<div>A recent NYT report talked about a scientific survey conducted among university graduates that concluded that writing about oneself and self-editing it leads to a change in behaviour. It makes one happier, improves one’s communication skills and may even result in longevity. Interesting. Not because I lack self-confidence or I’m low on self esteem. The report caught my eye because I too write about myself and edit it myself. While I don’t know if it has made me a happier and healthier person, I can see that it has certainly resulted in a change of behaviour in my readers.<br /><br />The writing bug hit me quite late in my life – in my 60s to be precise. It is said that the first work of an author is mostly autobiographical. This is no surprise as that is the ambience she is most familiar with – her family, friends and circle of relatives and acquaintances – and will be at utmost ease writing about. <br /><br />While some are happy to see themselves in print (in fact, some even solicit it), some are furious to see their family members, living or dead, involved. Some feel that the poetic licence has been abu-sed while some appreciate the modern outlook. When I discussed a real life-like situation using unabashedly stark language in my debut novella, my readers were shocked and embarrassed to share the book with their family and friends.<br /><br />Coming to the behaviour of my family. By the time I started writing, my children had all flown the coop. So, my husband – who read all my writings thought nothing of indulging me – would finance all my self-publishing ventures. But my economy-minded daughter – who thought nothing much of my writing (“I always speed-read your blogs”) – would insist that my ventures were a great drain on their parental inheritance and that I was exploiting their poor father. <br /><br />I do agree that spending on publishing my books is a one-way affair as nobody buys them. Moreover, I don’t blame my daughter for her low opinion of my skills. While editing my first book, she was driven up the wall so many times that she found it hard to come down for long after that. For my first son, the fact that his mom is an author is something he is proud of among his peers, though, as a matter of policy, he does not read a single line of what I write! My second son who is abroad takes interest in my writing, reads all my blogs and has helped me in publishing e-versions of my books. Probably, the distance lends charm even to his mom’s writings.<br /><br />Among siblings, I have lost all my brothers who, I am sure, would have been proud of my late emergence. My sisters have always actively encouraged me. Thank god for the social media, I have been able to build a network of like-minded friends, nieces, nephews, nieces-in law, nephews-in law who follow my writings faithfully. I feel doubly blessed when they recommend my writing to their friends and relatives (after they have read it).<br /><br />Thus, my hobby has kept me happy, cheerful, confident and sane and I may live long, too. But, I cannot guarantee the same for my readers. (Do I see any clumps of hair in your fists?)</div>
<div>A recent NYT report talked about a scientific survey conducted among university graduates that concluded that writing about oneself and self-editing it leads to a change in behaviour. It makes one happier, improves one’s communication skills and may even result in longevity. Interesting. Not because I lack self-confidence or I’m low on self esteem. The report caught my eye because I too write about myself and edit it myself. While I don’t know if it has made me a happier and healthier person, I can see that it has certainly resulted in a change of behaviour in my readers.<br /><br />The writing bug hit me quite late in my life – in my 60s to be precise. It is said that the first work of an author is mostly autobiographical. This is no surprise as that is the ambience she is most familiar with – her family, friends and circle of relatives and acquaintances – and will be at utmost ease writing about. <br /><br />While some are happy to see themselves in print (in fact, some even solicit it), some are furious to see their family members, living or dead, involved. Some feel that the poetic licence has been abu-sed while some appreciate the modern outlook. When I discussed a real life-like situation using unabashedly stark language in my debut novella, my readers were shocked and embarrassed to share the book with their family and friends.<br /><br />Coming to the behaviour of my family. By the time I started writing, my children had all flown the coop. So, my husband – who read all my writings thought nothing of indulging me – would finance all my self-publishing ventures. But my economy-minded daughter – who thought nothing much of my writing (“I always speed-read your blogs”) – would insist that my ventures were a great drain on their parental inheritance and that I was exploiting their poor father. <br /><br />I do agree that spending on publishing my books is a one-way affair as nobody buys them. Moreover, I don’t blame my daughter for her low opinion of my skills. While editing my first book, she was driven up the wall so many times that she found it hard to come down for long after that. For my first son, the fact that his mom is an author is something he is proud of among his peers, though, as a matter of policy, he does not read a single line of what I write! My second son who is abroad takes interest in my writing, reads all my blogs and has helped me in publishing e-versions of my books. Probably, the distance lends charm even to his mom’s writings.<br /><br />Among siblings, I have lost all my brothers who, I am sure, would have been proud of my late emergence. My sisters have always actively encouraged me. Thank god for the social media, I have been able to build a network of like-minded friends, nieces, nephews, nieces-in law, nephews-in law who follow my writings faithfully. I feel doubly blessed when they recommend my writing to their friends and relatives (after they have read it).<br /><br />Thus, my hobby has kept me happy, cheerful, confident and sane and I may live long, too. But, I cannot guarantee the same for my readers. (Do I see any clumps of hair in your fists?)</div>
