I was onced asked, “Are you a writer?” I immediately responded, “No!” “But you write,” she continued. I said, “Yes, I do!” She was a little surprised and wondering she said, “Then how do you write?”
How do I write? Honestly, I do not have any training to write. I do not have any educational qualification to write. I have never been in a literary guild or training. I am not well read I believe. I am not qualified to write.
“I just love to write.” That was my answer to my lady-friend. Someone tells me to write. It is a voice in my heart that tells me to write. Then some miracle happens when a whisper from wisdom creates the enthusiasm for me to write.
“Then what is your passion in writing? What do you want to write?” The lady-friend kept on wondering. I said, “Actually, I don’t know. It is like something just pops out from my mind and it tells me to write about this thing for someone.” I could not tell her for whom I am writing. She may not believe me. I do not have to convince her in her disbelief.
“So how do you know that people like the things you write? Do you share what you write? Do you have a following?” The lady-friend kept on asking perhaps to bring about some confidence in her that what I write is read; otherwise I may just be wasting my time.
I softly said, “I do not know if people are reading what I write. I do not also know if they like what I write. Perhaps, to many of them it is like a waste of their time to read. I really don’t know.”
The lady-friend continued, “Knowing that you are not sure that what you write is read or liked by people, do you still have the motivation to write?”
I responded without any reservation, “Yes, definitely! I will keep on writing.” Then this time I have to tell her some truth. “Actually, I am writing for someone; for a price.”
My response created interest from the lady-friend. “Oh, I see. Someone is paying you to write. How much do you get paid?” I smiled and I held my two hands together in prayer saying, “Actually, he has already paid the price for me to write for the rest of my life for as long as I remain in this world.”
“What?” the lady-friend exclaimed! “He has given you the advance payment already? Wow, you must have hit big time.” I mused and I smiled and said, “I am quite blessed to be given this work to write for my special someone and for him alone. He loves to see what I write and that’s it for me.”
My lady-friend was in disbelief. Perhaps she was thinking that I got material wealth for what I do; writing when I have the sense within me to write. But it is not material blessing that I am referring to. I write praying that someone somewhere somehow may be blessed to read what I write about the most ordinary things in an ordinary life of an ordinary person. One who writes without the skills of writing. One who just writes for someone special. Perhaps some others who are also as ordinary as me would feel blessed with the ordinary things that I share. That is all sufficient for me. That is enough to keep me motivated. That is enough to delight my special someone for whom I am writing. This is the least that I could do for the price he has paid for me; lifting himself up on a T-pole with sweat and blood and tears.