Letter from Lake Como
1 week ago
Showing posts with label Writing career. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing career. Show all posts
On Growing Old
I turned 24 years old today. This obvious marker of my days spent here in this world somehow brings a sense of loss. There's a loss of time, a loss of things that once were and would never be again the same. It forced me to look at those old pictures of me, when I was young and happy, only an year ago, and that certainly brings a temporary gush of happiness.
I don't know why but this huge, pale cloud has cast a shadow over my faculties since I woke up in the morning. I can't seem to find the source of the mist that has darkened my sky. There is this strong sense of being lost, or loosing something that was perhaps within my grasp. Why haven't I achieved those lofty goals that I've always aimed for? Or, why, if I have achieved them albeit partially, I don't feel glad about it? Importantly, why can't I simply cherish what I have?
The above is of course the first reason that has triggered my emotional self and allowed me to deviate from my busy schedule and write a post. And the second is possibly the busy schedule itself. Yes, I think the regularity of my work routine even on my auspicious, 'happy b'day' has a hand in spoiling it somewhat. Of all the days, at least to-day I should do what I scarcely find time do it, and not read these darn scientific articles! To hell with them.
Ah! I shall read a book. A fine book it shall be. Gifted by my dear sibling, 'Ernest Hemingway on writing', my b'day present. The finest of all.
(Having written this, I feel much better. Writing is certainly a potent remedy for all kinds of sickness.)
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Current Book: Ernest Hemingway on Writing
Current Music: 'Bad Romance' by Lady Gaga (Happy b'day Gaga. <3)
I don't know why but this huge, pale cloud has cast a shadow over my faculties since I woke up in the morning. I can't seem to find the source of the mist that has darkened my sky. There is this strong sense of being lost, or loosing something that was perhaps within my grasp. Why haven't I achieved those lofty goals that I've always aimed for? Or, why, if I have achieved them albeit partially, I don't feel glad about it? Importantly, why can't I simply cherish what I have?
The above is of course the first reason that has triggered my emotional self and allowed me to deviate from my busy schedule and write a post. And the second is possibly the busy schedule itself. Yes, I think the regularity of my work routine even on my auspicious, 'happy b'day' has a hand in spoiling it somewhat. Of all the days, at least to-day I should do what I scarcely find time do it, and not read these darn scientific articles! To hell with them.
Ah! I shall read a book. A fine book it shall be. Gifted by my dear sibling, 'Ernest Hemingway on writing', my b'day present. The finest of all.
(Having written this, I feel much better. Writing is certainly a potent remedy for all kinds of sickness.)
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Current Book: Ernest Hemingway on Writing
Current Music: 'Bad Romance' by Lady Gaga (Happy b'day Gaga. <3)
"Nascent passion": My entry for the Get Published contest
The Idea
The story is about a young couple, new to the world of dating whose love is portrayed in the very urban times of India. Every event in the story, ranging from their first meeting to their first kiss is a moment of thrill for them. The story highlights the development of nascent passion in two younglings which grows into an uncontrolled vista of love.
What Makes This Story ‘Real’
It’s a story that a close friend has narrated to me, and I was able to build upon some parts of it.
The story is about a young couple, new to the world of dating whose love is portrayed in the very urban times of India. Every event in the story, ranging from their first meeting to their first kiss is a moment of thrill for them. The story highlights the development of nascent passion in two younglings which grows into an uncontrolled vista of love.
What Makes This Story ‘Real’
It’s a story that a close friend has narrated to me, and I was able to build upon some parts of it.
Extract
His vibrating cellphone under the pillow blurred his dreams and woke him into the reality. The scratched screen blinked madly and revealed 3:51 A.M.
It was time.
He rubbed his eyes, exited his comforter with much effort, and placed his feet on the floor below with a quick swinging motion to jolt himself up. The floor felt cold, even through his woolen socks. Grimacing, he threw back a handful of hair that blocked his vision and staggered towards the door.
Outside, the hostel's corridor was desolate with most of the hostellers deep in sleep with their rooms locked and lights off. Some of the rooms were still lit as their doors were lined with yellow light, pushing itself out in the dark night. Newspapers, soda cans swept the corridor that led to the bathroom. He almost made his mind to go back at once and rest a bit more. He finished on phone with her last night around 2 A.M. He needed more sleep.
But no, he went on. He began with brushing. And brushed twice. It mattered. There was no hot water for him to take a bath in this cold weather. He could try to check the geysers on other floors of the hostel but he was getting late. It was 4:20 A.M. and the direct bus to his dating destination left in a couple of minutes from now. And cold water, was what, he poured on his bare chest.
Carefully checking around four times that he had picked all the gifts that he need to carry with him, he bolted his door and nearly ran to the hostel's exit. The guard lay snoring on his seat and took no notice as a shadow passed into the night. (Story continues here)
Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal andHarperCollins India.
If you like the idea, please like it here! http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/idea/283
Ayn Rand: An Ideal Remembered
I close friend of mine recently
gifted me a documentary on Ayn Rand, and I decided to watch it this hot
afternoon. As I got myself ready in a plush chair while the DVD churned in the laptop
with considerable noise, I tried to remember why in the past 2 years I had
almost forgotten everything about Rand and her writing?
At the time I had read Rand
(Fountainhead & Atlas Shrugged), I was quite in love with it. My eyes were
not keen enough to notice the wooden prose and straightforward style then, but
my own intellect was alighted with passion. Rand, to me, was and is a great
philosopher and story teller - her strong sense of characterization and
portrayal of human reason & emotion is soul piercing. She is definitely not a
literary genius as the ones that I’ve been reading in the past year – but that
being said, she had a great influence on me as a person. But also, I wouldn't
like to say that I am molded by her philosophy, because that's not the truth.
The reason I like her so much is that she was one of the first and perhaps very
few persons whom I have met, who happen to think quite exactly as I do. She fought for the same things that I've strived for. The importance of individual.
I remember, reading through parts
of Fountainhead and Atlas, I had almost cried. Because in those moments, I was
suddenly not alone. I had a feeling that there was someone else in the world,
who felt the same, who felt quite exactly the same. That one can’t be servile to other. That one has a right to one’s own
happiness. And now watching her documentary brought all those passionate
memories back to me. That Ayn Rand phase of my life. How did I forget all about
it?
It was also pleasantly surprising
to know that in childhood Rand was quite anti-social, and did not have friends.
It helps me to know that I have not been the only one living life in solace.
And her ideas of Capitalism and selfish reason have never failed to rouse me. It's
not surprising to see that her novels are on top list of modern library's
readers’ choice (#1 and #2). For some reason, I've hopped on to pursuing the board's list
on the left lately. But I have always wanted to find a guy like Roark; I never
saw him so far, and perhaps will never be able to. I doubt if such a person
exists. The world of Ayn Rand and her great men are now left behind in my
memory. But why?
Oh yes, now I remember why I had
forgotten all about Ayn Rand in those past years. Because you don't often are
conscious of the ideals you inherently follow. You just believe. Because you don't count every
breath you take. You just breathe.
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Current Book: "Mrs. Dalloway" by Virginia Woolf (Read Woolf and go to bed. Nothing more could be blissful.)
Current Music: "Titanium" by David Guetta ft. Sia (I listen to this when I'm feeling low)
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Current Book: "Mrs. Dalloway" by Virginia Woolf (Read Woolf and go to bed. Nothing more could be blissful.)
Current Music: "Titanium" by David Guetta ft. Sia (I listen to this when I'm feeling low)
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The Art of Writing: Short Stories vs Novel
Unfortunately, this post is not a comparison between the two art forms of writing, but merely a brief pondering upon the subject in consideration.
I've always believed (having read more short stories than novels) that short stories are somehow, sometimes more effective than novels. They can leave you stunned in a matter of minutes, while the overall effect of a novel is slow and gradual. For comparison, consider the effect of a sharp, piercing arrow against a slow, heavy club. (Of course, it also depends on the kind of novels you read - for this is no absolute generalization)
However, keeping apart the facts and conflicting views, my point behind this post is, basically, I was really touched by this short story I read last night, and I'd like to make a fuss about it. So much it touched me that, when I was on the last page of it, I was trembling with emotion, eyes heavy and ready to pour out any moment, accompanied with a heart beat that I've experienced only on rare occasions of extreme physical exercise. And so moved I was when the story ended, that I sat in silence staring out of my bedroom window into the grim, darkening night.
It ought to be remembered that in creating a short story, a writer has to put an immense amount of effort, if not as great as a novel but still considerable and at times even more. A writer has to setup an entire character and the entire plot just for a particular short story, the materials then would be discarded and pretty useless for the writer's next story. And it doesn't ofcourse earn that much bread as a novel could. And then, the required brevity can be painful at times, when you're forced to tell everything in a very restricted length, whereas in a novel, you're free to meander and develop the characters and plot from all angles if you like, whether you must or must not, it doesn't matter.
And the best thing I like about reading short stories, and mostly the precious anthologies, is their effective edification. I feel as I've extracted the juice from a potent fruit, and had the essence of learning the art of writing, in a quick manner, without investing myself or my time excessively in a narrow genre. So instead of reading fat novels on selected genres, I like to read many short stories on diverse genres. This way, even though it's superficial, you glide through realms of literature faster. And in the end, you can always settle down on what you liked the most, and then pick the big fat books from there. Counterintuitively, poetry being much more concise, can actually be much more time consuming and difficult to understand. So poetry is perhaps not a good start, but you can work your way into it - and it highly depends on which century's poetry you're starting with. Well, I'm drifting from the topic, poetry is for another blog post perhaps.
Anyway, the more I read, the more I find, that I'm merely on the brink of my initial survey, I still haven't found my so-called 'genre'. Here's the sci-fi story(The Bone Flute by Lisa Tuttle) that I've been ranting about. It won 1982 Nebula Award for Best Short Story.
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Current Book: "The Female Hero" An anthology on literary quests of females
Current Music: "Imagine The Fire" by Hanz Zimmer (best thing on the music planet out there)
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I've always believed (having read more short stories than novels) that short stories are somehow, sometimes more effective than novels. They can leave you stunned in a matter of minutes, while the overall effect of a novel is slow and gradual. For comparison, consider the effect of a sharp, piercing arrow against a slow, heavy club. (Of course, it also depends on the kind of novels you read - for this is no absolute generalization)
However, keeping apart the facts and conflicting views, my point behind this post is, basically, I was really touched by this short story I read last night, and I'd like to make a fuss about it. So much it touched me that, when I was on the last page of it, I was trembling with emotion, eyes heavy and ready to pour out any moment, accompanied with a heart beat that I've experienced only on rare occasions of extreme physical exercise. And so moved I was when the story ended, that I sat in silence staring out of my bedroom window into the grim, darkening night.
It ought to be remembered that in creating a short story, a writer has to put an immense amount of effort, if not as great as a novel but still considerable and at times even more. A writer has to setup an entire character and the entire plot just for a particular short story, the materials then would be discarded and pretty useless for the writer's next story. And it doesn't ofcourse earn that much bread as a novel could. And then, the required brevity can be painful at times, when you're forced to tell everything in a very restricted length, whereas in a novel, you're free to meander and develop the characters and plot from all angles if you like, whether you must or must not, it doesn't matter.
And the best thing I like about reading short stories, and mostly the precious anthologies, is their effective edification. I feel as I've extracted the juice from a potent fruit, and had the essence of learning the art of writing, in a quick manner, without investing myself or my time excessively in a narrow genre. So instead of reading fat novels on selected genres, I like to read many short stories on diverse genres. This way, even though it's superficial, you glide through realms of literature faster. And in the end, you can always settle down on what you liked the most, and then pick the big fat books from there. Counterintuitively, poetry being much more concise, can actually be much more time consuming and difficult to understand. So poetry is perhaps not a good start, but you can work your way into it - and it highly depends on which century's poetry you're starting with. Well, I'm drifting from the topic, poetry is for another blog post perhaps.
Anyway, the more I read, the more I find, that I'm merely on the brink of my initial survey, I still haven't found my so-called 'genre'. Here's the sci-fi story(The Bone Flute by Lisa Tuttle) that I've been ranting about. It won 1982 Nebula Award for Best Short Story.
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Current Book: "The Female Hero" An anthology on literary quests of females
Current Music: "Imagine The Fire" by Hanz Zimmer (best thing on the music planet out there)
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The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James: A Terrific Masterpiece
I first came across Henry James through his short story "The Madonna of the Future", which I had found so splendid and touching that I had made a decision that 'One day I shall pursue a novel by James', for his longer works are known to be quite long (but perhaps not as difficult as those of Joyce, Woolf or Faulkner), but nevertheless, since I'm often too picky about what I read, I had not ventured upon James so far.
And this summer, almost a month ago, I came across "The Potrait of a Lady" and gathered courage and time to read the 600 page mammoth. And today, when I'm finally done with it, I don't really feel I'm done with it. The world of the protagonist, Isabell Archer, is still vivid in my mind. The troubles of Americans and Europeans, and the mingling of their cultures, is neverending. And the most beautiful thing about the novel? It's the beauty of the portrait James paints as a true artist. He shows what a lady is and, is perhaps, supposed to be, in the times the novel is set. His multiple page long descriptions of the psychological working of a character's brain mesmerizes me to a trance of appreciation, appreciation of himself and his genius as a writer.
The reason I say a "terrific" masterpiece is open to interpretation because there might be readers who may not like the novel, for digging through it's prose is not fun. But I must say, it may not be exciting, it is indeed rewarding. The sense of accomplishment and learning that you gain from it as a reader and a writer, is infinite. So if you're up for some hard core workout, and have a plenty of free time, pick it up, otherwise go around, have some light warm-up with other books, but do come back to James one day, eventually, as I did.
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Current Book: "For The Love of Physics" by Walter Lewin (Hehe, this one, just for fun. And I need a break too. :D)
Current Music: "Why Do We Fall" by Hans Zimmer, The Dark Knight Rises OST (@The world, are you ******* ready for this biggest, global phenomenon next week?)
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And this summer, almost a month ago, I came across "The Potrait of a Lady" and gathered courage and time to read the 600 page mammoth. And today, when I'm finally done with it, I don't really feel I'm done with it. The world of the protagonist, Isabell Archer, is still vivid in my mind. The troubles of Americans and Europeans, and the mingling of their cultures, is neverending. And the most beautiful thing about the novel? It's the beauty of the portrait James paints as a true artist. He shows what a lady is and, is perhaps, supposed to be, in the times the novel is set. His multiple page long descriptions of the psychological working of a character's brain mesmerizes me to a trance of appreciation, appreciation of himself and his genius as a writer.
The reason I say a "terrific" masterpiece is open to interpretation because there might be readers who may not like the novel, for digging through it's prose is not fun. But I must say, it may not be exciting, it is indeed rewarding. The sense of accomplishment and learning that you gain from it as a reader and a writer, is infinite. So if you're up for some hard core workout, and have a plenty of free time, pick it up, otherwise go around, have some light warm-up with other books, but do come back to James one day, eventually, as I did.
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Current Book: "For The Love of Physics" by Walter Lewin (Hehe, this one, just for fun. And I need a break too. :D)
Current Music: "Why Do We Fall" by Hans Zimmer, The Dark Knight Rises OST (@The world, are you ******* ready for this biggest, global phenomenon next week?)
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What are we writing?
While the context of this post might appear similar to something I posted recently and thus this piece is highly prone to being considered as another load of extra kilobytes on the fattening Internet, I'll not make any point in it's defense, accepting that yes I didn't have anything special to write this time (so I thought why not give some banal lecture on writing), except that I'd like to make one excuse for this post's existence by saying that this useless piece is indeed going to make a useful point on the art of writing.
My point, never write pieces which are of no use or never write without a purpose.
We often (at least me) find ourselves in a situation when we yield, "Oh that, oh no, no, no, that was just for fun. I mean, I wasn't really serious about it while writing it, you just wait for my next story, or my next book."
Well, first of all, if we're lying, it's better we start acting (if not actually being) modest right away, and if are previously novel/story/work-of-art sucked, we should accept the fact right away, keeping in mind that at least our art and our style has improved, allowing us to criticize our works of past. We all try to be cool and hide our flaws, and try to make people believe that we're actually smarter than we appear but it's just that we didn't feel like putting all our smartness out there because we're feeling lazy or something. Yeah sure, I buy that. The truth being - we did the best we could at that point of time, and that's how it was, and we should still be proud of it - especially if it's an art form we worship.
But, but, if we're not lying, then we better be damned. That shows, we purposely invested lesser effort in an art form we love - wasted our time, and then hoped to dominate the world (which didn't quite work), and then on top of all that, we even lost our modesty. Pshaw! Shame! If you love something, why would you make a half-assed effort on it? It almost sounds like making love without passion.
So remember, writers, readers, no matter what you do in life, do it fully, do something which you'll be proud of in the years to come (especially if you have grand illusions in life - like me). If you write something, put your best foot in making sure it shines as bright as hot steel. The first drafts are often in bad shape, they need to be hammered and chipped to perfection.
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Current Book: "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James
Current Music: "Where have you been" by Rihanna (Okay, this one is killing me. <3 Rihanna)
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My point, never write pieces which are of no use or never write without a purpose.
We often (at least me) find ourselves in a situation when we yield, "Oh that, oh no, no, no, that was just for fun. I mean, I wasn't really serious about it while writing it, you just wait for my next story, or my next book."
Well, first of all, if we're lying, it's better we start acting (if not actually being) modest right away, and if are previously novel/story/work-of-art sucked, we should accept the fact right away, keeping in mind that at least our art and our style has improved, allowing us to criticize our works of past. We all try to be cool and hide our flaws, and try to make people believe that we're actually smarter than we appear but it's just that we didn't feel like putting all our smartness out there because we're feeling lazy or something. Yeah sure, I buy that. The truth being - we did the best we could at that point of time, and that's how it was, and we should still be proud of it - especially if it's an art form we worship.
But, but, if we're not lying, then we better be damned. That shows, we purposely invested lesser effort in an art form we love - wasted our time, and then hoped to dominate the world (which didn't quite work), and then on top of all that, we even lost our modesty. Pshaw! Shame! If you love something, why would you make a half-assed effort on it? It almost sounds like making love without passion.
So remember, writers, readers, no matter what you do in life, do it fully, do something which you'll be proud of in the years to come (especially if you have grand illusions in life - like me). If you write something, put your best foot in making sure it shines as bright as hot steel. The first drafts are often in bad shape, they need to be hammered and chipped to perfection.
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Current Book: "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James
Current Music: "Where have you been" by Rihanna (Okay, this one is killing me. <3 Rihanna)
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Awards and stuff
So this is a totally useless post for this week so you may not really need to read it if you're looking for something which you usually look for when you visit this blog. However, if you happen to like me and are in the bandwagon of those silent yet loyal followers who are often curious to know how my life is screwing up as a function of time, you're welcome to stay.
So lately, I was given this blog award and all and am pretty much new n excited towards this stuff. I guess this isn't that huge a deal in the blogosphere but I guess it's a nice gesture especially when it is done to a lesser creature like us. So here we do the formalities for acceptance of Liebster award (I first thought I got a free lobster or something but no, no free food here)
So, thanks Devan for this kind gesture.
And now I guess I've to pass it on to five beloved bloggers. And that put me in lot of trouble first because I think I love nobody and then at the same time I love everyone a lot but only in exact same proportion. But then it occurred to me, there have been some regular people commenting on my rants and possibly in some deep, dark corner of my heart they are the most beloved to me. So naturally award goes to them (in no particular order) (really sorry if I missed some1, am very sleepy at this moment):
Shreya, at Life Unlimited
Subho
Neeraj, at Probing Life
Kirklops, at Interstate 42
Rangr, at Intasa
These people are kind of just awesome. Thanks for visiting here and making your presence felt guys because it makes my day. It really does.
And on other news on my life, this week I'm travelling for the ultimate PhD interview in a university which is supposedly #1 in my specialization in US. I'm pretty tensed. I'll share the details of the event live from their campus soon next week.
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Current Book: "Selected Stories" by Edgar Allan Poe
Current Music: "Tanha Dil.. Tanha Safar.." by Shaan
How serious you're about writing?
Well, so I've been thinking there's a whole bunch of us, struggling writers, random bloggers, horsing around on the Internet. We spend time creating identities, looking for our own identities and god knows what else we're looking for all the time in the address bar of our browsers. I mean, there's a fair amount of writing talent that floats on the Internet, scattered here and there on lonely blogs whose authors keep checking their visitor stat counter everyday to see how many people came and actually read the shit they came up with.
So, I figure how serious we all are about all this writing stuff. I mean, are we going to be good writers or not? Are we going to be published authors of our novels or not? I've always thought of writing a novel, but I never wrote one. The first one I started last year, has only a chapter or so written. Lame, isn't it? I can't even call myself a writer. Are we really gonna write something worthwhile ever? Or are we here just to fool around, cater to anonymous comments, have discussions on useless politics and biased opinions and views of life? Don't we want do something with our writing? Don't we want to write something that will actually come in print and be read and passed over generations?
If so, and if your answer is a strong and guilty yes, I guess it is not too late to make a new year resolution.
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Current Book: "Selected Stories" by Edgar Allan Poe
Current Music: "Jaage Jaage Armaan Hai" in Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi Hai
Why Editors are Gay?
PLEASE PLAY [THIS SONG] IN BACKGROUND AS YOU READ THIS POST TO FEEL THE ESSENCE OF IT.
# Unfortunately we will not be able to use this work for _. We receive many well-written, compelling, stories, but can only take a very limited number due to constraints of space and style. We wish you the best of luck in placing your story elsewhere. Thanks again. Best of luck with this.
# Due to the large number of high quality flash fiction, our decisions were difficult to make. Unfortunately, we will not be able to include _ in issue 7, but we truly appreciate your interest in _. Please feel free to submit again. We are able to accept only 4 to 5 flashers a month.
# Unfortunately, we have decided not to accept it for publication. I wish you the best success in placing your story elsewhere, and hope to see more of your work.
# We appreciate the chance to read your poem. Unfortunately, the piece is not for us. Thanks again. Best of luck with this.
# Sadly, I regret to inform you that we are declining acceptance at this time. We enjoyed the work and found many of the ideas you presented interesting, but we don't feel the story is the best fit for _. Thank you again for sharing your work with us and we wish you the best of luck placing this story in another market.
# Unfortunately, I will be passing on _ this cycle. While I appreciate the opportunity to review it, it just didn't grab my attention as well as some of the other stories I received did. Because my policy is to only accept the stories that will be published for the specific issue I am reading for and not building a back list of stories to be published, I am often forced to reject good stories simply because I don't have enough available slots and other stories just grabbed me more than others. I do hope to see other submissions from you in the future.
# We enjoyed reading it but after careful consideration have decided that we cannot use it at this time. Please feel free to submit other work to us in the future.
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# Congratulations! Guest Editor _ has selected your poem “_” for the Issue X of _ Journal. Take pride in knowing that you are among only twenty writers selected from the hundreds who submitted to this issue.
I am writing to secure the proper rights to publish your poem. But first, a note about payment. [...]
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Current Book: "The Call of Cthullu and Other Weird Stories" by H.P. Lovecraft (Since classes have started my reading would be utterly slow but FYI I'm focusing a bit on Romantic Poetry these days)
Current Music: "Sheran Di Kaum Punjabi" from Speedy Singh
How to Read a Classic?
Well, based on some of the classics I currently read by Joyce, Faulkner, Hemingway, Twain etc etc, here are some general points:
1. Always read these classic or difficult texts in the day time or when you have a lot of energy. Do NOT read while going to bed, you won't get anything out of them. Other than sleep, of course. Which, according to me, sometimes, is the best use those garbled texts within dusty cover can provide.
2. Be prepared for a lot of suffering. Like, a lot of suffering and tragedy. Oh wait, no, Twain was hilarious.
4. Based on above point, every great classic has a certain % level after which you really start understanding the things for the first time. For eg, James Joyce's "A Potrait of..." it took about 80% of the book to make me understand what was going on. Faulkner's both books I read (As I lay dying, The sound and the fury), took 50% before they could get me. So keep going, keep reading, you will, at some % of book finished, get the things.
5. And if all else fails, you can always read Wikipedia. That's okay.
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Current Book: "Lolita" By Vladimir Nabokov
Current Music: "E.T." by Kate Perry
General Notes
So when I have really nothing to say, and for the sake of weekly blogging and for the sake of those 2-3 people who actually care about this blog, I have some general notes for this week.
1. Summer's are going hot and nice. Especially that almost everyone is wearing very little or no clothes. Except me, of course.
2. I am finally understanding Sir Mark Twain's language after finishing 2/3 of the current book.
3. It's strange to know that an year has passed in US and still almost nothing has been accomplished. The world, as of now, still remains unconquered and out of our reach.
4. I'm falling in love every other week. But of course the one person I really love is being constantly loved and remembered by us.
5. Don't know what to put under number 5.
6. Fast Five is one of the biggest no-brainers I have watched in a while. Felt like committing suicide on every other scene. But it was very funny. No doubt about that. Brawny and pea brain men always amuse me :) (Should have put this in #5)
7. I realized I made more resolutions in summer than at new year. Still struggling to keep 'em up.
8. Writing is as bad as ever. Some other project is taking our time indefinitely. Probably will hook up with friends and write some shit later this week.
Oh wait, need to make friends first.
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Current Book: "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" By Mark Twain
Current Music: "Danza Kuduro" by Don Omar.
On Writing - A Short Story
Note: This post maybe likable to those who liked the "On Writing" post about Stephen King previously published in this very blog.
So today, I'll teach you how to write a very short story. Although I am a loser in this specialization (with a countless number of rejection slips in my hand) but then heck, am a loser at everything. Still that doesn't stop me from writing or teaching, does it?
The text below in caps is all my own personal advice based on basics which are found in several writing resources.
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"He stood in the corner of the gym's upper hall, facing the mirror, and eying his bony frame. His fingertips felt the grooved surface of the ten pound dumbbell, which he presently struggled to lift.
[SO FIRST OFF, ALWAYS BEGIN YOUR STORY WITH A PITIABLE CHARACTER IN A SAD-SAD CONDITION. SO THAT PPL CAN RELATE TO IT.]
While midway through the dumbbell raise, his gaze drifted to a blond girl that recently came and stood next to him. In her skimpy clothes and long curly hair, she flashed her eyes in a quick glance followed by a friendly smile.
[ADD ROMANCE. OF COURSE.]
He continued to stare at her beyond the four second rule of staring at pretty girls (which he often broke). But the girl's eyes did not met his anymore. Her eyes were fixed 0n something else.
[MYSTERY? HOW CAN WE FORGET TO ADD SUSPENSE!]
She followed the line of her vision beyond him, towards the dumbbell rack.
[SO FIRST OFF, ALWAYS BEGIN YOUR STORY WITH A PITIABLE CHARACTER IN A SAD-SAD CONDITION. SO THAT PPL CAN RELATE TO IT.]
While midway through the dumbbell raise, his gaze drifted to a blond girl that recently came and stood next to him. In her skimpy clothes and long curly hair, she flashed her eyes in a quick glance followed by a friendly smile.
[ADD ROMANCE. OF COURSE.]
He continued to stare at her beyond the four second rule of staring at pretty girls (which he often broke). But the girl's eyes did not met his anymore. Her eyes were fixed 0n something else.
[MYSTERY? HOW CAN WE FORGET TO ADD SUSPENSE!]
She followed the line of her vision beyond him, towards the dumbbell rack.
[ADD MINOR TWIST.]
And picked the twenty pound dumbbell with ease. The ten pound dumbbell in his hand suddenly felt heavier with shame.
[ADD MAJOR TWIST. OCCURRENCE OF TRAGEDY.]
Her nimble yet stiff body began to train with the dumbbell as if it was merely an extension of her wrist while he stood there gaping and defeated.
[APPROPRIATE TRAGIC ENDING OF ROMANTIC FICTION. HOWEVER FOR WEAK HEARTED PPL, YOU CAN ALSO WRITE A BIT OPTIMISTIC ENDING BY ADDING THE FOLLOWING TWO LINES.]
But he hadn't come there to give up and beaten by a little girl. And so, he tightened the grip on the dumbbell, the grooved edges still hurting against his soft skin, and once again began to raise."
[ALTHOUGH A NICER ENDING BUT IT SADLY CHANGES THE GENRE FROM ROMANCE TO ADVENTURE ;P.]
Off to write shitty stories, folks!
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Current Book: "1984" By George Orwell
Current Music: "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse.
If it makes you clap,
I am tired of seeing those same kind of emails again and again. Those emails which say the same thing in minimum amount of words, over and over.
"This piece is not for us."
"Unfortunately, we can't accept this."
"We appreciate your work but it doesn't fit our publication."
It depresses me, for sure. But it doesn't hold me back, not yet. As long as I believe in myself, I am not quitting.
Even if it makes me seek external motivation to keep the inner fire kindled, I am not quitting. And to speak of external motivation, I saw Dead Poets Society today. I had heard this had a lot of promise in it. And for sure, it had.
It's a movie about an English professor and his students at a respected, disciplined high school who are part of this secret Dead Poets Society. A movie that teaches, how being different is not being odd but being unique. That why the lines you write, the beliefs you believe, the faces you make need not conform to the standards of the society.
There were moments in the flick, that made me pause the media player and clap. I clapped at the finale. I never realized that a tear had streaked down my cheek when the credits began to roll. And I didn't realize that my hands were still beating against each other.
That being different is not so bad. That being bad at something is not so bad. Because bad is just a word defined badly. It doesn't necessarily have to be bad. That I have to find my own voice. My own gait. My own pose.
And then I can walk proudly amidst the crowd. And some will accept me and my work, one day, if not all.
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Current Book: "The Grapes of Wrath" By John Steinback
Current Music: "The Reason" by Hoobastank
Transition and Writerly things
The transition occurred here. - Edited.
Note: This post (about an annual writing symposium) is more or less meant for those readers who are or who will be, writers, in some form, at some point of their lives. Sorry, but this doesn't have your weekly quota of drama, comedy and glamor. But more than that, this post is mostly for recording my own views on the events that I recently saw otherwise they will be lost in sands of time.
# A panel discussion that consisted of an Agent, Editor of a state magazine, Editor of a publishing house, a writer/poet started the event. All I had imagined Editors to be was something like 'grumpy old men who butcher your piece with a red pen'. But no, they proved how they too were real book-nerds like the writers in the audience. They took down the myths about the publishing industry one by one.
It wasn't really like that they told something new or some secrets of theirs. I and mostly everyone present in the audience prolly knew all that stuff. But its different, when somebody in that position tells you all that stuff. That's when you really believe it.
# After the panel, at the break, I noticed all those writers that had attended the event. I tried to calculate the mean age of the audience and it was above 35. Yes, thirty-five. And all of them, struggling writers. Still learning, carving, fighting.
I don't know why but I get a lot of motivation when I see these kind of scenarios. Sorry old people but I am 21 right now. Pretty dumb though and that's okay. I don't have much experience at writing nor my writing is as good as theirs is. But then, atleast am on track. I realize, I just need to keep going. Going ahead, like crazy. I wonder if I'll be an old man with a half remembered dream.
# I also got a chance to speak to the agent who was crowded by so many people that I had to squeeze in myself. Everyone was busy making contacts, exchanging cards.
"So d-do you think, my approach towards my writing career, is it okay? Will it help?"
"Yes, yes," she nodded a lot, "It definitely will. I can't emphasize it enough. Good luck!"
We probably talked for about 2 minutes. And I am not phrasing my questions here because they were really silly. But sometimes all you need is reassurance from someone. And if it comes from a big person, it really helps.
# It was amazing to be among all those people that share my dream. And one of the writers in the panel also talked about finding the right gang. The right poetry club in the corner of a smoky bar. I have been looking for those crazy people all my life. I never really found them. I found them in shades sometimes, but they were always too far from me. Or at too high a position.
But it's really hard to be with those crazy people. Crazy people who are really passionate about something. They are not easy to find. Problem with them is that those truly crazy people are not often seeking out other people. They are often lost in their own proness. Its only people like me, the lesser crazy ones, that can neither find similar friends nor succeed in whatever field they are crazy about.
I think I just need to be more crazy. I am growing hair for that though.
# And then there's this friend of mine, who always keep motivating me to change my major and all. She keeps telling me that I am doing all the work an English major would do, so why not just go for it? I say to her, "I don't know. Maybe I don't even need a degree or a transcript, I just need to attend, read and learn."
And then she laughs at me. She just laughed so hard at me, that it actually became embarrassing.
But to stop her from laughing at my life, I did add though, "But yes, one day when I will have some $$ in my bank, I'll join some MFA program perhaps and quit all the science shit."
But no, really, I will quit one day. Like, quiting forever. Quiting all the bullshit and pursuing just my love.
Anyway, I have come to my office now. People are typing research papers all the time here. All that art and beauty has been left behind.
I return to science and sadness.
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Current Book: "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce
Current Music: "Qatra Qatra" from Family.
Taking fire - need assistance.
Artistic picture: One of my most awaited result of a contest came out today and I didn't do too bad. Basically, I sucked though. I was hoping to make to the "honorable mentions" kinda level but my story only reached to the second round. As I said, not too bad but not good either.
Other than that, I got a couple of rejects sitting in my inbox. I don't care much about them though. They are all too tough to crack. But this one, I thought I could do a little better. (If you're a regular reader you can find my name there, otherwise meh, do I know tell everything now? Guh, Just press Ctrl+f and search for "garg")
Anyway, I enjoyed reading the winning story and clearly saw my writing still needs a lot of work. I am hoping to hear from some more editors and contest people in coming months, let's see how that goes. I just need to keep writing and submitting, that's all. That's what it takes to keep your new year resolutions up. I still haven't got laid though.
Scientific picture: A subject with Thermodynamics as the prerequisite and another one with Quantum physics as a prerequisite are primarily hurting me. I really never studied those things before, not to mention the fact I never did 11th/12th nor the first year at undergraduate. Gosh, the depth of my condition could only be well understood by my peers who very well know how 'good' I am at science and stuff. Prolly all they would say and remember after years from now is, "That gamer guy? He knows nothing. That sonuva.."
Anyway, so yeah, I'm trying to figure out this Raman spectroscopy on the research part while I steal some time to teach American kids about concrete and stuff. It's pretty busy nowadays.
Overall picture: I stand in the middle of the desert with my right arm hung low with the weight of the double edged Axe. The sun shines like a bastard on my Axe's steel and causes streams of sweat flow down my naked shoulders. Flinching at the piercing rays of light, I look at the horizon.
I can make out the line of orcs and beasts that are sprinting towards me. Their bloodlust fills the empty land that lies beyond. They are too many. Inside they have the souls of publishers, editors, sinusoidal equations, Raman spectra, Fick's equations and all that I face daily. Outside they are the same. Ugly. Too many to count or see. And here they come.
I swing, slash, cut and thrust. I loose blood. Blood that splatters upon the desert sand and shines back at that bastard of a sun in the sky. Heads, limbs, pieces of armory piles up on my sides but I continue to swing the Axe. I loose more blood and now my speed has reduced. They are not killing me by wit but by number. They are now almost upon me.
I am going down.
But not alone. Not alone. I'll take, you monsters, all of you, as many as possible, with me.
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Current Book: "Lord of The Flies" by William Golding
Current Music: "Clubbed to Death", The Matrix.
Other than that, I got a couple of rejects sitting in my inbox. I don't care much about them though. They are all too tough to crack. But this one, I thought I could do a little better. (If you're a regular reader you can find my name there, otherwise meh, do I know tell everything now? Guh, Just press Ctrl+f and search for "garg")
Anyway, I enjoyed reading the winning story and clearly saw my writing still needs a lot of work. I am hoping to hear from some more editors and contest people in coming months, let's see how that goes. I just need to keep writing and submitting, that's all. That's what it takes to keep your new year resolutions up. I still haven't got laid though.
Scientific picture: A subject with Thermodynamics as the prerequisite and another one with Quantum physics as a prerequisite are primarily hurting me. I really never studied those things before, not to mention the fact I never did 11th/12th nor the first year at undergraduate. Gosh, the depth of my condition could only be well understood by my peers who very well know how 'good' I am at science and stuff. Prolly all they would say and remember after years from now is, "That gamer guy? He knows nothing. That sonuva.."
Anyway, so yeah, I'm trying to figure out this Raman spectroscopy on the research part while I steal some time to teach American kids about concrete and stuff. It's pretty busy nowadays.
Overall picture: I stand in the middle of the desert with my right arm hung low with the weight of the double edged Axe. The sun shines like a bastard on my Axe's steel and causes streams of sweat flow down my naked shoulders. Flinching at the piercing rays of light, I look at the horizon.
I can make out the line of orcs and beasts that are sprinting towards me. Their bloodlust fills the empty land that lies beyond. They are too many. Inside they have the souls of publishers, editors, sinusoidal equations, Raman spectra, Fick's equations and all that I face daily. Outside they are the same. Ugly. Too many to count or see. And here they come.
I swing, slash, cut and thrust. I loose blood. Blood that splatters upon the desert sand and shines back at that bastard of a sun in the sky. Heads, limbs, pieces of armory piles up on my sides but I continue to swing the Axe. I loose more blood and now my speed has reduced. They are not killing me by wit but by number. They are now almost upon me.
I am going down.
But not alone. Not alone. I'll take, you monsters, all of you, as many as possible, with me.
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Current Book: "Lord of The Flies" by William Golding
Current Music: "Clubbed to Death", The Matrix.
Bleaky Break
(A subtle change in format of posts (see bottom) from now on, about which, a regular reader like you, might not need to be notified.)
The Holiday Break has just begun and the festive mood still evades my presence. The buildings at the University are now closed for a two week break which means limited access and no heat.
Outside, as snow pours relentlessly with flakes dotting my vision, inside, I find desolate corridors, darkened hallways, closed offices, empty restrooms, dusty door knobs, silent seats which were all once occupied by my colleagues. There is a false assuring humming sound of the workstations that were left running by them in haste as they escaped to their holiday, partner, home or life.
I ask myself why I have not been able to make much progress on what I had decided last time, but I find no answer. J.M. Coetzee helped to heighten this guilt and regret. Perhaps it awoke a quenched fire? But what is there was no fire at all? Ah, I digress and talk of things that make no sense.
Point? I have to get things straight. I have to get a lot of things done in these few days. Once the new semester begins everything will be sucked out. And I will be sucked in a hole that has no end. There will be scope for nothing but misery. I don't know if Coetzee's book is doing this to me, but I often think that my dream job would be a clerk or an assistant at a remote library of some distant town where I am required to arrange books and their shelves in far away sections where nobody bothers to look or trespass except that of a rare young couple whose presence will not cause much interference to that clerk lost in centuries of literature.
I pray for health this Christmas so that my dentist and physiotherapist stopped ruining this break. Because I can't let days pass by like this. I just can't. I must find time.
I must write.
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Current Book: "Youth" by J.M. Coetzee
Current Music: "Never Say Never" by Justin Beiber ft. Jaden Smith.
Like, you like passion?
[Pictures BELOW]
Another weekly post but kinda late. Also, the context in here may be somewhat stale because the photos I am posting down are 1 month old. But the text is fresh and virgin.
Sorry for the abuse of the most famous word "Like" in today's Internet world. That's another story I don't use Facebook. Before I begin the rant, I have 2 lines to share with you, that came to my mind one evening when I was telling my friend that she should not pull her friends to like what she likes, she should rather make new friends in her liking.
You should not like people to like what you like,
You should like people who already like what you like!
I am finding more and more passionate people around me these days. This wasn't the case back home. Here, people are just crazy and devoted towards what THEY like. Not what others like them to like. Like, if they like to like something, they don't like or unlike if their likeness is alike. They just like.
They have passion. Passion, in their likable lives.
You get it? Refer Facebook's Like for deeper understanding of this word. Oh wait, perhaps you already know that. How much hours you spend there?
Anyway, where was I?
If they are passionate about football and like to play football, they will do that for their entire life. They really won't care if they can do math or understand science. Its about football silly. Why need Science?
If they love to ski or pedal in water, that becomes their passion. Below you will find the photos of my small trip to a nearby river on which a lot of people regularly come for spending an evening with their passions.
Point is, the passion. And, the variety too. Its not just about the Engineers and Doctors. Its about something much more than that. Its about passion. About liking. About love.
I might not need to remind you, but you or any sane person knows this very well, that anyone who did well in this world first loved his work and then became something. You got to like, love something. You to pursue something with a mindless and blind faith driven solely by passion. And then you can expect something.
My love is writing. And I am not able to devote as much time as much it is required to liken it to passion. Damn, hate that. So this post is a reminder to myself that I should stay passionate. So, I buckled up and sent in a story for a huge contest. Like it has 3-4k participants, I guess. There is hardly any chance of winning. I will post my story here in 2 months when I hear the results. But winning is not important right now. Participating IS. And that, I AM doing.
Yes, I am.
[Since the large pics screw up my blog template, I am pushing them down. Take a deep breath and scroll down]
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| A passionate girl living her life (I watched her for long minutes doing stunts in the water) |
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| A Passionate guy carrying his passion along... |
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| The back of the river and dam. |
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| Add caption |
How about you? Do you have a passion in your life? What are you doing about it?
On Importance of a Teacher...
Life's been too busy around homeworks. Luckily got a little time to share some thoughts today.
In my entire life, I feel that I had this special connection with my teachers. There were some of them which I really didn't like but then there were a few which I really loved. And as for the teachers' side if anyone would go and ask them, their opinions too would be mostly at the extremities. For them either I had been the most careless and dumb student or I had been an exceptional student. Very few will rate me as a 'nice/normal/decent' student.
And in my bachelors degree, there was this thing that used to happen with me every semester. I used to get in the eyes of at least two teachers every semester. Of course one held love and the other held hate for me. And my record of living up to this phenomenon had been pretty consistent. When I came here in US and the semester began, I was again a bit worried and was wondering if this thing will continue.
Somehow, it did. And it didn't.
I "think" I came a quite close getting a bad reputation in front of a teacher but it seems like it never happened. It all just happened in my worried mind. Or it has but the teacher is not showing it. But yes, I "did" come close to another teacher that I think I really love and he in return appreciates my interests too.
He is a retired professor and quite old. He welcomed me in his office like perhaps no other teacher had ever done to me. And those precious minutes spent with him in the past few days strengthened my grip on my dreams. I know I am talking very vague here and not giving you people any specifics of "What, where and why?" But really, I can't. It's the nature of this blog to stay away from facts. Facts are too mundane and boring. I always try to stay away from names and facts and stuff.
It's all about fiction ;)
And yes, where was I? The meetings, the wise advice and some pivotal events in the past few days have really shaped my world the way I wanted it to. Talking with him, I felt overwhelmed at times on seeing his supportive and encouraging nature. I was "so" much reminded of the book "Tuesdays With Morrie" which I finished a week ago. The way I look at teaching, I sometimes feel that it is one of the most noble professions existing out there. But of course it doesn't suit everyone. You need to know a lot and then you need the right method of telling to novices whatever you know. I don't know about the present but yes maybe after 10 or 20 years, when I feel that I *know* enough stuff, I would love to be a teacher.
I would love to inspire, ignite and most importantly *help* students who would be nothing but my own younger selfs seeking direction.
A great teacher, someone to talk to, someone-someone who could understand everything that I have always meant to say, is what I was primary looking for after coming to US. And I guess I have found someone. It's really important to find that teacher in your life. It's not that I have a "guru" of my lifetime. But yes, for this current phase of my life, I have one. Yes, in past I had a series of teachers who played their roles in perfection. But there had been times when I had no one to guide me. Times of darkness, they were.
I see light now. Pure, infinite, illuminating, White Light.
For every Frodo needs a Gandalf
For every Harry needs a Dumbledore
Ramblings of a Graduate Student
I would like to thank all those people who had contributed or played a part, big or small, in my entire journey to US, starting from building a dream and then realizing it. Following are some of the snippets that may give you an idea of the current twist in this crazy life.
-----------------------------
*I wake up one day and realize that I need not cook or cut vegetables or take care of the utensils. Because today is not my turn. Because today my third flatmate has to cook. She's gonna take care of it. And it's amazing. (I finally get some time to blog too, not for long though)
--------------------------------
*My apartment is awesome. With the attached bathroom feature my room looks more like a suite to me. (Especially considering the kinda places I have lived in past ofcourse excluding the _ hostel at _ University ;)
--------------------------------
*The city is so serene and calm and peaceful and still so imba. I just love the crowd (undergrads? xD)
-------------------------------
*I visited the both libraries (University library and Public library in town) on a single day. Seeing those books, smelling their faint odor, touching them as I walked past endless corridors of infinitely long shelves and racks, I was left in a state of awe. It's like I have been waiting for this my whole life. And it's there, right there, so close to me. Existing in a solid, silent and defying manner.
Waiting for me to come. (I remember that how in my past colleges(degree/diploma) I used to hang out in the most desolated fiction shelves/rack of the respective libraries. Among those limited number of fiction books crumpled inside academic libraries I used to look for jewels.
And here, it's a whole new treasure in front of me. I could call myself lucky.
-------------------------------
*When you walk in the road, you feel like a mob lord or perhaps a king too. Any road you traverse, the car will stop 40 to 50 meters before you and give you ENOUGH space to happily cross at any pace you like. Pedestrians are given first preference, no matter what. The driver even smiles at you and nods if you smile back. Sometimes me and a car are stranded in middle of a road, me waiting for the car to pass by and the driver wait inside waiting for me pass by. It's no more like dodging the traffic with your life in your hands back there in home country.
Disclaimer: This does not hold true for entire US(Try this in California, NY or DC at your own risk). Only for small and hospitable towns, in one of which I currently live.
-------------------------------
*The research is no child's play. It's spanned from the most basic to the highest level. Every day I sit at my desk just to understand what's going on. I am supposed to do literature review for a few weeks before I actually get to do stuff by hands. Looking at the equipment and machines in the lab, I can see what an "advanced" country really means. I had been playing with stones and sticks till now. It's time for big toys.
-------------------------------
*There are hell lot of restaurants here with all kinds of food that I have never tasted or heard of. Mexican, Thai, Chinese, American ofcourse ;) and don't remember what else. I aim to taste every thing before I graduate.
-------------------------------
*The buildings @ campus which have been standing in a majestic way since more than 100 years make me stop in my path and wonder aloud. "Is it real?" "Or it's just a dream?"
-------------------------------
*I want to take down all activities offered here. Canoeing? Skiing? Caving? Trekking? Fooling around without purpose?
Bring it on.
-------------------------------
-----------------------------
*I wake up one day and realize that I need not cook or cut vegetables or take care of the utensils. Because today is not my turn. Because today my third flatmate has to cook. She's gonna take care of it. And it's amazing. (I finally get some time to blog too, not for long though)
--------------------------------
*My apartment is awesome. With the attached bathroom feature my room looks more like a suite to me. (Especially considering the kinda places I have lived in past ofcourse excluding the _ hostel at _ University ;)
--------------------------------
*The city is so serene and calm and peaceful and still so imba. I just love the crowd (undergrads? xD)
-------------------------------
*I visited the both libraries (University library and Public library in town) on a single day. Seeing those books, smelling their faint odor, touching them as I walked past endless corridors of infinitely long shelves and racks, I was left in a state of awe. It's like I have been waiting for this my whole life. And it's there, right there, so close to me. Existing in a solid, silent and defying manner.
Waiting for me to come. (I remember that how in my past colleges(degree/diploma) I used to hang out in the most desolated fiction shelves/rack of the respective libraries. Among those limited number of fiction books crumpled inside academic libraries I used to look for jewels.
And here, it's a whole new treasure in front of me. I could call myself lucky.
-------------------------------
*When you walk in the road, you feel like a mob lord or perhaps a king too. Any road you traverse, the car will stop 40 to 50 meters before you and give you ENOUGH space to happily cross at any pace you like. Pedestrians are given first preference, no matter what. The driver even smiles at you and nods if you smile back. Sometimes me and a car are stranded in middle of a road, me waiting for the car to pass by and the driver wait inside waiting for me pass by. It's no more like dodging the traffic with your life in your hands back there in home country.
Disclaimer: This does not hold true for entire US(Try this in California, NY or DC at your own risk). Only for small and hospitable towns, in one of which I currently live.
-------------------------------
*The research is no child's play. It's spanned from the most basic to the highest level. Every day I sit at my desk just to understand what's going on. I am supposed to do literature review for a few weeks before I actually get to do stuff by hands. Looking at the equipment and machines in the lab, I can see what an "advanced" country really means. I had been playing with stones and sticks till now. It's time for big toys.
-------------------------------
*There are hell lot of restaurants here with all kinds of food that I have never tasted or heard of. Mexican, Thai, Chinese, American ofcourse ;) and don't remember what else. I aim to taste every thing before I graduate.
-------------------------------
*The buildings @ campus which have been standing in a majestic way since more than 100 years make me stop in my path and wonder aloud. "Is it real?" "Or it's just a dream?"
-------------------------------
*I want to take down all activities offered here. Canoeing? Skiing? Caving? Trekking? Fooling around without purpose?
Bring it on.
-------------------------------
Falling in love with Writing Part II
So guys and gals, here I am back with a bang!
I did this post's Part I here and now I am going to do the Part II. Why the part II now? Why not later or earlier? Because:
1. Obviously I was busy with other crappy stuff and Visa Interview etc.
2. I maintained my losing streak in yet another short story contest which reminds me how much I suck at writing and how much I need to improve. Perhaps this post will help me out more than it helps you :P So if you are here for your daily dose of crap, perhaps this is not for you. Yeah, if you wanna be a writer etc, read on!
Disclaimer: Following is a serious attempt to clean the image of my blog which has apparently dropped to a lewd and satiric level.
So I ended my Part-1 by covering up the quotes in the first half of the book On Writing By Stephen King. Following are the awesome quotes from the second part. These quotes are much more oriented towards "writing".
"You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you."
(This phenomenon of actually loving your own work has been rather scarce with me. Whatever I write, after a few days, it begins to stink. It doesn't kinda sweeps me, so I guess I have a lot to learn yet).
"You have to read widely, constantly refining (and redefining) your own work as you do so."
(Every time I read a new book, I can feel my overview and knowledge towards writing growing.)
"If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that."
"Waiting rooms were made for books - of course!"
(I remember those 10 minute breaks between my lectures at college in which I tried to scoop some pages from a book. And when a teacher went missing for an entire lecture, I used to be like, "Wow. Entire 1 hour? Where's the empty bench in the play ground? Must get my ass there and read the novel.)
"The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor."
(Frankly speaking, I have read nothing in my life when I see the number of classics that exist out there...must reach for them...someday...)
"And if you do your job, your characters will come to life and start doing stuff on their own. I know that sounds a little creepy if you haven't actually experienced it, but it's terrific fun when it happens. And it will solve a lot of your problems, believe me."
(I had heard this clichéd point almost endlessly from every author/writer giving advice to newbies. Since two years I thought this to be load of crap. How the hell can characters be real? They are bloody fictitious. But a week back, I felt this. I really, really felt this phenomenon. One of my character did stuff on his own. On his own, baby. And since then I believe it. You won't believe it till it happens to YOU, so watch out.)
"You can't please all the readers all of the time; you can't please even some of the readers all of the time, but you really ought to try to please some of the readers some of the time. I think William Shakespeare said that."
"Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life."
"The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better."
(Hell yeah.)
"Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well."
So basically that's about it. Writing down these quotes made me go through the book once again and I ended up reading some beautiful para's. In fact I wont be wrong if I say that every goddamn line in this book is a quotation worth quoting.
I am glad if I helped you in your writing career and sorry if I bored you to the core (which I am sure I did). But it's okay, you chose it. You brought this ordeal upon your poor soul yourself. You clicked the goddamn link.
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- Tanya
- My little body is aweary of this great world. An Indian PhD student horsing around in Europe.
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