Before Day 0, I hardly ever wrote, except for work. Then, this blog became a lifeline.
A friend. A vent.
A hook to hang my days on.
A thing that helped me stay on.
A messenger. A mouthpiece.
A repository of memories.
An unencumbered voice.
A determined choice.
“Have you published anything?” a writer friend asked me recently.
‘No. I am a writer. I write.’
“Don’t you want to be published?”
‘Yes. It would be nice. But for me, writing is an end in itself.’
“Why else do you write?”
‘Because I am fascinated by the terror of a blank page.
Because I have something to say.
Because I want to reach others, especially those who feel very alone.
Because I love the scratchy sound of pen moving on paper.
Because it helps me connect with myself in a tender manner.
Because I can trust the words that come out. I can mess with them. Play.
Because I need to write what I’m thinking in order to understand what I’m thinking.
Because writing wants to happen through me. It can be a wooo-hooo surprise!
No reason. Simply.’
After nearly ten years of writing, in March this year I made my first submission and thankfully it was accepted. A short story, “The Order” was published earlier this month on an online literary magazine, Kitaab.org:
This story made its debut in an unrefined form on this blog and my brother commented that I should try to get it published. That was in July 2018. Six years ago! Gosh! I must be slow.
kidsaregifts 