“Why I Write” – Guest Post by Author Julia Dutta

Julia Dutta is philosophical in her approach to life. She likes to shout about stuff others create and is a wee bit shy about her own. Highly reclusive by nature, you will find her at her best behind her blog, juliadutta.blogspot.com and in her published eBooks, Until death do us part and Laughing Stock Productions available on Amazon.com. She has just completed the first draft of her third book and is now lying low on the sea of time, like a true beach bum. Being a good writer herself, she never hesitates to motivate and encourage other budding writers around her, including yours truly, in their writing endeavours and does her best get other writers over typical mental writers’ blocks. She is highly tolerant and patient with others’ shortcomings as well as she is with mine (she has successfully restrained herself from roasting me alive for delaying publishing her guest post on this blog for well over four months!!).

A friendly, honest and interesting person to talk to, Julia Dutta shares in this post her poignant reasons for why she writes. Read on…

Imagine a dessert stretching before you. Miles and miles of sand as far as the eyes can see, there right up to the horizon; imagine a mirage of happenings dancing all around you, all seeming to be real, only until you get closer to them and then, they disappear. Imagine, you are trying to make sense of the world around you, sitting alone in that dessert, what would you do?

Yes, you would write on the sand of time, your story and others too, you heard and want to tell.

There is a creative unrest, inside me, a rumble in the sky of my Being which pushes me to hold my laptop and punch the keys till they make words, words that caress my mind and escape to freedom. And you sitting there, with your own world of thoughts catch the fire in the wind that passes you by, the wind of words that left my lips and spoke to your heart.

I am not a writer, but a creator of puzzles that have been solved. There is a beginning, middle and an end in this plot although all the players are me. That is why when you come by my words you catch them because, you have a puzzle in your mind to solve too, which you may like to do reading mine.

No work of art is ever born without reason. There are no experiences in life that happen, accidentally. There is only one thing that goes on like the hands of the clock – happenings and our interpretation, perception of these. In that sense it is highly individual in its content and yet, it holds in its folds, like a seed a whole tree, a drive that pushes us to finality, of telling a story which the earth is waiting to hear.

The writer’s life is a lonely one, often surrounded with many rejection slips. Even the best authors were unknown yesterday, many of them waited twenty years or more, for someone, to pick up their manuscript and say, here is a story the world must hear! It is neither the fault of the writer nor the agent or the publisher that the story born was much before its time. In this words-only life, the writer lives in solitude, the outside being a stimulus, the inside the catalyst; the alchemist dwelling within.

When I was born my mother thought, her life as a single woman had come to an end. There were two of us now. I grew in her image, she being the first to have married the written word. By doing what she did much better than I, she wove around her, her only other companion, the world of words for a long time. But then, at some point she stopped to write and I remember clearly, how I would take her pen and notebook and urge her to write once again, but she could not. There was no dessert or the distant horizon in her mind anymore. So, I picked up from where she left off and continued to romance the word, for I knew, that if I stopped, my mother would be dead. Indeed, after she left her physical body, I really began to write much more, first in blogs and then books.

It requires power, conviction, belief and trust in oneself to be a writer. It forces discipline and sharpens the will. Most of all it teaches us discrimination.

Why should I who cares so deeply about myself, not use a challenging situation in my life, no matter how bad, to turn it around for my benefit? Given so many experiences good and bad, I hear of, why should my mind not turn a hindrance to an opportunity?

Two negative experiences don’t make a positive one, but a negative experience can be honed and tempered in fire to make it a positive one to share. And learn from.

There are only two ways to live for me –one, succumb to circumstances; the other, make the best of it and let people know about it. Someone, somewhere, is waiting to hear from you. We have to write what their Being is longing to hear. Or our silence will kill both – ourselves and the other out there.

This is why I write, for all of us, my mother, myself and for you. I give birth; we live on forever.

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2 comments

  1. CB, can’t tell you how glad I am for you! After a long hiatus on your most engaging blog, you are back! Now I have something to look forward to – your multi-talented blog with your writing, photographs, paintings, your lyrics. Never mind the delay in publishing this post, I am so happy to finally returned.

    May I point out that I am now three forth finished with polishing the second draft of my third novel, after much beach bumming myself from December through February, this year.

    You might like to relook at the first introductory para once again for corrections and inclusions, if you like.

    Indeed, I am honoured to have Coffee with the one with a very fine, roasted Bean, up there. 😉

    Best and keep at it, CB!

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