Terra incognita
A year ago,when I started writing for this blog,I was filled with enthusiasm.The articles were spontaneous,the writing was effortless and I heard good things from my readers.One year later,I still write as much as I used to.But at times I wonder:Is my writing still good? Does it have the spark that it originally had? (On darker nights,the question changes to Did it ever have any spark at all to begin with?:P) Or has it lost all flavor and turned into drab,meaningless monotony?
The questions echo back to me unanswered.I cannot judge my own writing.Till sometime back,I thought people's opinions were something to go by.I listened to what my close friends would say about my articles,trusting them to be honest.The feedback used to puzzle me,because one friend would tactfully tell me:I don't think this was your best work while another would gleefully exclaim:Oh,I loved this one.It's just amazing.Of course,the answer is simple:People can look at my work as outsiders,but objectivity is still unattainable.
If someone likes a particular article,it means that they could relate to it very well.It resonated perfectly with them.And if someone didn't,they had no clue of what I was talking about.Again,not a yardstick I'd use to measure.(Imagine,what if someone was eccentric enough that no one could relate to what they were saying? Could happen right?Doesn't mean he/she is not good!)
But then,what else can I possibly do? Observation itself is not free from error.All I can try to do is to correct the measurement accounting for the error. :)
So I keep writing each time an idea gnaws at me.I tell myself neither to get overtly happy when my readers praise my writing,nor disheartened when they criticize.Equanimity.Because I write to do justice to my thoughts.To myself.While I would love for people to relate to the content and appreciate it,I must never forget that it isn't my primary motive.
My writing will always be a land whose landscape I shall never really know,but only see as blurred reflections on turbulent waters.Shrouded in thick mists of uncertainty.Terra incognita!
The questions echo back to me unanswered.I cannot judge my own writing.Till sometime back,I thought people's opinions were something to go by.I listened to what my close friends would say about my articles,trusting them to be honest.The feedback used to puzzle me,because one friend would tactfully tell me:I don't think this was your best work while another would gleefully exclaim:Oh,I loved this one.It's just amazing.Of course,the answer is simple:People can look at my work as outsiders,but objectivity is still unattainable.
If someone likes a particular article,it means that they could relate to it very well.It resonated perfectly with them.And if someone didn't,they had no clue of what I was talking about.Again,not a yardstick I'd use to measure.(Imagine,what if someone was eccentric enough that no one could relate to what they were saying? Could happen right?Doesn't mean he/she is not good!)
But then,what else can I possibly do? Observation itself is not free from error.All I can try to do is to correct the measurement accounting for the error. :)
So I keep writing each time an idea gnaws at me.I tell myself neither to get overtly happy when my readers praise my writing,nor disheartened when they criticize.Equanimity.Because I write to do justice to my thoughts.To myself.While I would love for people to relate to the content and appreciate it,I must never forget that it isn't my primary motive.
My writing will always be a land whose landscape I shall never really know,but only see as blurred reflections on turbulent waters.Shrouded in thick mists of uncertainty.Terra incognita!
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