Sunday, May 10, 2009
All writers are egotistic attention seekers, who just cannot accept any unfairness that life delivers to them, and wish to announce to the world their existence and their heroism, with succulent words cloaked in a self proclaimed craft. When we write our first book we often wish to tell the world what we have felt, experienced, revealed, hid, lost, fixed, ruined, sorted out, spoiled, let go, did not let go, cheated, lied about, fought, cursed, screamed, wept, made love, hated some people and sometimes mixed up the ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ shamelessly.
The day I decided to write, I also decided to project a lot of untruths wrapped up as truths, and a lot of truths made to look like untruths. I needed an audience. I needed the self-congratulation and an announcement of my self-proclaimed valor and wish to rise out like an apparition from the deep dark sea of oblivion. To scream to the world, “ Look at me. I am ready to pilferage life, and create a façade of beauty and honesty with my indulgent furtiveness.”
More often than not, first novels turns out to be autobiographical nonsense and a writer tries to create a Frankenstein’s Monster like caricature, to tell the world how brave they are, hoping to provide recompense to themselves for all the inadequacies that life had thrown their way. Most people are too chicken hearted to tell the brutal truth of why they cried, failed, cheated and killed their soul.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think ‘Why am I even bothering to write? Why must the world be waiting to read mine? ’