Tag Archives: writer

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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Ailing Fighter!

I turn the pages from the past,

Memories from which have still not run fast.

I write and edit,

And see how my own words misfit.

I wonder if ‘I’ really wrote that?

And rate it again for being it so tad.

And yet you call me a writer,

While all I deem myself is an ailing fighter!

 

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?

Book Nerds Will Relate #2

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I do feel so deranged sometimes 😀

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Already Dunk!!

 

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Come to think of it, it is damn ‘Amazing’.

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Kindly consider the seriousness of the problem.

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Definitely my struggle!

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I have had a very hearty laugh using this one on people 😀

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Well, sometimes I get so engrossed in the book, that I really don’t put my brains into it, and I am pretty sure I look like this then 😉

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This is how my mum puts me in front of every one. And, let me clarify, I am not ashamed of it, proud may be, but not ashamed 😀

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Well, this IS true, sometimes (Laughs inwardly)
img_2319.pngPlease tell me, you found this funny,

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This!! True!! Totally true!!

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Believe me, this is the only part of the day which I am looking forward to, most of the times.

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Finally, someone said it…

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Oh God, this has given me a good laugh every time I see this.

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See, and yet people tell me I am confused about everything. My priorities are dead clear. I see the look and we seal the deal! Period!!

 

Hope you had a good laugh, if not, well I am sorry! It’s books we are talking about, so it is important to me and me alone.

Books are and will be a big part of my life.

They have been with me when no one else was.

They have been through me, and been through a lot with me.

When nothing works, a book, empty or otherwise, always comes to my rescue.

So here’s to all the readers and writers, who have a very intelligent and safe addiction of fantasy, having an escape form reality!

More nerdy stuff here: Book Nerds Will relate!

Book Nerds Will relate!

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Somethings that only books taught me 😀

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Correct me, if I am wrong. (But, I know, I am not)

 

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At least I do this all, I repeat ALL the time.

 

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The picture itself feels liberating.

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Definitely a black belt, unless there is something better than being a black belt. (HAHAHAHA)

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This one gets me laughing, every time I see this 😀

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Koi Shakh?
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Again, koi shakh? Of course we live for books.

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When books teach you life lessons.

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Oh the constant, the constant trouble!!!!

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A big thank you!

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This got deep! And interesting! And true! And well exactly how I feel about books!

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Why, why, why! why do they do this to us!

IMG_1756😉 😉

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I hope you are singing along with Ross and Rachel, only with a little alteration. 😀

 

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Absolutely, oh Absolutely!!

 

Books are and will be a big part of my life.

They have been with me when no one else was.

They have been through me, and been through a lot with me.

When nothing works, a book, empty or otherwise, always comes to my rescue.

So here’s to all the readers and writers, who have a very intelligent and safe addiction of fantasy, having an escape form reality!

 

 

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?

A Writer Without Words!

Today, they introduced me as a writer, and honestly, I did not see that coming. People keep telling me, that I am a writer, but there is some part of me that still does not believe that.

Anyways so there I was being introduced as a writer, and then the irony struck me. The very same morning I was struggling with words to describe what I was feeling, and I failed. Then I tried completing my assignments, failed! And then I started working on a fictional plot, at which I failed again.

I am not talking about the writers’ block, I kept writing, I kept taking notes, I kept typing, but I was not satisfied with it, I still felt that the feelings were unclear, and what I was saying were mere words. But if they were words, then why was I feeling the absence of emotions. And if I had words, then was I not a writer after all? But then only putting words isn’t a writers job, his job is to bring even fiction to reality. So where was I going wrong?

I had words, but still I felt I was not a writer.

On second thoughts, I felt I did not even have the words, all I had was the feeling, the love, the hatred, required for being a writer. The words that I say I wrote, were not mine, they did not justify how I felt, how I wanted things to come out, they simply did a job of being portrayed as a writer’s work. They were just there on paper.

So now, I did not even have words, and yet I was a writer?