How does one become an author? Is it a journey that can be charted, with fixed points to mark the way? Or is it from a string of moments that blend, one into the other....seemingly disparate at first, but all leading to a point of culmination....into something that begs to be remembered, to be captured, to be posterized?
This is a question which does not truly need an answer because it is only a means to talk about something that's come about in Winkie's world. That he is now writing, and furiously. That his love for Harry Potter is expressing itself into the words of a sequel that he uses to indulge further, into this pleasurable fantasy land or witchcraft and wizardry. That it takes up where the last book left off , with Harry all grown up and with children and quite unaware that a new threat is rising....that Voldemort actually has ancestors, who might want to assume the mantle of his legacy of terror and destruction. Enough said, else I might give the whole plot away.
Suffice it to say that for 30 minutes every morning before school, and for 30 minutes after, and for every snatch of 5 or 10 minutes in between, Winkie works on his novel. And has earned himself the title of arthur from his brother, who with just that one word has shown that parts of his babyhood still remain with him. That all is not grown up. :)
As a fond, clucking mother, I feel like indulging in those little vapour moments, seemingly disparate in their connections that may have secretly led to this point, when the torrent of words is flowing. I think back to his days of self publishing books....of Indra and the rain story. And how many a staples were used to bind together that torrential shower. I think back to a writing workshop he attended last summer, with a friend, who believes that words are fun and can dance at your fingertips, should you make the effort to make friends with them. And infuses her students with a love for it. There must have been some of that still in him. I think of the fun writing class he attends every week before school. And how in the very first class, they had an idea relay, where one child wrote a sentence, and the next child built on it and so on, until they had this really zany story at the end, where everything crazy was suddenly possible, with all their collective ideas.
I think of my own story writing attempts from a week ago, just in time for Halloween, and how he was fascinated with how I had done it on Word, with underlines and bold fonts, and he wanted to use Word too....to write his own story. Ah!!! That is the point that set it all in motion, giving everything else hiding under the soil a chance to germinate. And how he literally took off from there...how making the time to write was effortless, because there was passion preceding it. When you love something, you will make the effort for it, come hell or high water. It's as simple as that.
As simple as it was for us to come up with a pen name for him. Jaggery Bigsy Jenkins.
Jaggery...because I had nicked him that a few weeks ago. To remind him to go back to the sweet version of his self, whenever he felt very little like it. The condition was that every time I called him Jaggery, he would have to smile, no matter what. And he does.
Bigsy...because he's the bigger boy of the house....by virtue of birth order, and other things too.
Jenkins...because it goes with the Jaggery before it. Say it together and it makes sense.
The Bigsy was an insert for middle name status. Together, they create quirk and interest. In my head, at least. :)
And so....the arthur writes. While I tussle with complex thoughts of how I will go through the editing process. And weigh needless, but still fun questions of whether his script should be untouched for publishing, or he be exposed to all the processes involved in the writing schema. Because, Christmas is coming around and I would like it make a gift of it for him. Because he anticipates being done in a month. Because it will be fun to see a title to your name. Because, it would make a cute coffee table book. And because every arthur, no matter how small, deserves to be in print, for the sheer courage of attempt and initiative.