Why we write
Most people laugh.
“No, seriously! What do you do?”
“I already told you. I am a writer.”
Then they see our sincere faces. Incredulous and unbelieving, their eyes widen with horror.
“Writing in India?” they ask, thinking ‘Are you too stupid for engineering?’
Because everybody knows that ‘writing’ is just code for ‘unemployed’.
“Yes. There are other jobs besides engineering, you know.”
“Why, of course! My brother is into the stock market. Nobody knows what he does, but he has a car and everything. It’s very legit.”
Let’s face it. Nobody thinks that writing is a real job. We don’t have a car or a fancy house. Heck, we can’t even afford the monthly rent! (Although we live with our mothers… The only reason she refrains from getting rid of us is because we have a remote probability of becoming famous. That’s cute!)
We all have that file named ‘The Manuscript’ (because that is not obvious at all!) to show for the hours spent chewing nails and skipping meals. Nobody knows the sleepless nights spent twirling sentences, trying to get that perfect one. Nobody cares about the days of feverish creation, scrimping on baths and personal hygiene.
So why do we write?
Because we feel alive…
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