Do I dare Disturb the universe? – T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Mildly Excited, Perfectly Content Person With Moderate Curiosity: Hey, Amrita, are you going to NaNo?
ME,PCPWMC: You know, NaNo? Like NaNoWriMo?
Amrita: Oh, I thought you meant the highly controversial budget car. Nope, just like Tata Nano [a car], I can’t afford to NaNo this year.
ME, PCPWMC: Pray why not? Why will you, an awe-inspiring dormant volcano of talent, disallow the world from witnessing your potentiality? Nay, your genius? You, you goddess with perfect survey of words and the human nature?
Amrita: Because, Na(h) No() Wri(te) (Any)Mo(re).
Hello all. I’ve been missing in action for a while, and I bet you didn’t miss me. Actually, I could do with some actual betting, considering I’m considerably broke after considerable travel. And why does all this NaNoWriMo business need to pop up just when I’ve been dealing with bad internet and a recurring case of missing pens? It seems people have to set themselves up for challenges in November, a sort of lent for all the carnivalesque activities in December, a.k.a. Christmas time. Well, lent’s already come and gone earlier this year, so can I please be spared from having to grow my facial hair?
I bet (again) that I could even achieve that feat, when compared to NaNoWriMo. I know I’ll never be able to NaNoWriMo. Some of you are thinking, “Don’t say that, you poor thing. Of course you will. This could be your year! With a little hard work…” while others are thinking, “I better close this page or I’ll get demotivated, especially after all the hard work I’ve….” There is a small percentage of you thinking, “What the hell is NaNoWriMo and why did I end up here?”
Don’t ask. I can’t tell. I’m starting to believe all events in the calendar are conspiring together to repeatedly remind you of how little you’ve accomplished in life. Even the innocuous ones, like the recently celebrated Diwali – the festival of lights – where you ask for ordinary, harmless things like peace, prosperity and happiness. I cannot get my freezer to work, and you’re asking me to work on my prosperity?
Somebody asked me a very simple question when I was on my travels. Why don’t you write? It didn’t stump me, for I had a ready answer. Because it is the last illusion.
As has been evidenced several times already in this blog post, what if I receive confirmation that I am not as good as I thought I was? A very silly apprehension, one that has been dispelled into oblivion by volumes and volumes of how-to-write literature. But, it is still very acute, right up there with similarly impossible questions like, what if I’m never truly loved? Or, what if things get worse and not better? What if I’m a miserable-beyond-repair sod at the end of my life and not the charming, wise, robust and accomplished person I wished I would be?
I’ve written very less this year. Very, very less. I don’t know if this is me growing up. Letting my mind wander less, and focus more on tedious, immediate things like bills. For most of my life, all I’ve done is meander. Start with nothing, and then make up something to pass the time, until it gets interesting. For months now, I’ve secretly confessed to myself I cannot write. I just can’t. Nothing comes. Nothing happens. I could just publish a 200-page blank novel titled ‘A Modern Life’ and pass it off as art. I’ve seen a lot of art in my travels, so that idea doesn’t seem preposterous at all.
The thing is, it isn’t a writer’s block, or lack of talent, or laziness, or a lack of faith. It is a lack of truth. You don’t need to believe in something in order to see the truth in it. But, if it isn’t the truth, what’s the point? We’re about to get heavy here, but if I had to sum up all that I’ve learnt in 2017, it would be that all I’ve ever thought, believed to be true is wrong. You’re not just your name, your skin, your experiences. You are your beliefs, your expectations, your dreams. Your comprehension of the world, and what you do to fit into its design. Apparently, I’ve been wrong.
And that’s that. There is nothing more to say. Nothing I can elaborate upon, without getting a migraine. Meanwhile, I need to get some groceries.
What do you write about? Not characters or genres, but themes, ideas, values, beliefs?