To Ava
“You are Ava! I read your story. We, all six judges knew that your story deserved the First Prize.”
The girl, with a headful of braided Afro hair, wanted to crawl somewhere, hide under something, her eyes downcast, face touching her chest. Mom beamed and her teacher Mr. Somebody came and sat beside her with a proud smile.
“Ava, look at her. Say ‘Thank you’!” Her mom nudged and apologized, “So shy!”
“Shy people write best,” I said and left.
There is so much to this writing life. The writer self differs from the real one that the rest of the world sees. Ava is so shy in person but not on paper.
Her mom confessed later while she was not around, “God knows where she gets those ideas!” she rolled her eyes, “People who read her stories may think ‘Is the family okay, does her mom really abuse her like that and so...”. Mom giggled.
For that, she’d risk losing friends and loved ones. They would misunderstand her when her muse would take her by the hand to a mesmerizing world that doesn't exist for the others. She’d forget her known world, abandon her close ones, lose herself to that imaginary world.. She might try to create that world she'd experienced for them later but no one would understand.
And when she gets to the top, become the best author or so, many of her friends would curl their lips “I could write that too, only if I had given a chance!”
Ava, you’re on the right track not letting yourself blown away with prizes and awards, compliments and kudos. You don’t want to spoil your writer’s soul with rewards and praises or crush it with neglect, silence and harsh criticisms. Your writer- soul is much pure and delicate. Protect it, my young friend. Polish it alone. It’s a solitary thing.
Write away, my dear girl. Young writer, tell us the stories of those who are suffering and we are not hearing. Bring hope to the world with your words for you have the softness in your heart to feel, the strength in your voice to speak up and the gift in your pen.
Crawl inside your shell if that be a better shelter for you to thrive. I am waiting!
It was wonderful yesterday honoring the young writers at the Young Authors’ Prize ceremony. I met Ava, the girl who wrote a story about an autistic brother and a sister. I told her while handing her the name tag,
“You are Ava! I read your story. We, all six judges knew that your story deserved the First Prize.”
The girl, with a headful of braided Afro hair, wanted to crawl somewhere, hide under something, her eyes downcast, face touching her chest. Mom beamed and her teacher Mr. Somebody came and sat beside her with a proud smile.
“Ava, look at her. Say ‘Thank you’!” Her mom nudged and apologized, “So shy!”
“Shy people write best,” I said and left.
There is so much to this writing life. The writer self differs from the real one that the rest of the world sees. Ava is so shy in person but not on paper.
Her mom confessed later while she was not around, “God knows where she gets those ideas!” she rolled her eyes, “People who read her stories may think ‘Is the family okay, does her mom really abuse her like that and so...”. Mom giggled.
I know exactly what she means and to some extent how Ava feels. While she needs to let those imaginary characters free of her rib cage, she will also have to think how it may impact her close relatives or friends especially if she writes in the first person. Or in memoir form. Many things would be vividly true while much just made up, lies. She’d have to weave lies to tell the truth. That’s her obligation as a writer.
For that, she’d risk losing friends and loved ones. They would misunderstand her when her muse would take her by the hand to a mesmerizing world that doesn't exist for the others. She’d forget her known world, abandon her close ones, lose herself to that imaginary world.. She might try to create that world she'd experienced for them later but no one would understand.
And when she gets to the top, become the best author or so, many of her friends would curl their lips “I could write that too, only if I had given a chance!”
Ava, you’re on the right track not letting yourself blown away with prizes and awards, compliments and kudos. You don’t want to spoil your writer’s soul with rewards and praises or crush it with neglect, silence and harsh criticisms. Your writer- soul is much pure and delicate. Protect it, my young friend. Polish it alone. It’s a solitary thing.
Write away, my dear girl. Young writer, tell us the stories of those who are suffering and we are not hearing. Bring hope to the world with your words for you have the softness in your heart to feel, the strength in your voice to speak up and the gift in your pen.
Crawl inside your shell if that be a better shelter for you to thrive. I am waiting!
..
