I started writing when I was in class 12. The second half of SYJC to be precise. Well, I actually wrote my first few lines of rhymes when I was in class 4 or something. But they were just those. Rhymes. That was not poetry. Poetry, that I try to write. That I’m still trying to write.
I was just talking to a friend of mine and was trying to tell her what exactly a good writer is. I told her that the entire process of me writing and you reading is basically just like me sending a Facsimile and you receiving the same Facsimile. I would like to stress on the all important word in the statement.
Yup. That’s the point. It is of the utmost importance that the reader reads and understands the entire matter of the data I sent in exactly the same tone and texture that I want him to read it in. The entire process can be summarized in, well, a summary.
It starts when I (the writer) has a brainwave and thinks it is appropriate to be shared. I give my thoughts certain directions. Give them shape. Mould them into specific identities and then I start the exercise which will determine how good a writer I actually am. I start penning my thoughts.
Here is where the writer seals his fate. The entire exercise of writing is to share it with people…or perhaps to give oneself an ego boost but I won’t go into that for now. Anyway, if the writer is good at understanding his thoughts like he SHOULD be then it’s no problem.
He will translate exactly what he is thinking and, hence, makes it easier for the well read people to read his thoughts and make merry and appreciate that such a person exist who can say a few lines in such a beautiful way that they cry with passion when they’re done with it.
A good writer can make you go through the pain he has imagined without subjecting you to the thumbscrew. Just like Martin Luther King Jr did it with his speech “I have a Dream”.
A good writer can make you cry the tears of losing a loved one without you ever having to go through such a pain. Not something very different from what Harry might’ve felt when he lost Albus Dumbledore, when he saw him fall to his death.A good writer can make you do the dance of glory, make you feel the pride of a marathon winner, without you leaving the confines of you starchy cubicles. Remember Keith Mallory, Andrea & “Dusty” Miller in the “Guns of Navarone”. Every reader, I can swear, did a lap of honour and a somersault in his head once the Guns Fell.
The point I’m trying to make is that a good writer does not lose his context from the time it leaves his head to the time it reached the head of the reader. There is no filtration which takes place when it is transferred from A to B.
The problem arises when the writer is not able to polish his thoughts into words. When he finds difficulty in identifying the underlying language to be used to translate his thoughts into EXACTLY what he’s thinking.
He’s hit with a brainwave so profound that he’s literally salivating to put it on paper. He grabs a pen. Pulls out a sheet of paper…and waits for another brain wave. He impatiently clicks his pen, creases his forehead, scratches his head, and fumbles with his thoughts.
He finally starts writing with a spurt, gains advantage but then suddenly feels his thought slipping away like he’s trying to hold on to vapour.His thoughts flow in tiny rivulets. None seem important enough to be the climax but at the same time none can be left out because, after all, they’re part of the story. As soon as he grasps one of them the stream runs dry forcing him to change tact, change his cords, his perception.
Irritation seeps through him from every pore. The frustration can best be described by Bilbo Baggins’ lines:“…like butter that has been scraped over too much bread.”
The harder that he tries the thinner his stream of thought becomes. The more advances he’s trying to make on his dwindling thought the more elusive they become.
Finally, the hard working writer gives up.
He throws his pen aside. Tears up his parchment. Puts his shaking head in his palms. Droops his shoulder. And cries. I would.
That’s what I felt like doing tonight. I had written a piece that I was a teensy weensy bit proud of. Then I read a post on my friends blog. And then I started crying. Figuratively speaking, but still. Here is an entity that is not from the field of literature (just like me), who likes writing (just like me), who makes it a point to write regularly (not like me) but who writes a thousands time better than me.
Speaking truthfully, I am Jealous.Since I don’t wanna give away the identity of this brilliant author (who I hope will get the best out of me) so lets call Him\Her “Jealousy”.
So, Jealousy writes so well that I feel that I need to start from class 4 again. Jealousy makes the words flowing out of its mind in such perfect synchronization and co-ordination that it feels like it has been imprinted on the readers mind.
Like I said before, the transfer takes place from the writers head to the paper and then from the paper to the readers head. But in the process a good writer makes sure that none of the potency of his work of Art is lost in translation. He excels in the art of imprinting upon the readers mind EXACTLY what he intends the reader to think. After reading his work the reader thinks on the same wavelength as the writer.
Now a writer who has difficulty in retaining the virgin nature of his Art will make a poor representation within the mind of the reader. The reader cannot help but pick loopholes within the fabric of his work of Art (which he so lovingly calls) and then half way through the text the reader is at the brink of losing interest.
At such times the reader can easily gauge the restlessness and frustration of the writer. He can easily pin point instances when the writer is getting desperate to keep his story on track. He can pick out lines which plainly illustrate that the writer is pushing against his seams to make an impact and is failing miserably.
But, Jealousy is another story all together. Jealousy weaves in and out of the fabric like a sewing needle, binds words together like super-glue, imprints upon the readers and makes them feel, “Oh God! Its so True”. Jealousy will make you see its own point of view through your own eyes.
You will hurt when she wants you to.
You will laugh if she wants you to.
You will love if she wants you to.
I sat up till almost 1 in the morning to come up with this piece. I am proud how it has turned out to be. I like it. I’ve patiently sat through more than an hour streamlining the data. Trying to remove fog and smog from my head so that the translation is near perfect. I THINK I’ve written exactly what I was thinking. At least I hope that’s true. I’ve transmitted my labour from my brain to my paper (my computer screen, actually). I’ve read it and re-read it.
I think I’ve done good job.
But the question is: do you feel the same???
(29.05.2010 to 30.05.2010)