Really Ronnie?That’s all you’ve got to share to the entire world?Wake up.Tap your brain.Damp the sh*t you’re writing in a bin.It’s a new world,remember?and you write worn-out ideas.Simply…really..stop it!
At least those were the spite-filled thoughts that dashed across my burdened mind as I sat at a laptop,my eyes drunk with exhaustion.No.Not physically tired.Simply on the horns of a dilemma on whether what I was working on was worth it or lacking the oomph.
I had stretched a few muscles on a few pages of my book.It must have been 68 pages or so.It was dim in the confines of my room as I specifically cherished such an atmosphere for writing.All were asleep but me and I could feel the strength of the silence.I thought about how popular my book would become and utilised by the posterity and grinned weakly.Then came the screaming thoughts that I felt had they been human,they would have sent me sprawling on the floor.
All my life I have wished to be a recognized writer and a successful one like Maya Angelou or J K Rowlings.Yes, I have my studies gazing at me,the books longing to feel the strokes of my fingers and the letters yearning to face me.And then what?
Some of my friends had also questioned my bizarre concern for literature or so and had felt it was such a waste of precious hours spent working on something you are uncertain of its future.
And my thoughts kept knocking the door to my mind,simply dissatisfied and disappointed.I glanced at the pages on the screen and sipped my ribena,and realized I was agreeing with my thoughts.
what for?You are a student.No one knows you in this world.Are you sure the book will pull through?Are you having the right audience?
I stood furiously and switched off the machine.I glared at the reference books on the table and plodded across the room to switch on the lights.I felt so empty and began rummaging through my study books.I felt that life was all about books and books and no more.If I had talent,I would have joined a talent school then..?What was I doing at school?Afterall,the book was just an uncertain attempt.The”let it win medals if it will” type.
The following morning I woke up with a start,falsely believing I had lifted the weight of dejection off my shoulders.At school I met a friend who loved writing as I did..or as I did before.I glanced uninterestingly at him and paced on for my classes,but he was quick to notice the weird face and called me to him.He asked about how life was and bla bla and finally settled on the question that stupefied me at first,then went on to scare the hell out of me:Are you done with your writing?
Of course I stared away then back at him. I told him my story and he laughed.I felt stupid but what he told me later let me feel even more stupid.
He narrated to me the story of J K Rowlings.I’m yet to find out if it’s real but the mere skeleton of her life experience and how she rose from rags to riches startled me.
Here was a poor young lady working at a bar and kept writing her story on receipts.She presented her works to various firms which were all rejected.But one firm, though uncertain whether her works would do any miracle to grab the world’s attention,decided to give it a try.Incredibly,the book sold billions of copies within a week.A book that had been written from scratch and rejected by many firms.
My friend went on to narrate how valuable her life is now,and how priceless her books are.You might have read this initially rejected book-Harry Potter.
I felt challenged.I felt an idiot.What was I thinking?I simply could not call my talent trash.Maybe I would one day rise to the spotlight like J K.Maybe my books would sell millions of copies.I just had to keep believing that I was doing my best and let go of all the “cold”.
That night,in my room,with dim light still my priority,I worked on my book till morning and found myself stroking page 189.It was like a thrust suddenly inflicted on my legs that left me springing almost flying.
And I’m still flying…
I know I’ll touch the sky..