It was a normal day, the café bustling with customers. She ordered her coffee and sat down reading her book.
“Hey, aren’t you the writer who wrote about ‘The magic in you’?” the guy on the next table asked.
“Yes, I Am.” she said politely.
“So do you really believe that magic is real? I had heard that you had left writing. Where is the magic in that?” he asked with smirking interest.
She smiled and answered, “Isn’t magic real? The way a child looks at his ice cream or a 3 year old girl looks at her new pink frock. Of course magic is real! All you need is to believe that it is real. It can be found, bought and shared. Magic prevails in good times and in bad times, more so in bad times. Because, it is in those dark times that you at least have some hope. Hope to find that magic and hold on to it.
I for once know what magic feels like… just the way my fingers were tapping away happily on the keyboard to give words to my thoughts in the form of this novel that I am working on.
I was at a good place in my writing career. Thousands of copies sold. People knew my name. I was the local celebrity (at least, I think I was). I was happy. Content with what my life was. I was not doing any more hard work. I no more wrote for my happiness, but for the yield that it got me, for the fame.
I started losing grip on my writing. My stories no longer held soul. It did reach the mass but wasn’t accepted that much. My agent warned me about it but I kept ignoring because the projects were still flowing in.
Eventually, it so happened that due to the bad response to my writing, I lost my projects, people remembered me but as someone who used to write. It drove me insane, into the darkness. I no longer went out. I avoided any human interaction. I used to be cooped up in my room reading my past writings. It gave a bitter-sweet experience. I was both happy and sad reading them.
One day, exhausted from crying I started reading my writings (God knows for the umpteenth time). I got this insane idea of reading it from old to recent ones. I read and re-read it in the same pattern for hours at stretch. And finally with tired eyes I found the mistake that I had made. I had actually lost my charm, the essence of my writing. I read it from my reader’s perspective. I thought to myself, if I did not connect with my writing, how would the readers. I understood that lately my writing wasn’t about me anymore. It was about the fame. It shouted desperate call for fame. I started resenting myself. But I finally felt a little better that I at the very least had found the cause of my problems. The article ‘The magic in you’ particularly caught my eye. In my chasing the fame, I had forgotten about the magic. The magic I felt when I used to write, pick up a pen and write the first word in my notebook or the busy sound of the keyboard while I framed my articles.
I forgot the happiness of little things in life. How simple it is to be happy. I took time, but I did it right. I spent some time finding myself. I developed myself as a person. I indulged in reading, eating right, meditating and finally after a few days of work on myself, I felt ready to write again.
I was insanely happy when I opened my laptop to write what I had been thinking about. I called my agent and broke the news that I am writing again and that what I would be writing this time would be loved by all. He was happy and on-board with the idea I shared with him. I started writing and when not writing I spent time on myself, treating myself to the simple joys of life. But writing again was what filled my soul. I finally started feeling like a whole person. I realised it was necessary to have dark times to appreciate the light”
“So are you really okay now?” the guy asked. His smirk lost now, he was in awe by the gleam in her eyes she had when she talked about her writing.
She stood up, offered her hand to bid goodbye, smiled and said, “Completely. It was just a Hiccup.”