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The reason to write a word is an angel’s call. You are that angel; you—the reader. You say, or I think, once or at any point in time, any one of you might walk in and read a page, a word, or a period I have written or a space I have left untouched and say this is it, this is the moment. The anticipation of this moment is what makes a writer write. But this, what one calls inspiration or motivation or what ever, thought vanishes at the first sight of an unpleasant day in the family or with wife, if the writer is married. The significance of forming a part of this chain of the cosmic connectivity gets transformed into a vile energy to triumph over the trivialities of the family, in the clash between the people he or she had thought of dying for, but who at the moment trying to slaughter the writer at any cost.
This fight lasts until the writer has exhausted almost all his energy. Then what remains in his battered mind is the frustration of spending the whole day, which was the gift from the Divine to propose a vote of thanks to the endless stream of vitality he or she received in his or her words, in the darkness that one’s family that has no idea what a writer’s life is all about, has mercilessly pushed the writer in. Life is like the sea, if you lose a coin, never think of finding it again.
As you know that this very article itself is hiding among these words of frustration and hopelessness some pure light of hope at the end that will lighten your presence at the moment, in this space, with extreme clarity, your life too has its own gift to share. In life, sometimes, the lost coins will come back to you. A second chance is everyone’s inheritance.
A Sunday usually comes to you with promises and a little of spiritual thought. But after the sun has gone bright we see every expectation crumbling down as if the reality of the day is a dreary dream you desperately want to get out of and your Sunday is lost in the reality inside a dream.
“I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Fights, frustrations and the sweeping lethargy meet head-on with the concerns of the coming Monday. The draft is still incomplete. It’s important and the publisher will take his worst face if the manuscript fails to find its way to the publishing house tomorrow. This was my situation, until I finally switched on the internet, a resource from which I was cut off due to the limited facilities my living environment provided me with, and watched this interview. This is the first time I am enclosing a You Tube video in my blog. But for any young writer, the words of this great master will be both encouraging and inspiring. This is an interview with Richard Bach, the American author, the writer of the book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
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There still is a concern. What about another young writer, until this moment unknown about Bach and his magical ideas..? What if he or she imbibes some ideas from this interview? Will it be affordable for me, in a world with competitions and survival strategies, to let someone else receive inspiration from the same place of intellectual spring?
Well, Bach himself says that every individual comes to this world with a unique gift. So the uniqueness in me is unique to remain so for the rest of the time I do this work upon the earth, or wherever my life takes me. There is happiness when we find that there is meaning in what we felt or lived through. I experienced this pleasure at the moment. And a pleasure becomes truly affective only when it is shared. The destiny I chose to live is sharing my life, by being a writer.