A writer can craft a story out of his own imagination or he can use his writing as a form of expression that allows him to reveal his concealed emotions if there are any. A writer can manipulate you and win. A writer can shoo you away even when he loves you. A writer can help a true story surface and he can dupe you with false ones.
A writer, I accept, can be a fraud. He can tempt you with the art of knitting the words so majestically that he might revel in the glory of creating a masterpiece that wins someone. But that’s not why a writer writes.
Can I falsify my words to hide the rested emotions? Yes. Can I make a story out of my own mind and call it true? Yes. Can I spread a message of hatred or love whenever I want? Yes. A writer takes many forms. There will be victims.
However, the intentions of any true writer are so pure that he lays his heart down in whatever he writes. He is an open book, yet so closed. When the chords of a heart are struck, a writer is born.
A daydreamer who writes is born of imagination. He will create a world for you where you can take shelter when everyone walks out. He will not help you escape the pain, he will give you hope. Is there any nobler art form?
And while he can give hope in the most hopeless of times, he can steal it from you when there is actually some. As a writer, I know, there are so many times I let my own words break my hope even when there is some light. To save myself from the trauma of hoping and then watching it die, I have duped myself.
So many drafts disappear behind us every day to never be found again. There are stories which will stay wordless because they are so hard to express. And we will continue to write, so long as we can give you hope, even if we are so hopeless.
Yes, we are frauds.