One writes about writing

So that writing three pages a day one was thinking about is not happening. How many days has one been doing this, people might wonder. This is the first day. And for a first day, this is a bad one, and one knows that one doesn’t have to tell anybody this. But one sees something positive there too. Tomorrow is not going to be a bad first day. At best, it can be a bad second day and one cannot think about any bad second days which are worse than bad first days. And that might not make as much sense as when written as it had when it was not a clear idea in one’s head. One knows that it is a bad sentence construction but they chooses to ignore it. But chuck it. It doesn’t matter. What one has to do is write. Write mechanically. Write for oneself. Write for people who have asked one to write whenever one doesn’t. Not quite a lot, one knows. But there are those ego boosters in one’s life. One thinks they are enough as of now.

One decides to write about a conversation they had with their mother. One puts it down on paper.

“Just today, when I was thinking about doing something like this, my mother called me up and said to me, “ Write something in between your work. It does not need to be that great or anything. Just write something often. Don’t lose writing.” And I agreed. She is a sensible woman. She knows really well that great writings won’t come from the thoughts brooding inside my head for a long long time. And I was glad that she understood that. And I was glad that she made me accept this idea of writing something often. And then it made me realize that I should make it a little bit more mechanical.  People might be wondering why something so “magical”, “beautiful”, and “divine” should be made mechanical. Those tags that come along with writing are precisely the reason why I have to make my writing mechanical. I am not a writer, I have understood. I cannot go behind magic, beauty or divinity, and create something out of apparent nothings like how a spider casts a web, how journalists manufacture controversies, or how a vermillion pasted stone of today becomes a temple with 500 years of history tomorrow. I am nothing when compared to these marvels of the world as we know it.
And I know it. They are living beings who enjoy constructing magic, beauty, and divinity through their words, and word order manipulations. These tags boost them. What it does to me is quite the opposite. It pressurizes me. It makes me want to write something better than what I am already writing. And when what I am already writing is something I detest reading, it makes it so much easier to not write than do.
That is why I stopped writing.”

Writing is a tedious process. More often than not, one only sees how they could have improved their writing when they see their own writing. When what one writes is on a topic that they wouldn’t want to read, even if it was written by the greatest ever writer ever lived (Sidin Vadukut), that becomes a problem.  One wouldn’t feel like writing. One would lose confidence. One would just sit and jabber about how good one’s writing was before thinking happened. And one wouldn’t  try changing the approach.

Until something shakes one up and forces gently to write. And then one tries to write and realizes that nothing inspires them anymore. Finding inspiration from mundane things becomes futile. One starts to decide that writing is no more a possible interest for them. Then the gentle force asks one to try again and this time, or the next time, or the time after that one tries so as not to make the gentle force feel bad. And one writes about writing.

Writing is not one’s primary interest or anything. As a topic, it must have been covered by most of the people who write. When people lack inspiration, they write about writing, one has heard, which is why one didn’t want to write about the topic. One doesn’t want themselves to be known as one that has no inspiration left in them. One does not want to realize that rather. So one puts of writing about writing, in order for them to not churn out idiotic sentence sequences which has writing about writing in them. One thinks about what else to write than about writing. One decides to write about putting off of the writing and decides against that thinking about how the sentence was formed in their head.

That is when one decides to chuck waiting for the imagination elixir that helps them write about life, breath, and other addictions. When one takes a conscious decision to write mechanically, one’s cynical part smirks, and the other part smiles back to them, and ask them to wait.

The cynic waits and sees writing happening and remembers  how when Sheldon Cooper told Leonard that he made some tea, and the things that followed. That Leonard said he did not want tea, that Cooper replied that he made tea only for himself and that Leonard asked why Cooper would tell that to him and Coopers reply that it was a conversation starter and as they were conversing, it was a good one at that. The cynic laughs at all these thoughts and in the mean time writing continues.

One doesn’t know if what is being written should make any sense to a reader X, who is nonexistent at the time of writing. Even though one projects a few faces reading what is being written, as the faces do not seem interested in the way it is written, one decides to chuck the sense part.

One just wants three pages to be written. Times New Roman, size 12, 1.5 line spacing, the usual that one is familiar of. One does not want to edit what they have written as they know that it is going to be increasingly tiring job as writing has not happened to one in a long time.

What one is writing now is enema to the constipated brain that gives it brain farts instead of thoughts. One just hopes that this would end such struggles, if not in the short run, surely in the long run.

One hopes to keep on writing more and even though the writings are going to be forced and mechanical, they hope that they do not continue writing about writing, which would be the worst thing one can think of during this exercise. One also hopes that one realizes how stupid it is to write in third person when first person makes much more sense. One’s one other hope is that one would realize someday that using third person instead of first person is as narcissistic as the normal sane usage.

One bids bye.