DREAM, DISCOVER, DEDUCE, DO

I was born with the proverbial "silver spoon". My father was in the top 10 list of tax payers in the country. Hardly anything to complain about. huh?

I had everything before I even knew I wanted it. I had the best of toys. I went to the best of schools. I went to the best shopping malls and had the best of vacations.

Simply put. I had everything. Is that so?

Everything but my individuality.

Expectations set on an only child of a high achieving father needs to be experienced to be understood. I was to attend business school. To be a successful business woman. Dressed smartly in designer business suits. Fly around the world in private jets to attend meetings and parties of the affluent.

But I wanted to write. To be a writer. I devoured books ever since I knew how to read. The library was my sanctum. I had written countless stories and was working on my own book.

I constanly complained to my mother. All she told me was, "look past your needs, and you will find what you are looking for. Look at what you have, and what others lack. Look into your heart, and then think with your brain."

I hardly saw my father, but met his reputation often. Where ever I went his reputation preceded me. And the result was that I never got an honest opinion about my writing.

Here I was, sitting in the waiting room of a publisher, waiting to hear the verdict on my work. I had lied about my name this time, hoping to get an actual opinion. As I waited, I looked outside the window, where, outside on the pavement sat a man without legs, mending shoes!! He could not wear shoes himself, but had the knowledge to mend shoes, and was helping people who needed shoes and making a living.

That's when I heard the sniggering and the subtle laughter. It was coming from behind where I was seated, from the cabin in which my manuscript was being read. Amidst the laughter I finally heard what I needed to hear for a long time coming. I was not good. I had no makings of a writer. Evidently my story lacked structure and was not going in any particular direction. The characters were sketchy. Essentially a big let down.

I sighed and looked around me. My eyes fell upon a guy who I have seen several times at several waiting rooms of publishers. His manuscript was all wrinkly from reading several times.

I suddenly knew what to do. I felt such a relief wash over me. I stepped out of the office and into the street, smiling to myself. As the wind blew on my face, I turned and looked at the lame cobbler. I never was meant to be a writer. I was going to be a publisher.

This post is for a prompt in the following link :

http://manjulikapramod.com/2013/08/28/contest-author-in-the-making-keep-your-fears-at-bay/#comment-6526