I broke into a new legal pad in A4 size yesterday. I bought it last year after being inspired by the law show The Good Wife, where the stationery would often distract me from the proceedings of the storyline. American legal pads, usually yellow in colour with, as I’ve been led to believe, a wide margin on the left as prescribed by a judge is a popular choice among many writers. You can find out more about its history here, but why I’ve shared my interest in the modest object with a nevertheless formidable association with the legal system is this – I busted it out in order to enjoy writing. Continue reading “Of Enjoying Writing (Part Two)”
Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. – Francis Bacon, ‘Of Studies’
I feel very, very old writing this. Like my soul is from the 1920s, but somehow it was transported into this lump of homo sapien, without any violent transmigratory process. The advantage of feeling this old inside, however, is that I can afford not to care. I can stand my ground, even if it is in my own head, and not buckle to current beliefs. Continue reading “In Defense of Writing”
I attended a writing workshop after a long, long time yesterday. I haven’t spoken favourably about them in the past, but that has more to do with the way I am than the way writing classes are generally conducted. I was relieved that I wasn’t asked the question, “Why do you want to write?” But, that was probably because of lack of time. Instead, we focused on writing itself. Not a how-to-write, but a more direct – write.
I panicked. I haven’t written much this year. I think it has to do with the fact that I’m getting older and I equate that with being more mature and how-I-hate-that-compound-word grown-up, which translates into the writing world as “write a book, you idiot.” That is it. I haven’t written much at all in 2018 because I’ve only wanted to write a book. Continue reading “Real Time Ramble: Writing and Creating”
Yeah, so one of my blog posts has been featured on Discover, here at WordPress. I’m not sure how that happened, but it is one of the best things to have happened to me in weeks! I don’t think my bit was traditionally inspirational, but I suppose my brand of writing inspiration is writing about, uh, not-writing. Whatever it is, as always, it’s you lovely people who make all this happen. You give so much, with very little effort on my part. I’m lucky to have you.
I have a bit of a storage issue. I have diaries lying around, written from the time I was sixteen till present-ish, that I don’t want to look at and don’t want to throw away either. I also have this fantasy/fear of dying before I’ve made up my mind about them, and suffering from post-mortem embarrassment when someone else reads them, if they can cognize my glorious handwriting, and laugh at my pathetic life. Believe me, those thousands of barely legible pages will not serve as inspiration for a moving eulogy. Continue reading “Of (Not) Writing A Diary”
I would like to say I don’t write, but the thing is, I can’t write. I can’t even manage a blog post these days, and that was a thing I thought I could do. Well, I like to believe I can, though it is rather humiliating to be asked Continue reading “Real Time Ramble: Not Writing”
Do I dare Disturb the universe? – T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Mildly Excited, Perfectly Content Person With Moderate Curiosity: Hey, Amrita, are you going to NaNo?
ME,PCPWMC: You know, NaNo? Like NaNoWriMo? Continue reading “Do I NaNoWriMo?”
It started with a dedication. We were on holiday in France. It was my first time there, and we spent most of it stuck in a hotel room, on account of getting sick from some terrible, as well as terribly posh, food. Mum was taking care of me, my sister Janey and dad. She was the only one who didn’t get sick, the only one who’d been there so many times that she knew what not to do. She was watching this show on a French music channel called C’est Pop. The French clearly fail their imagination when it comes to naming pop music shows.
He was there, the only man my mother told my dad she’d leave him for. Continue reading “Short Story: Strange Attraction”