The moment in which a writer searches for a story or a theme to drive forward his creative impulses and to fulfill the destiny of an artist must be great. I too was in such a moment; sitting alone in the office of the language training institute I temporarily worked for. Writing nourished my soul and gave me the sense of fulfilling the Artist's Destiny.
The moment was crucial, for I was in an attempt to bring together my soul and body within the unique harmony of art. I was using the time of my job for writing. For what mattered most was the Artist's Destiny, and during those hours in the afternoon, there were no classes, either. I was asked to stay in the office until five in the evening to handle the enquiries if someone showed up.
The Artist's Destiny is the inexplicable urge one feels to work in order to meet an unknown, inexplicable demand. This demand comes from nowhere and can never be met. But it exists with all it mysteriousness and absurdity in an artist's life. This call is not from money, sex, food or shelter, but from something indefinable. Some name it: the divine call. But it is nothing other than the artist's destiny, which in its experience, is unbelievably pacifying and disturbing, at a time. Some take it as the call for perfection, too. However, this call or demand that the artist feels inside is beyond perfection. To a certain extent it is satisfaction that the artists seek in their communion with art. But this satisfaction, in no way, is related to perfection or money.
No artist could deny the call of the Artist's Destiny. I heard it, there, in that office. And I decided to follow it then and there. I was happy, for it was after many days' interval (almost four weeks) I was writing something. I learned something new. It is not you as an artist follow art, but it is the art that follows you; the artist. The unbearable urge in you as an artist, or a writer to start your work of art, to scribble down the words on a paper, is just a sign, which explains the nearness of the work of art to its material existence. The artist sees it. He Loves it. And he makes it his own.