Writing is cathartic, and I am a cliché. Let’s get these two points out of mind and talk about me and my writing skills, with or without grammatical errors. As a kid with brilliant imagination power, also not humble as an individual, every day, post the gruelling school hours, I would lie on my stomach, under the sun and take a piece of A4 paper and write gibberish with crayons thinking that I might write a novel one day.
Fast forward to today, I can’t write a novel to save my life. I am not patient. In fact, I am somewhat extremely reckless, sarcasm runs in my blood, and a very sad person when alone at home. I realized that I might have a future in writing when my teacher would give us assignments to write autobiographies of inanimate objects. Somehow it was effortless for me to imagine myself in someone else’s shoes and put emotions into their life and story. That’s where it all began.
Journey To Becoming A Part Of The FilmSpeak Family
Going back to when I was growing up, I was in 10th standard, and my heart felt the pang of its first cliché. To be precise, I had a heartbreak. It felt severe, and nothing seemed to work, not even writing my feelings down (You didn’t expect that, did you?).
Somehow I sat for my board exams and had a lot of time to kill and no money to spend. Now, being the dreamer I am, I wanted great things but couldn’t afford them because of middle-class-family issues! I knew then that I had to find a way out. The heartbreak kept gnawing on my brain cells, and retail therapy seemed to be the only option.
Then I started freelancing but got cheated off of the money I deserved. Soon, I found a steady income through FilmSpeak, when it didn’t have a name. There were only 5 of us, struggling to make money. We would write for our clients who would cheat us off of our money the first chance they got.
Setting Myself Free to Bring Back the Writer
The project became our child. I started writing about feelings, emotions, and thoughts I had never explored. Fiction became a reality, and I could read out loud my thoughts from the parchment of paper.
Have you ever just sunk your head in a tub of water and understood that there’s silence, the kind you could never imagine? When words came out of my head, and I assorted them in their rightful position on the digital paper, it almost felt like I could hear that silence. Oxymoronic!
The feelings were flowing, and emotions overwhelmed me; all I could do was write them down. I did not realize that I was depressed and had anxiety until I started penning my thoughts. This opportunity made me go to other blogs and articles to understand the depth of the human psyche. Suddenly I matured.
Don’t get me wrong. I did not mature as they show in movies, wherein a person suddenly ages a little, thinks of dark days and the ‘reality’ at all times, and keeps quiet. I found my knight in shining armor, fought catharsis, understood that there was more to myself than what was apparent, and I was LIBERATED.
Overcoming My Creative Block
Writing had its ups and downs. There were days when we wouldn’t get paid for our efforts, and the worst was “writer’s block”. To me, writer’s block is like an oasis. You know the content. You can feel it broil up in your veins, but then again, your brain is like a brick, filled with its brick-like elements, and you fail to emote.
Life is always about change. One time when I was seriously stuck with my writer’s block, it lasted me for about two years. I was stuck between a job and nothingness. By that, I mean I eventually got a career out of my city. Still, my days were filled with void, the kind of nothingness where you come home, sleep to wake up the next day, don’t eat, go to work, and come home to wake up to the cycle that your colorful, young, and imaginative brain dreaded the most and promised never to become.
The hardships I have faced should be kept aside for another story time, but while emotions and tears were welling up in my eyes and mind, I took out a marker pen and started writing on the desk assigned to me at work just came out.
For the first time, I wrote a poem on the desk – incoherent, self-inflicting, and only made sense to me. That day, I was reunited with my old friend, whom I intended never to let go of. I will write for as long as I have, share my emotions for as long as I can, and feel for as long as the moon reminds us of the old lady who lives on the moon.
Writing Is My Symphony
What is writing for me? Writing, for me, is not just a job. To me, writing is the sun’s ray on the autumn leaf that releases it from the branch so that it can escape to worlds unseen, and the leaf could bid adieu to its nest and fly to an unknown utopia where the world has a different perspective.
Writing to me is like the happy day people keep wishing for, where everything is beautiful and wholesome. Writing to me is an intangible emotion that no one could take away from me. No one can feel the same way as I do. No one can understand the permutation and the combination of the words the way my mind would. Writing is my favorite song that you go back to on a cloudy day and a sunny summer morning because of the comfort it induces. Writing to me is the 20’s Jazz- Classic.