On writing

Writing has its own advantages and disadvantages. Yesterday I wrote about maturity. I do enjoy writing on paper before blogging. It’s just how I function. However, at this moment, I am directly typing this all and planning to post.

Let’s talk about blogging.

It was five years ago when I first started blogging. It interested me to a level where I realized how immensely did I enjoy writing. It was a hidden hobby and Blogger became the medium through which I initially wrote. It wasn’t a diary where I regularly updated daily happenings, it was more than that. I started with expressing how I generally felt about things and how certain things drove my attention at the moment and I’d talk about it on my blog. The blog grew with many fellow bloggers who became my readers and for the first time in my life, I was virtually surrounded by people with whom I developed mutual interests. We would only write individually and read. It wasn’t a compulsion, it wasn’t a necessity.

As a few other people from friends got to know about the place where I wrote, some of them started taking special interest in reading the same (I’m glad they read!) but it led to my almost being answerable to those because what I wrote generated certain curiosity in them. It felt good to know that I could have like-minded people as friends for real too, but it became irritating how they related my life with everything I wrote and demanded explanation. I mean, why on Earth?

Let me get this straight. A writer who writes fiction, is never writing fiction. It’s all non-fiction. So no matter what a writer writes, it’s always related to their perspective, their life (not exactly the same characters in them) etc. Hence, basically it’s pointless to ask a writer such questions. Secondly, it’s even more disturbing that one expects the writer to answer such questions. A writer is humble to the point where they be transparent and still maintain their own privacy.

I wrote a lot. I wrote in volumes and then came a point where I literally had taken everything out of my mind (or at least it felt so). I do not remember the reason as to why the blog began giving me negative vibes. One thing led to another and I happened to delete the blog. It felt awful. It was like missing a part of my body. I felt handicapped.

Today, after 3 to 4 years, is one of those days when I’m genuinely and slowly trying to get back to writing. The writing style, the content or who is going to read this doesn’t concern me anymore. I’m just writing because I have realized how I love doing that.