‘Why do you waste so much time writing? Do you really think your words inspire or entertain people? It’s not as if you are earning a fortune. Probably, a secretary makes more money than you do.’
That was an incisive observation from my circumspect, dispassionate spouse.
It is his staunch belief that a writer has not ‘made it’ until mentioned by the New York Times as a bestselling author or an offer has been made of a six-figure advance for a book.
And sometimes, deep down, I wonder, too. Why do I write? What is the compulsion that pushes me to the keyboard day after day?
Mark Coker, the founder of Smashwords had asked the question, ‘Why do you write?’ on Twitter to get a writer’s perspective. He was surprised that out of sixteen responses, not one mentioned financial reward.
Some interesting responses were:
SFAnderson66: I write to go where I’ve never been and to share the ride with others.
annrgewriter: I write because I can’t help it. It is as much a reflex as breathing, and equally essential.
nickusborne: Because if we didn’t write, we’d never stop talking, and would drive our families crazy.
elizabethlyons:I write because my computer rarely argues with my perspective, rolls its eyes at me, or talks back.
I believe most writers have compulsive reasons to write. These reasons could even be as ordinary as being selfish or as George Orwell said, ‘Sheer egoism…’
Most writers write because like all artists, they are under pressure to express themselves. They write to create imaginary worlds where they can explore relationships, emotions, experiences. Words are their wands with which they seek to weave spells that bind readers to their perspective, to see their angle of the prism, even if that happens briefly. To the one, who believes magic flows from the tip of his pen or, more likely, his fingertip on the key, the allure is irresistible. The writer will keep diving off the dizzy peak over and over again to produce that perfect piece which will live through the ages. And, none of this has anything to do with fame or fortune.
When Svetlana Alexievich, the Belarusian Nobel Prize winner was asked what she would do with the prize money, she said, ‘I do only one thing. I buy freedom for myself. It takes me a long time to write my books, from 5 to 10 years….so, I’m pleased that I will now have the freedom to work on them.’
That is a very succinct definition on how much lure the lucre holds for a true-blue author.
Unfortunately, in the last decade or so Indian fiction writing has seen a rash of ridiculously- written puerile books launched with great fanfare and hype. There is a juvenile illusion that girl-meets-boy-faces-hardship kind of stories sell like hot cakes. While some plots may be interesting, the characters are flat; the rendering has no depth or layers. And the language leaves you wondering whether the writer knows any English at all. I struggle to understand how people think that bringing together some random, badly-constructed sentences and duping readers to buy their books makes them successful (read money-making) writers. And, everybody is climbing the bandwagon to become a two-day wonder.
Amish Tripathi, after the million-dollar advance from his publisher, advises young writers, ‘Writing is not always the best way to make money. There are a few lucky guys, yes, who can make money but on average — not just in India, across the world — writers don’t really make that much money. I think you have to take on writing only if you have something in your mind and you want to speak it out. It’s like giving voice to your soul. So, you shouldn’t write for money, you should write only for yourself.’
Shashi Deshpande believes that a writer is a thinker, an intellectual; a shaper of opinions. She is frustrated that Indian writers have become so impotent that they have no impact on the social and political life of the nation.
It is probably this ideal that prompts me to sit at my desk each day.
I’d like to think I write to push the barriers of everyday existence into a world of what might be.
A world of opportunites.
A world of infinite maybes and what ifs.
And I garner the vast repertoire of words to populate that world.
When I write, no two days are the same. The road is not always smooth or predictable but suddenly, a turning may bring to me a wonderful view. There is no end to what you can explore.
A writer could be alone but never lonely. Walking with words and ideas, adventure lurks around every corner.
Like all journeys, writing has its ups and downs. Sometimes, one rides a bullet train; other times, it’s a rickshaw. We can go from an Aladdin’s cave to a beggar’s hovel; from good to bad and dark to light--in a flash of an idiom or the twist of a short story.
It is to seek such treasures that I write.
Copyright@Sutapa Basu. All rights reserved. First published in http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/books/features/Why-do-I-write/articleshow/50229153.cms
