Everybody says I can Write

OK. Maybe not everybody, but certainly people around me think I can write. So much so that sometimes even I fall into the trap and start thinking that I can write.

O come on, I hardly can write!

For one, if I could write, I would have written a book by now. For sure.

Yes, I have an uncle who used to make caricatures. At the same time he was a poet too. And then, he started writing. Writing as in, he started writing books for children. First it was mostly stories, with illustrations all around, of course. And then, he got all those suggestions, and ideas, and he started writing non-fiction for children. Oops! Haven’t you heard of that? Well, non-fiction for children here are books that tell children what a bank is, what a post office is, or how a computer works. As I ‘write’ this, I can think of those books as children’s Wikipedia. Easy, Simple, Illustrated, and short. I mean, if you start telling someone how a bank works and what are their benefits to people and government, all those basics, how long would it take? A few pages. He wrote them, and they sold like anything. OK. Not like anything, but when I get to see the books by a Meerut author in Bangalore’s book festivals, he must be selling something.

So, the question is, what has this got to do with my writing? Well, the point I was trying to make is that my uncle writes so many books, my father has been published (my father writes small poems and sometimes stories too, you can also count most of the speeches I gave on Independence days and republic days and Gandhi Jayantis and even my debates during school) and as long as my mother had time to spare, she went on to give talks on AIR. To be very straightforward, I have been given numerous offers to write almost any type of book and I will be published, but…

I can’t write.

I sometimes blog (Should I count those reviews too as blogging? I don’t think so!) and somehow get a few hundred followers everyday for my so called blog where most of the visitors reach only because of my reviews, of albums, songs, and some movies. Even out of the remaining ‘blog’ posts, more than half are half-reports of what-happened-with-me-in-the-city. Rest half (or less than half) are, maybe, some writing.

OK. I guess, to some extent, I can write. But can I, really?

Tags: blabbering, Books, me