can I, with my limited knowledge of the world, and even lesser knowledge of myself ever venture on writing a book about my life experiences and thoughts and ideas? Great writers don't fret the way I do, (or so I believe) I feel they just pour their thoughts out on paper and all fits together beautifully - I guess, what I am trying to say is - that good writing need not be labored. It must come forth, gush out like a natural spring in the hills. Of course, the truth could be, and I think is quite the reverse. Writers do struggle in putting their ideas and thoughts down, its not completely easy, like anything else I suppose.
I know my talent as a writer is sadly limited. Add to this, the proximity of the events that I want to write about - my life and its failures - the emotional connect is too direct and immediate, What I want to say isn't about what I felt in the distant past, but what I continue to feel now, and believe will feel far into the future. The life's turns that have made me what I am today, or shall we say unmade me into what is me today, are still whirling and unfolding around me. So, how do I write this book that is screaming to take birth, to literally pop out of me and exist as a separate being, an entity on its own. How do I go about it? Is it going to be in the shape of a daily dairy, or letters, or plain narrative? what?
What preparations am I supposed to make? what kind of research is involved in writing a book? This is what I must understand and undertake.
I know, or let's say I think I know, for we can't be too sure about anything in life - that what I have experienced, what I have witnessed, what I have seen, what I have felt isn't unique to me, and that is where the key to my book is. I have material to pen down which is not wonderful, which isn't hair raising in terms of its incredulity or impossibility, it is all too believable, all too close to the hearts of many daughters and several women, and theirs are the hearts and should I want to speak to and touch.
With time passing and my time in this world ticking away with every new moment, I feel strongly that no matter how trite, no matter how silly and ugly, I must start on my venture and make a book of my thoughts, of my days and its happenings, of my soul and its yearnings, before, all that is me shrivels up, dries up and ceases to be in this form................
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