Sometimes I am scared of what I might become. What if I forget my modus operandi. Can an artist forget his trait?

I started off to be a writer, now an array of vocations caper about on my dashboard. The inclination towards direction affects my writing knack. Now when I write I am invariably thinking about turning it into a short film – A poem that can be imaged using cool graphics or music.

To some, this might sound like an inbred faculty, maybe strength too. Some are able to write only the things they have imagined before.

But they are not forever tacking it against a feature film in the making, right? When you try to impart it a visual imprint, you are not thinking the right words, but the right action. Your head is more concerned about how a particular scene should play out. You are not writing a character’s thoughts on paper, rather witnessing him merely brooding.

The latter is a brazen lie. That will not connect to the readers unless there is some good writing galvanized. That’s not the primary audience I crave for. Not the ears I want to whisper to. Not the hearts I want to speak to.

This very thing is nibbling on my art. But that’s not the only profession that poses a threat. There are multiple interests that I want to pursue. I want to turn all my hobbies into a tactile form. There is no point of moderation if you are not serious about all the things in your life.

I am running after things that are also taking me away from the things that I really want to abide by.

I hope writing sticks to me like second nature. That the moment I pick up a pen I am seamlessly able to paint a paper unashamedly. That it remains like a true old friend talking to whom feels like nothing has changed.