Tag Archives: love for writing

Pleasure!

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Oh that pleasure,

Of reading;

hidden from those prying eyes.

 

PS: Ashamed only to be doing it till now 😉

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A writer’s Musings!

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Do share your thoughts on this one.

Do you agree that writers are worth something?

Or do you stand with the others believing that writers are a confirmed, forbearing and a resigned set?

Living In An Illusory World.

Writers and readers are hopelessly romantic. They live in a fictional world, and tend to be unacceptable to the real world. They immerse themselves so much in a world, which does not exist that they deviate and forget that they live in a world, which does exist. They seek pleasure in something, which is unreal, and shirk their responsibilities towards reality. They live in denial; they live with indifference. They do not live in actuality. Myth engulfs them so strongly that pragmatism and logic become their adversaries. These writers and readers do not know how the real world works.”

This, my friend, is an allegation on me today. But what can I say to this?

May be I am irrational. May be I don’t think practically. May be I shed off my responsibilities, may be I do live in too many worlds at a point of time. May be I am hopelessly romantic. May be I do live in denial. May be I live in a fictional world, and may be I really do not know how this “real world” works?

But does anyone actually know the difference?

All I got to say about this is,

“I have lived a thousand lives and I have lived a thousand loves. I’ve walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read.” –George R. R. Martin.

Yes, I read and I write and most of the times I immerse myself so much in these two things that I forget the real from unreal. I can barely make what was true and what was a dream. I forget the real world in the process of making a beautiful world for myself where I can live. And many a times I don’t want to come back from there, well, most of the times. And what’s more? I can’t. I can’t just do that. I have to come back.

So is that not enough? Is it not enough that I have to come back, and I do come back into the so-called real world and try to live in it.

Is it not enough that I live a life, which I don’t want to?

My Baby Turns 2!!

My baby completes two years.

Yayyyyyyyyyy.

What I mean is, this blog. My blog complete two years today. And I am thrilled. Super thrilled.

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When I started this blog, I had never thought, that this would amount to something. But today, I do feel that it is something. Well, so I think.

I did have my doubts, because this was my third attempt at blogging, and yet I had no clue what I was doing with it. I guess, I still don’t know what I am exactly doing with my blog, but I think, I am doing something, if not everything that I wanted.

But this feels, so, so good right now. Not because I simply have a blog, but because I have a blog through which I try and share my random thoughts, which helps me in delivering my misgivings, a blog which helps me when no one else does. This blogging community gives me so much pleasure, everyday. And, most of all you guys, everyone of you, give me so much pleasure, that I cannot begin to thank you. You people have always been here with me, and a big THANK YOU for this. For being with me, for trying to understand this deranged mind, for bearing my ever not-so-tranquil thoughts, and for trying to put sense into me sometimes, for trying to show me the right path.

THANK YOU!!!!

I am really happy today, so happy that it cannot be measured.

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However, I do intend to keep moving on this very path, for how long I know not, but this is the plan; for now!!

Once again, thank you to all of you for just being there, and accompanying me in this journey. Without you, this wouldn’t even be a journey.

PS: This is how I celebrated last year:- A year passed by!

 

New Home.

It has been long since I have written anything and I promise to come back with something as soon as I get time from the chores that I really don’t enjoy doing 😉

But this post is to inform all my readers that I am shifting to a new home, a new web address which is- https://aestheticmiradh.com/

I am not much of a web master here, and will really appreciate any kind of help from fellow bloggers. So do let me know if anything is wrong with my website currently.

I will learn things slowly, but I definitely will,  so just be patient readers and fellow bloggers 🙂

Thank you so much for your constant support.

Reading -A Refuge

To acquire the habit of reading is to construct for yourself a refuge from almost all the miseries of life.

-William Somerset Maugham

 

Imaginary Concept.

This might make me sound absolutely vulnerable, too emotional and to a certain extent meek and fragile, but I have to get it out, out of my head, out of my system!

So the question is- can an imaginary concept, a tale that has never happened, never going to happen, an incident which is absolutely fictional, and a plot twist which you might not even pen down make you cry? Is it really possible?

Yesterday, in the night when everyone around me was dead to the world, I opened my laptop and was just trying to write something, anything that my mind would be willing to work on. I ditched the laptop soon and adapted the notebook and a pen. I had just started to scribble something, when my mind started racing, the thoughts started flowing. And I lost track, and swam with the thoughts. I had completely stopped writing and was simply thinking about how the plot could go.

I was blind with tears just in a couple of minutes, I was not writing, I was not even taking notes. My own plot; my own construction made me cry!!!!

I remained still for a while; I did not stir but eventually in a mixed emotional state of fury and guilt, rage and helplessness, I erased everything, tore the sheets, and shut the laptop.

I don’t understand what happened. I don’t know how I could cry at own plot, how a fictional story which was not even written down could make me so exposed and defenceless. But it happened and all I felt like doing was to erase that memory from my mind. Simply remove it.

It felt like could I be so cruel? Really, me?

I don’t know what was it that made me cry, the wretched circumstance, or the fact that I imagined myself as the protagonist of the same.