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Ink and Paper

Ink and Paper

The best and worst parts about writing, or any other art form, are the same – you create your worlds and characters. On good days, there’s nothing more peaceful than wandering off into your daydreams and getting work done by doing so. On other days though, few things seem more daunting than a deadline and word count to meet; a ticking clock and a blank screen. 

The kettle went off, piercing through the silent gloom shrouding me. I lost myself in scattered thoughts even as I poured myself a cup of tea, traveling world by world, yet resolutely idle. Ensuring that my gaze carefully avoided the silver laptop placed on my desk in the center of my room, I took a seat by the window, overlooking the deserted street.

Signing up for a fiction writer for a popular online magazine had seemed like a good way to pass time and hone my skills four years ago, but that was before agents started approaching me with more and better offers. The novelty had worn off by now, writing seeming little more than a chore. There were two days till I had to turn in my last piece of the year – I had received this notification a week ago, and yet writer’s block remained my kryptonite.

I thought of every novel I had read, every fictional world I had visited, and still came up short as the beginnings of a headache made their way to my forehead. Heaving a sigh, I pulled up a blank document, typing out the first words:

“She picked up a pen and set it to paper, hand traveling swiftly across the page, left to right, words flowing in ink almost as if they were getting pulled by force.”

Too bland. I backspaced and started over. And over. And over. Several tries later, I finally knew what I wanted to write.

A resignation letter.

Once I finally started writing that, however, I thought of why I had started writing in the first place. It did not bring me the joy it once did. I reminisced about the characters I had conjured up, the nights I had stayed up just trying to get the words out, excitement over finally reaching the climax drowning out all other coherent musings.

I was ten when I first wrote something that received recognition – something I had scribbled within an hour, basing it off an incident that had occurred earlier in the week – fifteen when I started blogging and twenty when I began this job. This hobby had been an escape mechanism, a productive hobby, a safe space throughout my life.

Right now, though, I needed a reason to keep going, keep working towards achieving something, rather than sitting at home and sipping on tea all day.

Suddenly, almost as if I had an epiphany, adrenaline began coursing through me as I typed with direction for the first time tonight;

“The best and worst parts about writing, or any other art form, are the same – you create your worlds and characters…”


About The Author

Abrish Nayyar

Taking inspiration from fiction and life, I have been making stories up since she learned how to form sentences. I am an avid reader, with more words in my drafts than ever spoken out loud - unless you count the passionate rants on my favourite books and characters.