What made me a writer

My muse, my son made me a writer. I was going through a rough patch when my son was born. Inner battles were fought due to difficult in-laws and insensitive husband. Swinging on the edge of depression, my son’s birth came like a wave riding on hope sweeping me away from darkness towards light which eluded me by far. Overwhelmed with emotions, I needed an outlet, thus, I was introduced to the wonder world of words.

Though I have been professionally trained in the capacity of a Journalist, I never really wrote much. The romance with words never really blossomed. In other words, there was no flush of motivation to meet the real me until my divine dove was born.
                         

It was a phenomenal event in my life. The act of creating a life empowered me. I looked at life with renewed interest. My son’s daily activities were the real definition of ‘life’. There was nothing as interesting as his theatrics. Something, I can’t trade for the world. Giving birth to him was an emotional journey. I experienced myriad emotions which cried for expression at a time when I had no one to express. The written world came to my rescue then. Words befriended, me, taking me to a world of wisdom.

Each expression of my child was a story in itself. I longed to record it the moment it happened. Creativity unfolded and flew through its boundless source nourishing the well of my inner world. The surge of feelings due to my son's birth brought me in touch with the writer in me. He made me realise the innate talent which I possessed but was shrouded by negative emotions. 

Therefore, I was born the day I gave birth to my son. My whole perspective about myself as an individual and the world around me changed for better.

A journey which began with few words now is a full-fledged story of future aspirations, a dream uncut, powerful panacea, a thought revisted, some baked slices of life. A fulfilment. A ride to the land of magical exotica where I am the creator of different world. Characters weep, feel jubiliant, grow pensive at my command. I govern what fate my characters are to meet: when will they live or die.

It is said one becomes a writer when one has felt immense pain or happiness. May be, the pain of labour was too much for me to handle. It pushed me closer to the written world. Writing was, is, will be highly therapeutic. I felt like a painter with a handbrush who observed- the beautiful art by Almighty- and painted with my inner sense. You inspired me. And inspiration is a requisite for creativity. Isn’t it? 

What inspired you in life? What was your breakthrough point? I would love to know.

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