Saturday, August 21, 2010

The Confused Writer

She gazed into the computer screen perhaps for the hundredth time for that day. Still, the writer, in her, failed to type in an appealing tale. Her usual nature of writing has left her.

After a relaxing stroll in the garden, she settled back in the writing seat, believing the walk would have helped to relieve the tension, and allow free flow of ideas. She remembered how her friends came to the rescue with various topics. ‘Horoscope: Facts and Lies’ and ‘I am not writing a single article from today and how her witty fiancĂ© suggested that she should write about ‘How foreign tours are important for career development’, following her ruckus over his recent foreign tour. Finally, when she turned to her editor for salvation, she had other ideas and wanted her to write on something related to fashion.
Having spent the weekend with books,

 Katie Byron from The triumph of Katie Byron, Catherine Earnshaw, and Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, haunted her days and nights.

The moment the writer started working on the Fashion Article, she heard tiny voices speaking at the back of her mind. “You adore us a so much, don’t you? We well worth a mention in your writings too,” voices said. After that, concentrating on the fashion article became the toughest task of all. Giving that up, again she started soaring off towards idling.

Day became night. Still, slumped on the bed, she thought what she should write.
A minute or two might have passed; she realized that instead on her bed, she was sitting comfortably in the audience of a theater in New York! Wondering if she had gained magical powers to teleport, she looked around.

The stage curtain moved and a girl appeared behind it. “Janani, in vain you could not find a topic still!” she exclaimed.  Her beautiful pansy blue eyes sparkled like stars and her golden hair hung down her back. The writer could not believe her own eyes, Katie Byron stood before her! Her memory had disturbed the writer’s thoughts day and night. She realised that her figure matched well with the description gave in the book, making it easier to identify her as the writer wanted to give her deepest sympathies to Katie over Denise’s death. However, before that, stage lights dimmed and the writer disappeared from the theater. She fretted for not being able to reply Katie. Later, she prayed the girl would not think she is being impolite of her.

The next moment the writer found herself standing on an isolated hilltop, and the cold breeze made her body numb. She looked around, except for one or two trees here and there, the place looked empty and quiet. Within minutes, she realised wherever she was she was not alone. “I have more visitors,” thought the writer. Isn’t that the gorgeous, but pale looking girl, Catherine Earnshaw? Catherine had a company too: Heathcliff, the one to whom she loved dearly, but never married. The writer recognized the rough look Heathcliff gave her. However, the stare failed to frighten her.

“He cannot be cruel to me as he did to Isabella,” she argued. Foolishly, Isabella refused to believe the words of Catherine and Nelly about Heathcliff. She got herself into trouble on her own. Sometimes, the writer feels sorry for him too, though his cruelty destroyed a whole generation. The uneducated soul became a beast because of the love he had for Catherine.

With all struggles, poor Catherine had to embrace death in her young age. Amid these thoughts, the writer remembered Nelly’s words about the ghosts of Heathcliff and Catherine roaming around the hilltop. Hence, she decided to stay away from them.

However, she badly wanted to see the graveyard of Catherine, Linton (Catherine’s husband), and Heathcliff. The surroundings became darker, and it suggested an arrival of a storm. She hurried to the graveyard. Before she could reach there, she heard a big noise. The next minute, she found herself on the bed instead of the hilltop, and saw her books on the ground. Apparently, her thoughts during the sunlight hours had turned into a fantasy dream. At the end of the day, somehow she managed to write an article for publication.

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