Dear M,
I know a youngster who has a blog. He must be around eleven years old and his blog is around one. He does not write regularly, his new blog pops up once in two or three months. But when he does write, the result is generally very funny or interesting or thought-provoking. Sometimes he writes science fiction using his favourite characters, and I cannot make head or tail of it. All I see is that his language is good. For a eleven year old, I call it terrific.
I think it is great that he has this platform to write. This is an age where writing (like everything else) can blossom. Or fade. In our youth, we did not have anything remotely similar, of course. Writing, like sports, was probably not encouraged either, because it brings in no money. Until you become successful, you are seen as a huge waste of everyone's time.
Many of us did not take writing seriously or did not even know that we could be writers until we were deep into adulthood. We never noticed the scribblings we did or shared them with others. By the time we were ready, by the time we were old enough to ask ourselves what our purpose in life was, by the time we noticed that writing seems to be our forte, half our life was behind us. Then all we could do was panic for some time, and make the best of the remaining time that is allotted to us.
This child I am talking about is encouraged greatly by his family to write. In all possible ways. This probably drives him more than he would admit (or know). There are a handful of folk waiting to read him. This could probably put him off after a while too, the pressure of expectations, though I sincerely hope not. If he gives up writing of his own accord, it is another thing. I am eager to know where he goes from here. How much farther this spark would take him, how he would choose between his interest for music and sports and games and reading and writing and science. (His blog is currently private and shared with only a few, so I am not posting the link here.)
Love.
I know a youngster who has a blog. He must be around eleven years old and his blog is around one. He does not write regularly, his new blog pops up once in two or three months. But when he does write, the result is generally very funny or interesting or thought-provoking. Sometimes he writes science fiction using his favourite characters, and I cannot make head or tail of it. All I see is that his language is good. For a eleven year old, I call it terrific.
I think it is great that he has this platform to write. This is an age where writing (like everything else) can blossom. Or fade. In our youth, we did not have anything remotely similar, of course. Writing, like sports, was probably not encouraged either, because it brings in no money. Until you become successful, you are seen as a huge waste of everyone's time.
Many of us did not take writing seriously or did not even know that we could be writers until we were deep into adulthood. We never noticed the scribblings we did or shared them with others. By the time we were ready, by the time we were old enough to ask ourselves what our purpose in life was, by the time we noticed that writing seems to be our forte, half our life was behind us. Then all we could do was panic for some time, and make the best of the remaining time that is allotted to us.
This child I am talking about is encouraged greatly by his family to write. In all possible ways. This probably drives him more than he would admit (or know). There are a handful of folk waiting to read him. This could probably put him off after a while too, the pressure of expectations, though I sincerely hope not. If he gives up writing of his own accord, it is another thing. I am eager to know where he goes from here. How much farther this spark would take him, how he would choose between his interest for music and sports and games and reading and writing and science. (His blog is currently private and shared with only a few, so I am not posting the link here.)
Love.
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