Self Preservations, That’s All

It’s difficult to change routine.

I am not feeling the same thrill I used to a few months back.

It isn’t writer’s block. No, I won’t call it that. Writer’s block is when you can’t put your words on to paper. I do not struggle with that.

I struggle with the desire to do it. Before I even start, I end up imagining how the write-up will end up looking like. And I make myself believe I have written a hundred things like that.

There isn’t anything wrong with that. Not to my knowledge. The difficult part is making peace with the fact I put it on a blog.

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How to be popular? Ten tips

Ten steps definitely worth taking.

Revolving Around Life

IMG_20180126_191452.jpg The colours of the sunset: This was captured by me on my mobile phone during an evening walk. Perfect for today’s prompt Silhouette, right?

How to be popular among friends and in society? Do you need to do anything or just be yourself? Do you want to be figured out as a silhouette, like a figure against the dimming light of the society?

Many of us want to lead, want to be noticed, regarded, followed by others. They are not wrong, everyone rather, should try to set an example which others can follow.

  • First of all, if you want to be popular, be kind enough to everyone. Greet all you come across during your working hours, with a smile. Enquire about their well-being if they are close enough. Show a positive attitude to help others.
  • Listen to others, as well as talk about yourself. Interact with others at least…

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What To Write When You Don’t Know What To Write

Tailor-made fiction or writing what you know? That’s one debate I had been having with myself for last ten months.

And I’m sorry to say but there is still no consensus view on which my mind agrees.

Maybe the critic in me is just a dick with very high standards, you never know. I write well when I don’t think, the moment I think I become too critical to write.

I Know, I know, it sounds strange.

people-3060107_1280 (1)

Now from what I’ve read, it seems like I might have been wrong. Analysis by paralysis is just too common.

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“Writing” or “Yet another WordPress blog post about writing, (please shoot me.)”

A must read.

Mr. Funk E. Dude

When I tell you that I’m banging my head on my table as I write this, take it litteraly.

Ever since I was in the 5th grade, and Mr. Klusendorf put the spelling words on the chalkboard and challenged us to write a story using those words, I’ve been a writer. The story I wrote was called “Ronald Mcdonald goes to Porky Pigs farm”, and it was a SMASH in my classroom. A few classmates asked when I was going to write more? What happens next in the story? I loved it.

I became the writer of our class. When there were story assignments, everyone looked forward to my turn to read. The attention, at such a young impressionable age, struck me in a way that would influence me for years to come. I started to study words, grammar, how people spoke. I paid attention to how words influence people…

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My Ritual Before I Start Writing

I always have to give myself a pep talk before I start writing. Every time. 

Every God damn time.

So, you’re wondering what’s the pep talk, right? Well, here it is.

It’s OK to write the way you are writing. After all, you are writing for yourself.

It seems to be the holy grail of pep talk aimed at writers, right?

Writers write for themselves.

But come on, let’s not lie. What fun would it be to craft stories if no one read them?

Today, I was reading Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian.

Side note, give it a read. You’ll thank me later.

The point of referencing the book is this, in the story, the narrator is a fourteen-year-old boy, and that’s why this book is brilliant. The writing style was true to its narrator, not the writer. I know, I know, it sounds confusing, but hear me out.

What’s the first advice any creative writing teachers gives? Show. Don’t tell. Right?

Now, tell me this, when you were fourteen, and you used to write, did you use to write elegant description of trees, roads, houses?

If you replied yes, then stop, don’t read any further. This post isn’t for you. Sorry.

But if you said no, well, I made my point.

A straight dive into the chaos. Once again.

Sherman actually wrote from the point of view of a fourteen-year-old. Man, that’s some crazy shit.

If you ever read the entire bibliography of an author, you’ll see there worrying style evolves with time.

It’s natural. Change is the only constant. Like death’s the only absolute truth.

The point being, we, as budding writers, are so fixated over some textbook definition of creative writing. We are so worried that we miss the whole point of writing. To live life twice. Once with our senses, and again with our words.

Do you really need me to spell it out for you?

Ah, idiot.

Write whatever comes natural to you. The rest is for the editors.

via Daily Prompt: Finally

The Greatest Teacher

We all say success breeds confidence. Sure, it’s true. But what would be the point of advocating something you yourself don’t believe in.

I’m not saying I don’t believe in success. But again, I’m always focused on negatives rather than positives, so there is that.

Do you know the greatest teacher?

It might be success. But if success breeds confidence, it also breeds ignorance. Ignorance for our shortcomings.

We are human and we are flawed.

The greatest teacher?

The greatest teacher is failure. After all, we are humans so we are bound to make few. Well, maybe a lot more than few.

The point is, we learn more from failing than we learn by winning.

Actually, there is no such thing as winning or losing. By the technical terms, if we win, we win. But if we fail, we learn.

And I believe that’s the biggest lesson anyone can ever learn.

Almost always.

Never be ashamed if you reach your destination later than others. You reached where you were meant to be and that’s all that matters.

It isn’t the destination but the journey which is beautiful. Destination is the end. And no one, in the history of mankind, ever liked the end. Which is why each destination sparks the quest for another. And while we are on that, there are no ends. Only moments. Moments from where we decide to look forward and backwards.

The Price You Pay Everytime You Listen To A Horrible Tale

One quality I pride myself on is I’m a good listener. At least I believe myself to be.

Strangely, people love to talk. I don’t know why I always struggle but everyone wants their story to be heard. So, for me, it’s favorable. People love to talk and I love to listen.

The art of effective speaking isn’t in what you say but what you don’t.

It seems all happy and cute, right?

After all, cute is the cutest word available in the dictionary. A little side note, there isn’t any other word in the English dictionary I despise more than cute. I hate when people say cute.

Let’s come back to the matter at hand, did you know listening comes at a price? Did you know you have to pay a part of you everytime you listen to someone’s sad little tale?

You feel bad for the teller, and then it numbs. After all, you’ve heard countless stories like that. 

At least I have.

You think, “Hey! I’ve heard worse than that, hell, I’ve experienced worse than that. I’m not whining like you.”

But you can’t say any of that. Because if you do, you’ll feel horrible. So, you listen some more. You try to understand. And then you sympathize, even if you don’t want to.

It takes a while, but that is the price you pay for being a listener. There is a reason why people are horrible listener.

But there are stories which are downright degrading to humanity. Stories in which you wish to kill the inflictor, or the villian of the story. Every story has one, don’t give me the look.

You hear a painful story and it starts to eat you alive. You reason that you shouldn’t feel like that. After all, the person who just told you their life story had it worse. 

You just listened to it. Right?

But you start losing your mind. It seems strange, doesn’t it? Somehow listening instigates pain? That it fuels agony?

I know seven stories. I know they don’t sound much. But I live within me the agony of seven horrible tales. Seven occasion when I wished to rip apart my heart because I couldn’t bear the suffocation anymore.

But guess what, it took a while and I listened to every single one of them. I tried my best to understand. 

Maybe I failed, maybe I didn’t. But every single one of the tellers became a good friend, so I guess I wasn’t horrible. In me, they found an outlet.

And that’s all I could have asked for.

In each of us lies the basic need to influence the world around us. Maybe my ability to listen isn’t anything more than that. A need to influence.

Our philosophies evolve. They change according to the need of the hour.

There is so much to being a good listener, other than the fact that you’re a horrible at sharing your own burden.

Either way, that’s the cost of being a listener. Good or bad, I don’t know, you decide.