Heena stared at the blank page on her screen. The cursor blinked back at her in an almost amused manner, as if to say, so you think you can really write something?
There was a time when this would have driven Heena to despair. A time when she would have bewailed her lack of creative abilities. But after thousands and thousands of drafts, Heena had attained the ability essential to being a writer. She was okay with writing imperfect first drafts.
So without overthinking it, Heena wrote what came to her mind. For some reason, it was a fat cat trying to jump from one cloud to the other. Heena let the fat cat take her along, not knowing where she was really going.
The pages began to fill up with rough sentences, imperfect metaphors and absurd twists. Fifteen minutes later, Heena took a break and stepped out of her apartment for a walk.
She walked down the narrow streets of Thane, filled with vegetable vendors, kids riding bicycles and retired senior citizens seated on benches, passionately arguing with each other. Heena let herself be immersed in the life around her. She had come to realize that she loved writing. But she also liked stepping away from it.
From school, college, job to job, her writing had been with her. She had worked as a teacher, as an NGO manager, as a sales representative and finally now in her forties, Heena again worked as a history teacher in a junior college. All through the journey, she had built her own world of stories. Some were silly, some were serious, though all were sincere.
After some twenty minutes, Heena made her way back to her apartment. It was the summer break at college but she still had some assignments to check. For now, the fat cat would have to wait.
Heena shuffled through the documents at her desk and methodically rated the assignments. In between, not able to resist the temptation, Heena checked her blog page. A few more people had read her stories, a few had commented even. But in no sense had Heena become a rock star of the literary world.
That was all right. Heena had come to understand that whether or not she became famous, there was one thing she would definitely do – Keep writing. As the teacher finished her assignments, the sun began its descent. In those gentle evening hours, Heena got back to her fat cat.
She didn’t know it as yet. But over the next few weeks, months and years, the fat cat’s tale would grow into an epic spanning a five-book series. The series would of course be rejected by leading publishers. Then an Indie publisher would half-heartedly give it a go. The first book would hardly be visible anywhere online or in stores. A few months later, a book reviewer would randomly stumble upon it at a street bookstall.
A book reviewer who happened to have 500 million followers on Instagram. From here, Heena Anwar’s life would change in a certain sense. She would be known as an Author.
But in another sense, some things remained the same.
A few years later, there she still was. In front of a blank page, with the cursor blinking at her in an amused manner, as if to say, so you think you can really write something?