The making of a writer:

This could be a much hackneyed subject that almost anyone attempting to put some words in place must have mused or written about; nonetheless I choose to conceptualise through the palms of a writer in the making:

 Whether it is a writer in the making or an already established writer, what are the rudimentary traits for any person to be called a writer? I fully understand the fact that writing in its true verbal sense, does mean a continuous process; but does that necessarily need to be representative of  a writer at all times? What are the changes that a writer undergoes, rather what prompts the writer to pick up the pen as their medium of expression? Is there an obvious metamorphosis that could be traced or does he/she just write out of rote? How does one suavely dabble between prose and poetry? Why is writing poetry considered finding the easy way out, as opposed to its prosaic counterpart?

Writing is a means of catharsis to me and I believe that is how it is for most amateur writers too.  Writing is a purgation of emotions featuring shades of black, white and grey. Feeling plaintively lost amidst the gamut of noted writers and wordsmiths, yet clandestinely nursing the idea of being able to establish myself as a writer, I step into the premises of The British Council, for a 3-hour, creative writing workshop held by Ms.Nadifa Mohamed, a Granta award winning Somali-Brit novelist. Until then I had a blithe disregard about the nature of participants, for I was purely anxious about my plans for the future.  Points that were discussed in the gathering were from a plethora of plots: varying from spectrums like corruption, romance, short stories, fictional and non-fictional writing, et al. Some of the quick notes that I took down were about providing attention to detail, building elasticity with the characters we choose to depict. Quite an eye-opener of sorts this programme was to me, I only wish it was conducted for a longer duration.  I began shredding my ignorance right in that milieu, keeping my eyes and ears wide open for any cues that came my way.

Having attended the workshop, I would not call myself a renewed writing soul yet. The questions that I had in mind still loom large like thick clouds, awaiting a downpour. I hope to find answers to them in the days to come.