My First Attempt at Writing

Ah, the wonderful world of writers where none but the bold dare venture! And who could be bolder than me? Who but I, could honorably and honestly carry forward the lone voice of truth. So in came the moth eaten thesaurus and the yellowing dictionary as I decided to embark on my chosen career. Out went the Mills & Boons and Sidney Sheldons - from now on their fame would be mine to win, along with the accolades reserved for the great masters.

How humble were the preparations made by the great Marco Polo compared to those made by me. I still remember (and with due embarrassment) the first time I decided to become a writer. What elaborate preparations were made. Trunks were opened and books dusted; long forgotten, forsaken classics were pulled out from beneath the pile of popular fiction and my study duly lined with those revered books of literature.

I had read somewhere, “a congenial working area is very important for the writer.” So I rearranged the entire study. The Sun God was shown the curtain and phosphorant light now illuminated the room. The study table and chair were rearranged to derive maximum benefit from the revolving fan. Cushions were piled high to remove any discomfort that a hard chair would afford the budding writer. Sandwiches and coffee were prepared to avoid starvation in the long, lonely hours of writing. Still, I could sense something missing.

Of course! Music! After all, music is the food of the soul, is it not? And lo behold! The music system was elevated from its humble position in the living room to its new and esteemed position in my study. And then, the tools of the trade!

I had read somewhere that Hemingway required at least a dozen sharp pencils before he would begin writing. Well, I had never been partial to pens myself. So out came a full range of pencils in different colors and sizes, all sharpened to a needle point. Furthermore, as anything bound and easily located did not fit into my image of a serious, “too engrossed to be organized” writer (why I thought so only God knows), once again began the treasure hunt. This time for loose leaf papers. I ransacked my father’s old files and came up with a fair amount of sheets. “At least enough to tide me by for today”, I thought.

There! I was finally ready - a dark curtained room lighted by a solitary lamp to shed light on the pearls of wisdom of the budding great master. I began writing….

I woke up some two hours later to a loud, angry voice. Tired after the extensive preparations, I had made myself comfortable on the huge piles of cushions and submitted to the tender care of mother sleep. And now, I had on my hands, not a manuscript that would take the literary world by storm, but a bunch of loose leaf, blank papers and a mother smoldering in anger at the mess I had created on my trail to success.