Thursday, 10 November 2016

The sad story of a writer's life.

Past few days passed in a blur and tomorrow too feels to be treading the same path. It is good to be busy. Writing is a wonderful job but I must also add, a little tricky to understand as well. Thereby, I am here today to confess one thing. Being a writer is not an easy job. Not because writing is challenging. It hell is but because...people don't get it at first. They take time to understand that being an author/writer can be a job and in fact, one of the toughest jobs. Such people make me smile. Some I desperately wish to kill as they keep annoying with the same Q. over and over again.

Anyways, it still happens. If someone asks me, 'What do you do? Are you in any job or a housewife?' I smile and say, 'Yes. I am a writer,' and then they nod at me in silence but their expressions reveal what's going on in their heart. They stand as if I have spoken in an ancient language. They get confused and I bet they get desperate to bowl another Q. right away as: 'Once again, what do you do?' but much to their chagrin, they choose to stay silent. I keep smiling. Poor eyes! Reveal everything without letting its bearer know. But good souls with better I.Q.s are also there. Some of them get astonished and ask a few good Qs. about my job and say they are lucky to meet an author. Well, I appreciate that. ;)

But these people are nothing in comparison of my own mother. Some times I just feel like pulling my hair and making a mess of it whenever our telephonic conversation goes on like this:

Mum: What were you doing?

Me: Working, mummy.

Mum: What work are you doing?

Now this part really gets me. I prefer to kill myself than to answer her but I refrain from committing homicide.

Me, a bit flustered: Mummy!! At least you should not behave like others. You know I am an author and writing is my job!

Now mum gets really embarrassed but I hardly care. If your family won't recognize your profession then it's alright to smirk at them. Now our telephonic conversations goes somewhat like this:

Mum: What were you doing?

Me: Working, mummy.

Mum, a pause later: Good. What's happening in your story?

I smile and do my best to sketch an outline for her. But I know. Like many other people, she too does not understand the intricacies of story-telling job but I smile because I appreciate her effort at making me feel good about my work, because she wants me to know that she knows what my job is and that she cares about it. Well, a sweet concern is all I need from my mother.

Whether someone realizes it or not, I keep going...keep writing. That's what we call is: Perseverance. Right, the smiley face?



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