My Voice Cannot Be Replaced: A Writer’s Journey From Teenage Dreams To Debut Book
An unforeseen change in job security led author Anuja Varghese to ask herself what she can do that nobody can take away from her. Here, she discusses her journey back to writing.
Five years ago, I was not a writer. I had no published works to my name. I had no secret novel draft hiding in a drawer, waiting to be discovered. Sure, I had my degree in English literature from McGill University collecting dust somewhere. And I had my teenage dreams of becoming a bestselling author and living in a cool New York City loft (my understanding of writing royalties vs. Manhattan real estate was admittedly not great). Those dreams were still somewhere inside me, collecting dust too.
No, I was a woman in my 30s, with two small children and a mortgage. I was working a sensible job in middle management at a national health charity, doing a soul-sucking commute on the QEW every day. I had a great benefits package and a deep sense of boredom with my life. Sometimes I listed “creative writing” as a hobby, even though I hadn’t actually written anything creative in years.
Then one morning, I came into work to find my position had been “eliminated due to restructuring.” I was given a cardboard box in which to pack up my office and was unceremoniously sent home. After having a cry in my car, I got back on the highway, my box of plants and picture frames wedged in between the two car seats in the back. Somewhere along that drive, something inside me snapped.
I came to the harsh realization that I was utterly expendable. No matter what job I took next, I would remain replaceable. So, I asked myself: What is the thing that only I can do? The answer was writing. My voice—for better or worse—cannot be replaced. Even if it was an impractical dream, even if no one would ever read a word I wrote, even if it would never buy me a view of Central Park, I decided to write.
There is something terrifying and freeing in equal measure about putting a pen to paper (or fingers to the keyboard). The first story I wrote, about a woman contending with grief and desire, while living two different lives in Toronto and Montreal, was longlisted for a writing prize in a literary magazine. That story was the beginning of a five-year journey that has connected me with inspiring writing classes and workshops, my first publication in a literary journal and many that followed, and most importantly, a Canadian literary community where I have found kind and generous friends, colleagues, and mentors. And as I let all of that in, more and more stories came pouring out.
Today, I still have kids eating my fridge empty and bills to pay. I have a job I enjoy and I write in the (sometimes cramped) spaces between working and parenting. That first story of mine, about a woman in transformation, was called “Chrysalis” and it’s the very last story in my debut short story collection, also called—you guessed it—Chrysalis. The act of writing, of finding my voice and telling these stories, has transformed my life. And even if there are no bestseller lists or big city dreams in my literary future, as I hold my book in my hands, I cannot think of any better view than this.
Anuja Varghese is a writer and editor in Hamilton, Ontario. Her stories have been recognized in the PRISM International Short Fiction Contest and the Alice Munro Festival Short Story Competition and nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
