I just discovered that this will be my sixtieth post on my blog. Yeah, 60. So long and still happy.
There was a phase-my most productive phase in 2009-'10-when the posts kept on coming and the desire to keep writing was still burning furiously in me.
Not any more.
It still burns, but I've become used to it. I can keep the fire burning for years at a stretch and I'm sure that it will neither die nor can it be doused out by any external interference. Writing is something which I love; it's the most natural thing in the world for me to do yet it becomes the most difficult task to accomplish during some particularly tricky and confused moments. I'm always short of time but I keep fantasizing about the verse/prose that I would be able to pen down in my free time. I create magnificent poetry in my mind when I'm supposed to be doing some other responsible work and when I finally have time to sit down and collect my thoughts, I find myself grievously bereft of ideas. If this is what is called writer's block, I should already be knowing, deep in the recesses of the mind, that I'm in trouble. It hasn't sunk in yet, not the least to that level, and this is what gives me hope. I can still WRITE. And I'm all the more happy because of it.
Time for some self-praise.The-congenial-human always finds a way to the come out of the mess that he finds himself in, almost every single time. Call it luck, timing, sense of occasion, whatever. As long as his story continues successfully, he needn't bother.
And yes, My blog refuses to die. Ciao!
(P.S: Prose works. Verse will follow.)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment