Lately, I’ve been reading a lot about writing, and so, just to make this clever sentence, I must do some writing about my reading.

It must’ve been something I saw on television in my childhood that made me think that writing is done when inspiration strikes and words just flow. The image in my head was of an author writing an entire story, in longhand, in one sitting. This has never been the case with me.

Words, for me, have never flowed. They have never even accidentally leaked. Even when I invited them they didn’t come. In my head they all responded yes, but on paper, they didn’t show. I called them up and reminded them of the great time we had last weekend (we didn’t); they made excuses. I promised to make food they like; they pretended to have tummy issues. After a few tries, I thought to myself that they just don’t want to be friends, and left it at that.

But now, after constant advice from Pooja, Rhea, Amber and reading a few books, I am happy to realize that this isn’t the case. Making an outline, writing a rough draft, re-writing, editing, and endlessly repeating, is what writing is about. That, and tricking you into reading about writing about my reading.