The writer and his art

Posted on 16th Feb 2014 07:03 pm by admin

It was a holiday. But before I would enjoy the mood, I was disturbed by an inexplicable wave of thought.I could not make out what it was. Sudddenly I remembered Rahul, my bosom frend; also my philosopher and guide. I placed my problem in front of him and waited earnestly for his reaction. Instead of helping me out and counselling me on my situation he laughed at me and coolly added that it is nothing but a invitation from Nature; that I can feel but not hear! Invitation for what? You might be asking me. I mean the Inspiration from Nature which induces me to create literature. It is amazing, of course! I asked myself itf I can be a creative artist. When I was a student I used to wonder at the works of great writers. How do they manage to do it when I casnnot write a single sentence without making errors.

It was then that I really started nurturing the desire withing my mind, to becoem a writer. As I returened from my friend's place my mind was preoccupied with this thought. Images of great writers around the world flashed across my mind and I dreamt as if I join their band. Being bent upon becoming one the next question in my mind was what to write? - This is indeed a geneuine problem. I went to my teacher who taught me in the school. I expressed my desire to him for which he said that the subject chooice should be mine; that it cannot be suggested. However he hinted at referring to books. My next halt was at a liobrary where I could get books of all kinds. The library wore a more or lesds dilapitated look. I found books bedecked with dust; nbooks scattered here and there on the shelf. There were students napping on the pretext of referring to books; for some, books helped them for a good sleep. I went into a deep thought. This was the condition of the books written by great men who had spent sleepless nights to creat great written works. And I'm here to become one among them, without even the slightest idea of what to write. Once again Rahul came to my rescue. He agreed that writers and their works, whatever the subject or their value to be are least recognised. The first thing to be understood is that neither they fiind a writer to suit their taste and nedd; evcen if they found one they don't go deep into the idea presented on the book.

Questions start flooding myu brain. Donm't writers have any value in today's world? Has literature reached its end? Will my writings prove to be a waste? All mtheses made me shudder that creativity is now in danger. ..perhaps the reason might be that youngster find reading books to be a waste of time, while indeed they waste their time by idle talks. Creativity has almost reached the brink of its life in today's world. Will I then be a successful writer? Should I become a writer? Will there be any value for my ideas?

Thinking all these I went to bed hoping for another new day to begin.

Other articles

Dealing with a Broken Heart
It has been two years since you have met him and everything was going really perfect. You have talke

Tech Support!!
Why we should feel sorry for tech support people:
A woman called the Canon help desk with a pr

IT company
Five cannibals get appointed as programmers in an IT company. During the welcoming ceremony the boss

Being different

"Being different is not wrong it can

 actually be a beautiful thing"

Techronia Priority Out Of Hours Wanker Service
"I remember one client calling... It was about 2am and he used our Priority Out of Hours

Shaheed Bhagat Singh
Bhagat Singh was an Indian freedom fighter, considered to be one of the most influential revolutiona

Are You a Professional?
How you look, talk, write, act and work determines whether you are a professional or an ama

GANDHIJI-As A Student
Young Gandhi had his primary education up to the seventh year at Porbandar. Then his educat

India's options after Mumbai
Despite all the evidence that investigators claim links the Mumbai attacks to groups and individuals

Types of Girls
Hard Disk Girls:
She remembers everything, FOREVER.

RAM Girls:
She forgets about