When I was a little girl, I dreamt of being a writer and winning the Nobel Prize for Literature (yes, I was that naïve). Because words came easily to me, and I had a good ear for rhyme, I imagined that great volumes of books would come flowing out of me. That I’ll be a published and accomplished writer in my 20s.
I did write, occasionally. Mainly when there were school projects or commissioned articles, or back in the old days when we still handwrote letters to one another. Which was when I realized, I probably don’t have it in me to write a novel. And my life does not seem exciting enough to warrant autobiographies (even though I have a drawer-full of diaries).
The writing process is a very personal one. It was not until I started writing this blog that I learnt how rigorous and disciplined a writer must be. Everyday, one needs to set aside time for writing. And because there isn’t a central plot or theme that has been developed, it is very much like groping in the dark.
Which brings me to the most practical of questions. What does a budding writer live on when he or she is embarking on their first foray into writing? Because writing is demanding and refuses to share time with any other pursuits, even making a living.
They say money is the root of all evil. Give me the money anyway!
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