When I hear someone say the word ‘writer,’ an image in my mind forms of a distraught man in front of his typewriter who hasn’t shaved for days together accompanied by unwritten pieces of paper strewn across the room and lots of empty bottles of wine on the coffee table.
In about six years, I’d want to be the result that man gets at the end of his horrific exile, which is a best-selling book, where there will be just one glass of wine and me at my desk signing copies of my first book as a published author. It is a possibility I am more than willing to consider.
This is when a ‘however’ enters the context. However, I am stuck.
Every time I open MS Word (I used to use my grandfather’s typewriter which doesn’t work anymore, so I had take up technology’s offer), the minimum time I spend in front of a blank document is 40 minutes. I spend those minutes counting the time I’d waste. Even if I start on a topic, which I think will be relevant to the people I show, it all gets backspaced and it breaks my heart! So I switch to reading more useless opinions of people on Thought Catalog who think they have seen the world. How do I prevent myself from being a burnout?
In simple words, to explain the kind of writing I pursue or I want to pursue, I’d say it is more or less wedged between humour and romance.
Is it just me or long form journalism and/or writing a book is passé? Even if it is all the rage, it is within a niche circle. If I were to write a book and publish it in six years, would people still read it when they will be more internet savvy than they are today?