THE BOY WHO LOVED STORIES AND THE DARK LADY OF BLOGGING
Blogging came to exist in my consciousness since a controversial young lady made news headlines with her unbridled and exaggerated confessions about a sexually liberated life. Her fame or infamy (whichever way you look at it) was a very profound a cultural experience, even for that small period of time.
To this day, not another blogger has been able to outshine the licentious narrative of the confessing young woman in page views. She was also the pinnacle of cross references that appeared in other media.
It may be forwarded that this “mysterious” young lady is a present day Dark Lady of blogging, borrowing a Shakespearean metaphor. The impact of this new form of publishing experience was disturbingly promising.
The young lady in question was able to sign a publishing contract with one of the major publishing groups in India. Bingo!
|Image Courtesy: Google|
Once upon a time, there was a boy incurably in love with stories. For his family, he was a nagging worry. The family worried about his future. The boy was so immersed in his passion for stories that he started making some on his own. Then one day he started living in them. All his stories converged upon one juncture. At that point of convergence, the boy who loved stories was known as a writer of stories.
When the boy heard about blogging he was impressed. I was that boy.
First impressions on blogging were certainly fogged with insecurities. My concern wasn’t if I would be exposed in front of the whole world, and if they would make fun of me. My real concern was if anybody would notice me at all. I was hungry for people to notice me. It wasn’t hunger for fame. It was hunger for identity. The identity that I wished for myself was—being a writer.
I read the news item many times in local news papers that a young woman was able to sign publishing contracts with giant publishing groups. My inner desire gave me the right sort of signals. This is the time to go forth, I told myself. Conquer the world!
I had a story to tell. The story of a young man who dons on a cape and attempts to save the city he lives in. Yeah, did you just think about Bat Man? I really loved Bat Man. But the character I mentioned wasn’t Bat Man. It was another creature-turned man, or man-turned creature. Whatever the case, it certainly was someone with an identity crisis. I had a name for the character, who was, without a doubt a superhero with super powers.
Then, came the biggest problem..., I didn’t have a computer.
How would I blog and be a successful blogger if I don’t have a computer?
I immediately resolved that whatever the nature of things were, I would not succumb. So I went to an internet cafe in Kannur city and took a computer. It was a crammed cafe. There was not even room for my elbow. My knees were kissing the CPU and the table draw on which the key board was placed. The experience was a total bummer. That wasn’t an ideal condition for writing a chapter in a story I was proud to tell the world.
|Image Courtesy: Telegraph.co.uk|
Within half an hour, I had successfully managed to complete the necessary steps in creating a blog with Google. Then I typed in the story, as I remembered it in my mind. There was no written script or notes to assist me on that errand. I was alone, I was without any help, and I was blasting with energy. The only reason that I can find now that kept me going even in that crammed space of the cafe, among all the noise in the city, among all the insecurities of writing my first blog post, was my hunger to share my creative insights. I thank that hunger.
I have also realized that the young woman with the story of her sexual experience was only acting as a catalyst for many like me. I wasn’t drawn to what she had written. I was, instead, attracted to the way she had chosen to express herself.