between a biological and a foster mother. The former gave me life, the latter shaped it. As always, I tell myself it's all good. That the two can coexist. That being with one did not mean I did not love the other.

Thoughts On a Busy Workday

It’s mayhem with these burger-hogging little devils. I can sense Xerxes waiting to hog the blue charger. It charges faster. I want it because it’s closer to the tangerine one, Xana’s favorite. Fatso’s waddling up grinning. He’s consumed 5400 calories this week. His life expectancy is 36 years, 2 months, 3 days. I feel disoriented, almost sorry. I desperately need volts. Wish I’d powered off last night! My plan is to outperform my program and make it to NASA, maybe Wall Street. I’ll miss Xana. She’s happy here. A pity. Wish they’d programmed ambition into that sexy piece of code… Friday Fictioneers 12th July 2019 Word Count: 100

Routine

Nothing changed.  Leah’s projects consumed her, bored us.  Claire the Considerate heard her out with a halo. Grace looked combative.  I looked down hoping gravity lowered anxiety. Jason wouldn’t ask about Riham but his eyes did. The house bell chimed.   Riham. With some Nathaniel... Jason suddenly turned into the life of the party.  I wanted Leah back… Photo by Lisa Fotios @ Pexels.com Twittering Tales #144 – 9 July 2019 Word count: 285