I could write well. Or so I was told. Not that I was ever going to. What a lot of effort writing is, thinking of an appealing topic, penning down a rough draft, editing it, wondering if anyone would ever read it, let alone like it…no, it was a task and I wasn’t going to be bothered with it. It didn’t matter that I sometimes missed the rush that accompanies a vague idea materializing into a delightful piece of prose. Or that I’d preserved a handful of essays I’d written, because I’d enjoyed writing and later, reading them. Writing never figured in any of my plans…till my bff (best friend forever) figured out I was good at it.
My bff, he-who-shall-not-be-named, lets call him TMR. A persistently annoying creature who can make a living of ribbing and ragging(the friendly kind). No prizes for guessing his favorite subject. It was my fault,of course. I wrote him a couple of notes(which have been duly preserved by him). That set off a hurricane of prodding and pricking and poking. I was glad when TMR began to forget about it. Except for one hitch…TMR’s pestering had caused adverse effects, a blog was now on my mind.
Before I go on, I must specify. I can be horribly neurotic. I blame it on my Zodiac sign. We Virgos are worrying, critical perfectionists-we torture others and ourselves (true story !). Add oodles of insecurity and you have me. So here’s what I did after I thought of blogging-I thought (to blog or not to blog, wordpress vs blogspot, where does tumblr figure, will i be able to maintain it…), researched, spoke to people, thought some more, freaked out…and months elapsed. What changed things was a rare episode of insomnia, an attempt to write, a panic attack, and a 3 a.m call to TMR. What followed was some explosive activity of TMR’s vocal cords (with pendulous jerking of his uvula,cartoon-style) telling me what a waste of talent I was (veiled praise or euphemistic insult?), what a big talker and thinker I was though I did nothing, how I was hopeless and how stupid I was to disturb his beauty(?) sleep. Then the line went dead.
That’s when I began writing this blog. I’d love to say that it happened on a perfect day, when the sun shone a little more brightly, over a steaming cup of coffee et cetera. But it didn’t.
My blog began with a bruised ego and a 3 a.m call. After overcoming, what now seems like an anxiety crisis. With sleepy eyes that I struggled to keep open, knowing that if I stopped then, I’d never be able to make myself write again. It began with a little self-belief, some courage and a dream…that I’d write something that not just a critical me but even you, my reader would like to read again.
If you’ve had the courage and the patience to read this, thank you. Do leave your comments behind, if any.