More often that not, when I am in transit or amidst many people, I have a flux of thoughts constantly occupying my head. This crux takes energy for processing and every thought is nevertheless meaningful. Oh! The sheer agony of deciding which one is more important. And the patience that does not seem to hang on until the end of the piece. The numerous inclusions that seem very relevant to make the piece look complete and the debatable perceptions which need to be mildly addressed. Not to forget the amount of research for stating a fact right or supporting an assertion and the endless runs of proof-checking.
And that isn't the end of it. I mean this is just the premise. A writer writes for the audiences out there whom they hope to connect with. But certainly, as it had been proved multiple times over that it isn't a fair world out there. There are thousands amidst anguish waiting to tear down everything coming their way. Opinionatedness and perceptions rank high, beginning with the brand of daily cereal. Whether or not actions exist, ideologies do, in excess. so when I express my thoughts, I do not always receive nods of agreement and pats on the back. I write for audiences who comprise the soul of an ever-changing, cruel world. And I know I shall receive some choicest of brickbats.
What was I saying again about being blessed? To want to write, to desire to write and to announce your thought, is the curse of a writer. And to choose to be cursed, isn't wise, isn't even normal. But like me countless writers endure this curse, only to be able to write, to create. Because, behind every curse is a creation waiting to be unleashed!
