Writing is my favourite form of expression. If you want to see my utter romantic self or the bitchest side, write to me. I have had some of the most heartfelt conversations via email and some of the nastiest, heart breaking fights via Whatsapp. For some unfathomable reason, I am most comfortable with written communication. Obviously, screenshots are an advantage.
This is why I assumed it to be my professional calling as well. I based my career on encouragement of my English teacher in A-Levels. She said, “Shaheen, you can write well. Think about pursuing it as a career.” I said, Amen.
It has been a crazy ride, and I still feel like I am lost in a big maze. There have been times when I drowned in self-doubt, and felt like all of this was one big mistake. I had people shrug off and turn the page to something they found a lot more interesting than what my words had to tell. It was difficult to endure. Writing is an art, which makes me an artist. And I am sure that you know how frail our egos are. There were also a few such times when someone said, “I love reading your blog”. They can’t imagine how much restraint I had to exercise to smile politely, and not jump across the fence and kiss them senseless.
Having said that (i.e. crap), I was wondering if a writer can write about everything and anything, given the information? If they can, will they do justice to the content?
When I first moved to Dubai and was job hunting, I wrote freelance for an IT firm based in Saudi Arabia. They required a 34 page brochure/RFP supporting document, concentrating on data centre operations and maintenance. It paid rather well (those Arabs always have a pretty dime to spare), and I had a lot of free time.
Now, if you know me, you would know that my technical acumen is substantially compromised, and I just do not register most of the technical garbage thrown my way. It’s like my mind refuses to absorb or process it, and turns all hoi-ty toi-ty. But I did take on that project, delivered it to client’s satisfaction and bought myself a new handbag. I wasn’t happy, and I picked on Nouman’s brain more often than he would liked, to help me understand (even if for those three seconds) what the hell was it all about.
But I delivered.
If I were an idealist, I would have argued that it contributes to a writer’s personal development to write about a variety of topics. But I am a realist and I know that I will never manage data centres, or use what I learnt (and have forgotten). God forbid.
And this brings me to my second question to myself (I always have a lot of questions) – what do I like writing about, and am comparatively good at?
It has been a bazillion years since I am trying to find my voice, to no avail. To say something in a way that has not been done to death already. Be Shaheen. But it just refuses to happen.
I like fashion, and have my own (twisted) sense of style. And I enjoy painting my face red and purple, so maybe fashion and beauty is what I can pursue.
I love travelling when it involves leisure and luxury, and surely people want to know where to go, what to see, where should they stay and such, right? So travel blog it is.
But then I felt something, for the sixth time today. I feel, for I observe and rationalise emotions in my head. And I love talking about love and pain, joy and heartbreak, smiles and tears. Maybe I am destined to be the next Aunt Agony.
And then there are days like today, when I spend the morning writing some nonsense about some nonsense to prove my mettle, followed by writing my jumbled up thoughts here. Random. I can be a random blogger. It sounds rather fascinating, actually.
I am sure you must have forgotten by now how it all began, so let me sum it up for you; 1) Can a writer really write about anything and everything? 2) What can I write about – has to be something that I am good at, makes me happy, allows me social interaction and will pay for my (imaginary-for-now) Louboutins.
Do you think you can help? I promise coffee for your thoughts. Donuts as well if they are phenomenal.