Suparna.A.Singh

The gratification of writing for a livelihood is that one is able to do it at all times. I revel in the swirling and swinging of words as they entangle human sentiments. However, the melancholy of it all is one has to do it irrespective of whether one is in the mood for it or not. A feeling often reflected by many authors is that when one does something that is so intensely close to the heart, it does tend to become less joyous when one has to keep doing it, day-after-moolah-grinding day. Being by yourself in an closed enclosure for hours on end while, in essence, constantly nattering in one’s head about matters one has formerly cooked up and then jotting it down for total strangers does have several facets that are not intrinsically blissful. But then conjugating something out of zilch, capsizing the decrees of time and space, creating something for unfamiliar beings simply because one assumes that they might just take a liking to it and countless hours of being absent from oneself – is truly fascinating. And the conclusion of it all – the end product - is even more fulfilling.