It’s a tale of two people, the writer, and the author. Do not ask where they lived and how they were. Both of them were very similar to each other. Both liked the same things and disliked the same stuff. Their way of speaking was almost same. They used to wear the same type of clothes. They used to eat the same kind of food. And movies, both of them admired the same genre.
Both of them liked adventure. They were always ready for exploration. Their travel bags were always packed. And both of them shared their fair love for writing. They might skip their morning cleansing of teeth, but the late night writing was worshiped, just like God. Sometimes, even the deity was placed on the second spot.
But one day, the author was feeling a bit low. While the writer was happy and gleamed. The author sat in one place while the writer was jumping and enjoying. Tears were rolling down the author’s eyes, whereas writer’s lips were just spreading the melodious laugh.
Taking a little time out from his grief session, the author called the writer. Writer at once stopped and rushed towards his dear friend. The author didn’t utter for a few moments. He just looked at the writer. The writer seemed puzzled by the author felt nervous.
“What happened? What’s wrong, dear”, asked the writer.
“I don’t like this?”
“Don’t like what?”
“I don’ like being an author”, said the author.
“But it was your life’s dream to be an author. This was your main goal. This was your ultimate calling.”
“Yes, I know. This was my only passion, but something doesn’t feel right.”
“What doesn’t feel right? You got everything you aspired for. You are famous. Your books are liked by the people. Your publishers are earning well. You are earning well. People respect you. They follow your advice. They see you as their idol. What else do you need?”
“I know I desperately needed all of this. I wanted my books to get published. I wanted them to be read by a lot of people. I wanted to earn a living by my writing and I did that. I wanted the respect from the people and they are giving me. My publishers are excited to have me on the board. But still I don’t feel happy.”
“What do you want”, asked the writer with a lot of pressure.
But the answer from the author was still the same. He was unhappy, but he didn’t know the reason.
A few moments of silence passed by. The writer ran his mind in order to find a cure for his friend’s problem. And the author was still grieving.
The author turned to writer and asked, “Why are you happy? What is the reason behind his exuberance?”
The writer seemed confused. To him, it was like asking why do you breathe?
The author glued his eyes at the writer with the hope that the words the writer will say will be his way out of misery. But writer had no clue how to help his friend out.
“I just don’t have anything that makes me sad”, said the writer.
“There isn’t anything in this whole world that makes you sad”, questioned the author.
The writer shook his head without giving it a second thought.
“Don’t you want to be an author?”
“I don’t get your question”, the writer said.
“What I’m trying to say is, don’t you want to be successful?”
“I still don’t understand your question. Can you please more elaborate?”
“See, what I meant by this is”, the author uttered, “every writer has a dream of becoming an author.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The thing I’m trying to say is that anyone can write. But not everyone becomes an author. Although, every writer wants to become an author, but that doesn’t happen with everyone. Only a few get the chance of becoming an author.”
“Is there any compulsion or rule that says that every writer must strive to become an author”, the writer asked back.
Baffled by the question of the writer, the author was morally hurt.
“But why don’t you”, the author shouted, “no one gives respect to a writer. Everyone admires the author. A writer is an ordinary man. The author gets all the privileges. The writer has to work hard. And the author…”
“But the writer is happy”, the writer said cutting the author’s words.
“What do you mean”, the author asked with rage.
“I guess I know the reason of your unhappiness”.
“And that is”, the author said reflexively.
“I’m a writer. I write because I love to write. I don’t write with an aim to impress people. I write with my mind open. I write to express myself. Not just to bring a big smile on the face of the publishers. When I write what I feel, I feel excited. I feel happy. I feel relieved. And more importantly, I feel fulfilled.
On the other hand, if I become an author, I won’t be able to express myself fully. Surely, the publishers will respect my level of creativity, but only up to a certain level. And the public won’t tolerate all my thoughts. And then I have to write according to others. I don’t think that will bring anything positive in my pocket.
I got to agree with you that I will be respected more and the people will know me. But then, it won’t be me. I will not remain what I want to be. I had to mold myself according to the demands and requirements of the people associated with me. I won’t be free. And when I won’t be free, my mind will always be in some kind of hustle. I will always think of writing something that will be accepted by everyone. No one shouldn’t get hurt with my sentiments.
And truly saying, if this is being an author, I don’t want to be an author.
I’m contented being a naïve.
I don’t want to be someone who has the power to change something, but couldn’t do just because it will cost him whatever he has achieved. And literally, if one has the power, but is not using it, then that person is the biggest coward on the face of this Earth.
And I can be less successful. But I can’t be a coward”.
The author realized what was causing him the unhappiness. The author didn’t utter anything after he heard these words. He knew what was wrong.
And most importantly he took the right step.
The next morning when the author woke up, the blazing rays from the outer space ignited the older feeling within him. And he felt happy. The author again became a writer.
## We are all writers. We all crave to become authors without ever realizing that whether we really want to be the author? Or we just want to become an author just for the sake of it? Just because everyone around us is becoming an author, there is no sign of intelligence in doing the same. That is total stupidity.
Never fall for that foolishness.
If you are happy as a writer, who know that one day you might end up by writing a great saga.
The author showed the courage and took the obvious step. So, do you have the courage?